Pressure Cooker

It was a dark and stormy morning when I got to the dump this morning. At 7:20 the gates were still locked. Where the fuck was everyone? I pay these guys to get in early and get things organized. I shouldn't have to do everything - especially on a nasty morning like this. I got out of the van and pulled the ring of jingling metal out of my slicker pocket. In the rain sparkled light from the headlights, the wet keys look momentarily like a handful of gemstones. But, they were just the keys to a huge yard full of junk, I mused. I found the key to the padlock after a few tries and pulled the gates back. The dump was supposed to be open for business at 7:30am sharp, and here I was the only one on the job.

I was sitting at my desk still dripping and fuming when George came through the office door. He was soaked. His handlebar moustache drooped like wet puppy tails around his jaw like that angry guy who builds custom choppers on the cable channel.
"Not fit for man nor beast," he intoned in his best WC Fields impression. I wasn't in the mood for levity.
"You're late, I had to open the fucking gates this morning."
"I noticed. Good job"
"Fuck you. Why weren't you here?"
'Man I slept late this morning. stayed up late to watch the game. Where's Lardass anyway? Isn't he supposed to be here early too?
"I'll deal with his fat hide when he gets in. Meanwhile you're on warning, mister."
"ooh. I'ma shakin' in me boots..." he is such a thesbian.

But I started wondering about Lardass. He's never late. He has no life, other than the dump. Maybe he had died in his sleep. Or been jumped by muggers and thrown in the river hogtied with duct tape. Or maybe his jeep had gone into a ditch on the way in. The roads were slick and it was dark at this time of the morning...I was playing out all the disasters that I recalled from the evening news when George interrupted my revery.
"Turn out the lights, the party's over," he sang as he held up the morning paper.
"You mean the Red Sox?" I asked. I had heard that they won game 6 on the news as I was driving in.
"No, clueless one. I am talking Election. That remark by Theresa about Laura. That cooks it!" he had a wide grin. "How can you be first lady when you don't even know if your husbands opponent's wife ever held a job? No one will want to vote for Kerry now!" He was pleased with that bit of pretzel logic.
"You mean the job she had working in a library?"
"Yes, and don't forget she was a teacher."
"Ahh." I was wondering how many times Laura had been laid off, or been yelled at by a stupid egotistic manager. "But I think the gist of Theresa's speech was that the Bush's were pretty isolated back in Texas, not global travelers with a developed weltanschauung. I think they had once gone to the International House of Pancakes for Belgian Waffles." I chuckled

George just glared at me.