Guest Post: Leroy

Rusty and the Ranch

The helicopter rose above the horizon and headed straight towards them. A monstrous mechanical beast that ripped through the air and frightened every bird and squirrel within a 1 mile radius of its path.

Hey Y’all, sorry to interrupt but Jeff couldn’t make it this week. This is Leroy. I’m not much for writin’, but he flew the coop and left me in charge so Imma keep it brief. He’ll get back to that mechanical bird story next week.

In the meantime I had something funny happen to me when I was working for a door and window outfit back in Memphis. Now my job was to go to these homes and sell them on some windows or doors. Maybe siding and roofin, but that wasn’t the main thing. It was the windows they were all about, probally because there easy to install. Just take the old one out and pop the new one in, and yer done. Money.

So I used to go all over the county. Fact is, I was all over three counties, I had some territory to cover. Man I seen it all. Benn in all kinds of homes. Big million dollar places on the lake, tiny houses in the ghetto with screamin kids. Actually you’d think the rich ones are the ones you want to sell to but that’s not the case. Those people are a hassle. Asking too many questions, can’t make up their mind, takin forever to sign the contract, chiseling you down on the price. They wear you down. The ghetto people? Money. I once sat down with a lady, told her the price, and she disappeared down the hallway. Came back with a big wad of cash. Like 8 grand talkin’ “is this enough to start?” “FUCK YEAH it’s enough to start!” Shiiiit. If I had customers like that all day long Id still be workin there. Anyway the ones you think is poor, some of them are big savers. Keep that shit stashed literally under a mattress or in a coffee can. I once had a old Chinese guy roll out into the kitchen and come back with a cereal box filled with hundreds. I was shakin my head like, this fucker’s got 50 grand in cash stuffed in his damn Fiber One boxes up in them cabinets. Those rich people out in the burbs? Probally broke. Always gettin financing.

Anyway that’s not the story I’m gonna tell you. So one night, I go out to this place. It’s not in a fancy part of town but it’s not trashy neither. Just ranches full of workin folks. But kind of professional, you know? So I pull up, and this place is nice. It’s probably 4,000–maybe 5,000 square feet, and for a ranch that’s big. It’s sprawlin all over. Got a nice entryway. Got an open concept kitchen, a walk out lanai (like a patio but covered and fancy.) It’s got 4 baths, 6 bedrooms, a family room, a living room, study, the works. And it’s nice in there they got art on the walls and everything. Got a stack of New York Times on the table in the reading room. Guy’s got a big leather chair and a pipe. Got a whole smoking station set up with a cigar box and one of those old school big glass ashtrays that’s a brown amber color that’s mounted in like a chrome floor stand. Like somethin you’d see Don Draper have in his crib. Not his house with Betty Draper but the place in the city he hangs with his side piece.

Anyway, it’s a nice place. And I go in there and first thing is this damn golden retriever comin’ at me. I don’t know why suburb people love these things so much, I don’t see the appeal. This thing stinks and is slobbery. All barkin and noisy. First thing happens the lady of the house tells him to sit down and tells him “no” but in this real weak way. Like she’s been tellin this dog that for ten years and the dog don’t pay her no attention, like he’s wore her down. It’s clear that they have no control over this thing, it’s got the run of the house. So I start in on my window business, measurin, makin small talk and what not. And the thing is all over. Just a damn hyper animal. I can tell they aint walked that thing in years, it’s just a beast. That makes me mad cause people get these dogs and then don’t put time in to train it or tell it who’s boss, so it’s rulin over them. And I don’t think they know it.

So I finish my measurin’, now I gotta work up the quote. I gotta put in all the numbers in the laptop and them give them the price. It takes about 20 minutes, so they invite me to the sittin room. And they are all in there, talkin to me, makin small conversation. I’m just doin my thing. And at some point when I start my pitch, tryin to get them to buy this package that I put together, the dog starts hunchin down. Like he’s hunkering down, and I know that look. He’s workin out a log. And sure enough, he starts shooting out these big man turds, and the lady gets shocked. They both start tellin it “no no no, rusty don’t do that,” like the damn dog’s got some reasoning. They get up to take him out, and it gets worse because the man logs were just a plug for the liquid that’s shooting out of it, all over this beige carpet. Smelled somethin fierce. You know that 80s movie about the giant alligator in the Chicago sewer? When I smelled that dog’s turds, made me think of that. Like green acid smoke in your nose, burnin the tissues. No way I was inhaling that, I won’t stand for it. I basically pack up and leave my quote on the table. I know when I’m leavin that I’m not gettin this job cause they are too embarrassed and they just want me out of there. When I left, I said to myself, “Yeah I thought so.” Knew those people couldn’t control that dog. Just rules the house. Weak sauce.

Well, I know Jeff usually adds a recipe to his stories, but this ain’t a good story to have with a meal if you ask me, so I’m not gonna include anything this week. Just a story that I thought was funny and just one of a bunch of crazy things I’ve seen in that line of work. Anyway y’all have a great weekend and Jeff will be back next week. I hope he brings me back to tell another story. I got a bunch.

Take care now,

Leroy Out.