Parrothead Ramblings

Yo quiero my yard back. Yo quiero some damn water in my swimming pool.

Well, we can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel on this damned cement pond in my backyard. Supposedly, the interior finish guys (or should I say obreros)will be out Wednesday to put the "Tahoe Blue Pebble Tec" on it, then another band of trabajadores come out on Thursday to acid wash it. These tipos are supposed to start filling the pool con agua when they are done, so maybe we can nadada in our alberca on Sabado.

Man, you gotta pick up on some Spanish if you're having construction work done in Phoenix. There hasn't been three guys out here that could string three words together in English since this project started. It's like living in your own home, but in another country. I think one of those Kansas tornadoes picked up my casa a la Wizard of Oz and dropped it about 150 miles to the south. They all seem real nice, and work very hard, and from what I can tell, have done a very good job. They prattle on endlessly in Spanish, calling out to me and waving from time to time. Of course, I smile, nod, and wave like a dipshit. They're probably actually saying something like "Look at that asswipe fucking Gringo, in there in the A/C while we work ourselves into the ground in 115 degrees, just so he can soak his fat ass in a swimming pool every day. Bastard. Hey, fuckwad, wave if you eat dog shit." More waves, nods, and smiles back and forth.

I suppose in a way it's Karma. I pretty much grew up with my grandma and grandpa on a cattle ranch. No, we weren't the freakin' Cartwrights. Grandpa worked his rapidly aging ass off for slave wages for a rich guy and his family, who in fact did kind of resemble the Cartwrights. Anyway, my brother Gene-o and I spent most of our summers and weekends out there. (While Wayners, I might add, was luxuriously floating his lazy ass around somewhere in the South China Sea or Mekong River) We often had a couple of illegals around, known in those days without a hint of political incorrectness as "wetbacks." Gene and I learned quickly that it didn't matter what you said in English to those guys, so long as you nodded and smiled. So we'd nod and smile while saying "You are one stupid son of a bitch, aren't you?" They'd smile and nod back. It never occurred to me that the tables would be turned one day. Well, at least it never occurred to me until just a few days ago, when I found myself nodding and smiling at the dude troweling my pool deck.


Shit. Welcome to Mexizona, pholks. What goes around, comes around.
  |