Yesterday, when I got to work, I was told I needed to do some deliveries. Fun, eh? Deliveries happen every now and then. Something gets delivered wrong and we have to replace it, or, as in yesterday's case, the delivery truck could not deliver the flooring this customer had ordered. Why not? Because the customer lived out in the friggin' boonies. Translation? A mile and a half from the customer's home we turned left onto a one lane, strip of black top which was supposed to pass for a road. At the end of that mile and a half there was a driveway, gravel with bits and pieces of what may have one time been black top, which wound up a steep hill for another 800 feet.
I parked our small truck in front of the open garage door and walked to the front door (no sidewalk) while the associate with me started tearing the shrink wrap off the pallet of flooring. I knocked and some kid answered and he told me to bring it in through the garage. As I carried the first box in through I could feel my skin begin to crawl. There, to my left, on the floor, were 2 Trump / Pence signs. I was in the home of the enemy... a Trumplodite!
He was big and fat, at least 6'3" and 300 pounds, probably more, and very, very white. And while for the most part the house was clean, it was also very cluttered. The coffee table was stacked with NFL magazines, and Country magazines, and newsletters, and there coats and jackets tossed over the backs of furniture. Two computer keyboards and a tablet lay against the side of the sofa. And there were framed photographs all over the place. Seriously. This Trumplodite's older son must have been a football player in high school since there was a wall covered with framed pictures of him in his uniform, and his prom date, and the prom invitation and football certificates - in all, probably around 30 of them. One wall was dedicated to the 85" television on which NFL Today was playing.
|While this is a facsimile picture, it was pretty much like this|
From the living room you could see into a 'home office,' and I know he would hate for me to say this, but I'm using that word liberally since there were stacks of paper all over the place, and I'm talking stacks here, not 1" or 2" piles, but 6" - 8" stacks, a lot of them.
And this Trumplodite was not the most friendly of people, the original delivery truck couldn't get to his house because of it's location... and it was their fault, so I got stuck delivering it in a smaller truck, which meant the delivery was late and that (in his mind) was my fault. In fact, as I was carrying in boxes of faux hardwood flooring, I realized that in this guy's mind everything he didn't like was someone else's fault.
Still, I am happy to say I survived my brief stint in the Home of the Enemy, and I suspect that the black hatred seething around his head will only grow after Tuesday's election. He's going to need to blame somebody.