Tonight I dined in a truck stop, in what the Washington Post once called the armpit of America.  But only after wearing my hard hat, steel toed boots and green vest out to the mine (over my clothes, of course, Phil).  I have to admit, that I still experience a strange sense of disembodiment when walking around so attired – in the middle of day when no one knows where I am, or really even wants to.  I sat through the rapid fire calls my coworker took or made, and I have to say, I still feel left out.  I periodically call in to the office to see if anyone is looking for me, and they never are.  I have asked that people lie to me.  Perhaps delusions of importance will make me feel better when all the world is taking care of business and I am still just figuring out what the business is.  Unfortunately, figuring out what the business is starts at 4:45 tomorrow morning.  That ought to make me feel important.  Or tired.  Aren’t they the same thing?

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1 Response to Armpit

  1. Beth says:

    Sometimes the Pedestal part is better than the Phone Call part.Glad you are eating!B

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