Stupid is expensive...

Lately I've been under a certain amount of stress because I'm juggling a lot of chainsaws. It takes laser-like concentration to keep most of them in the air, and you want to keep them up there where they're less likely to decapitate you. Since I have the short-term memory of a fruit fly, I am constantly worried that I'm forgetting some vital detail, or some critical appointment. I'm worried that, while juggling chainsaws, I'll be distracted by a shiny quarter on the ground, bend down to pick it up, ("Ooh! A quarter!") and wind up with a chainsaw in my crack.

The other day I forgot about one of those chainsaws.

My "real" job has an agreement with the Baptist church next door. Since parking is limited under our building, not everyone gets a spot, and we can park in the Baptist lot. I'm supposed to get the next spot, but nobody is quitting just yet. So, I park in the Baptist parking lot and play a spirited game of Frogger across the main artery into Old Town to get to my office. 99% of the time, I get there early enough. But sometimes, like that morning, the Baptists have all of their shuttles parked in the lot, leaving no room for any other cars.

No problem--it's their lot, after all. And we do have a lot of visitor spots underneath our building. The only problem with that is the parking lot Nazi. I don't know what country he's from or what his background is, but I have never known a man so committed to bureaucracy and the letter of the law than this man--and I live near D.C. He sits in a chair near the stairwell listening to NPR ALL FREAKING DAY LONG. He has a whole office set up--footrest, water cooler, radio. I wouldn't be surprised if he held board meetings with himself down there.

(A side note: One of our first conversations went something like this after the first time I parked in a visitor space. Imagine a thick African accent on his part:

Parking Lot Nazi: You can't pah-k he-ah.

Me: It's just for today--the church lot is full.

PLN: You can't pah-k he-ah.

Me: It's a visitor spot and the church lot is full.

PLN: You can't pah-k he-ah.

Now I'm wondering if that's the only English he knows. So, like a good American, I speak louder and slower.

Me: The BAPTIST CHURCH PARKING LOT (over-articulating a pointing gesture now) is ALL FULL. (For "all full" I make a gesture like an explosion. I don't know why. It was the only gesture I could come up with that meant "full."

PLN: You can't pah-k he-ah.

Me: LISTEN to me, SIR. I HAVE TO park HERE or I'll be LATE for WORK.

Then he turned away and stared off into space. I tried getting his attention, but it was the weirdest thing--he just...disappeared within himself.

Since then we've had the same conversation, oh, about ten times. So, that morning, I wasn't in the mood for going another go-round but it couldn't be helped. I had nowhere else to go.)

Another problem with the below-ground garage is that there isn't very much clearance. The top of my pick-up just shaves the lowest hanging pipes, not to mention the concrete beam at the entrance. I always have to take my ladder rack down so I don't rip it out of the bed of my truck, possibly taking chunks of the bed, too. I came close to doing that the day after I got it installed: when going into a parking garage near my place, the ladder rack hit the concrete height-indicating concrete bar across the entrance. The damage was minimal, but it did slightly bend the rear post of the rack.

"I'll never do that again!" I swore.

So, I pulled out of the Baptist church's parking lot, pulled over, and reconfigured a load I had back there. (It was my load--I normally keep all my hand-trucks and my bike on our porches. But I had loaded all that stuff into my truck because we were having an open house and I didn't want a bunch of clutter around the place.)

Once I'd laid the bike and hand-trucks down, I got into my truck and headed for the office's parking garage.

Apparently, in my haste to get it done fast and get to work, I'd forgotten one essential thing--taking down the ladder rack. I realized this about .02 seconds after the scrotum-tightening sound of metal ripping and shrieking against concrete, coupled with the nauseating gut-feeling of the whole truck shuddering along vectors it was not intended to sustain.

Have you ever screamed the F-word in a nearly empty parking garage? I recommend it. Do it loud enough and you might give yourself a little thrill.

The first thing I noticed when I got out of my truck wasn't the damage to it, but the O-face on the guy looking out of his car window as he waited in traffic just outside the garage. "Oh...shit," I thought.

The second thing I noticed was that the rear rack post was bent at a 45 degree angle, and the metal above the bed "sleeve" had completely buckled. It was a total loss.

The third thing I noticed was that the front rack post was leaning against a PVC pipe that looked not unlike a sewage pipe. If I'd gone two more inches, not only would I have done further damage to my truck, but I also would have taken an epic shit shower. At least I had just waxed the truck.

Further compounding the problem was the height of the garage. In order to take the ladder rack posts out, all you have to do is slide the post out of its sleeve about 12 inches. The problem was that I only had about two inches to work with. The rear post was easy to deal with--I just had to twist it until the few threads of steel ripped out. But the front post--problem.

I was beyond frustrated at this point. I'd just gotten a little bit ahead with the big office move, and now I have to buy a new ladder rack. I'd gotten this one for ONE CENT at Home Depot. (It wasn't in their system, so they just let me have it. Normally $150, that's an awesome deal. I've had guys stop and ask where I got that particular rack.)

I tried sliding the front rack out, but it just hit the ceiling. That's when I lost it. I'm embarrassed to even write about it, but at that moment I acted like a child. I slammed the post up and down in its sleeve, pounding the bed of the truck and the ceiling. I tried rotating it, but that was foolish, and I just ended up making myself look like a mad butter-churner. And I HAD TO get that thing out because until I did, my truck wasn't going anywhere. I was lodged into the garage, right at the entrance, and my co-workers would be showing up at any second.

Eventually I had to get out my tool set and just unbolt the thing from the bed. Only a few of my co-workers drove by and saw the situation, but still, word travels fast around the office...

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I found a replacement rack on eBay, fortunately. The damage isn't too bad--just $135 which includes shipping. But get this--the seller's name is "leekyballs." Heh. That almost makes up for the pain and expense of the whole fiasco...