Breaking Stuff

The other day I was having breakfast with my dad/boss and our truck driver, Dale. It was about 6:30 in the morning and we were eating at the Pelican. If you've never been to the Pelican you should. The food is pretty good. The atmosphere is friendly, like Cheers where everyone knows your name. Lately I've become rather fond of eating at places like this. Places where all the customers are regulars, and most of them know each other. Maybe I'm getting old. I know my grandpa (one of the only nutz people in my linage) used to eat at such places. He would go and get his doughnut and coffee every morning and spend two or three hours there just bullshitting. I always thought he was weird for it. Or just really lame. Probably why I liked him so much.


Anyways... The other day I was sitting there, eating my pancakes smoothered in peanut butter and good wholesome maple syrup. A guy named Fred who I used to work for when I was a teenager came in and sat down at the table next to us. Being an old friend of the family there was a lot to talk about. The small talk went on for a bit and then turned to hunting. I am not really an active hunter but I am one of the main caretakers of much of our families property. Fred is one of the few people who is not a relation who is allowed to hunt on our property. In return, he helps keep the area cleaned up and tries to keep holigans and such from trespassing and damaging the area.

Well, something about our conversation made him remember what he had last seen when he was on one of our properties. He said that some holigans had been out to our property on Norman rd, and were using it for a dump site. Most recently they had left a smashed tv. I damn near choked on my tongue. While I concentrated on regaining my composer (thank god I had a mouth full of peanut butter and pancakes to blame choking on), he continued to explain how he had cleaned up most of it and how he thought we should put a cable across the driveway so that it didn't turn into a dumping site.

For those of you who don't know, the A.G. have a yearly ritual of smashing a tv. This year had been no exception and we used the same place as usual. The property on the corner of Norman and Cribbins rd. If you know the area well enough you could probably even find the remains of last years tv there also.

Normally I would have expected my father to put two and two together. He is well aware of our ritualistic destruction of things and has more then once seen the remains of a microwave or something sitting in a box in mine or his driveway. But for some reason it didn't click. The synaptic link in his brain went in two opposing directions and I found myself walking away scott free. Once again the Gods of Alrightness had smiled there fortune down upon me.


I can remember several such incidents. Burning teddy bears in the basement. Breaking dishes with the weightlifting equipment. Setting another students english textbook on fire. Breaking a ceramic toilet. Baseball. With oranges, tomatoes, and keylimes. In our hotel room and in the hotel hallway. Baseball with dishes on the train tracks. Mr. Nuts' former trashcan. Burning monopoly money in spanish class to help the economy. The MSU riots of 97 and 98. Using hedge trimmers on plush toys. Drawing on Mr. Nuts' bedroom walls. With lighter fluid. And then setting it on fire.

The more I think about it, we're a pretty destructive bunch. They really should check you for I.D. before selling sledgehammers, baseball bats, hatchets, leadpipes, hedgetrimmers, chainsaws, gasoline, lighters, and probably pretty much anything else.