welcome moonbatty readers! all 3 of you who will come over here. i comment there and i know most of them won’t appreciate my sense of humor. but for those of you who are here. welcome! and no. i’m too lazy to use caps except for work.

y’all want to know some of the other jokes we pulled at texaco?

when we weren’t having snowball fights with mobil across the street caddy corner to the right, and not playing frisbee. we had a host of regular stuff.

everybody have a favorite hangout to underage drink in high school? ours was ON TOP of the texaco. we’d pull our cars into the bays like they were a customers car, and shimmy up this stupid ventilation pole in the back to get to the roof. we’d throw beer up. ice chests. and ice. we had an ice machine on property after all. then we’d sit atop the building like kings and heckle passers-by.

we’d whistle at the 16 year olds who worked at burger street beside us, and even have them up for beer.

yeah, we were naughty. but then, who was going to look on top of a gas station? and which cop was going to actually climb up there?

we couldn’t really have been that bad. the police were never called on us. but then again, people probably never knew where to send the cops.

but that’s lame.

this one fine saturday i was named king of the practical joke.

there was a shell station down the street on the corner of camp wisdom and oriole. it was run by some puerto ricans. i didn’t know them, buying all of my petro chemical needs at texaco. but they had this real nice tow truck. they never used the damn thing. they just parked it out by the corner with the big shell on the side and their phone number. 214-298-0000. i have no idea who uses that number now. but that’s why i knew their number. and aside from the fact that all of us ‘petroleum transfer engineers’ went to school together. usually we were called gas monkeys, or by our boss, just plain julio.

he had gone out and purchased a bunch of hi dollar uniform shirts with the name julio on them, for some guy named julio. imagine that. julio quit. just as our boss got his shirts.

so we all took one and enjoyed the puzzled looks customers gave us when they looked at 4 white boys walking around, all of them named julio.

anyway.

one fine saturday circa 1980, that wrecker started up and drove down the street to our station and parked in OUR lot, while shell guy ran inside pizza inn and picked up his lunch.

everyone started heckling him from afar.

bet y’all didn’t know gas monkey julios had this rivalry going on?

the cast of characters.

me
steve trimuar.
james bietendorf
brandon dudley
and one other julio i can’t remember his name.

i watched said shell guy climb back into his wrecker and head the 50 yards back down the road to shell. i picked up the phone and dialed that number. and got one of my buddies who didn’t recognize my voice. i identified myself as jimmy from pizza inn, and told him that i was very sorry we had messed up their order. and if they would be kind enough to return, i would fix it and give them a coupon for a free pizza on their next call.

shell gas monkey relayed the message.

and it worked.

but i wasn’t done.

immediately after calling shell i called pizza inn. and spoke to a guy named napolean. napolean was the only black guy on our street. he lived in south oak cliff and crossed the bridge into duncanville. we didn’t know him yet, but he soon became a part of our crew after this little incident.

so i called napolean, and put on my best puerto rican accent. i yelled at napolean, complained about my mixed up pizza order and announced i was coming back. because when i said extra jalapenos, i wanted some damn jalapenos! know what i’m saying?

so my boss came bcak from drinking his lunch at the holiday inn. marched in to his desk and started crunching numbers on the calculator. then he noticed we were all quiet as church mice.

what the fuck did you do now?!

huh?

get back to work you f’n julios. and tell that other one who’s hiding in the back to clean the bathroooms!

yeah, our boss. ‘mike’ of mike’s texaco had a temper. and he knew we had done something.

poor old shell guy came rolling back into our parking lot carrying his pizzas back into pizza inn.

no one said a word. we all just waited. the suspense was killing us. except for mike. he wasn’t in the know. and would have started yelling and giving work assignments if he knew. something about us having WAY too much free time while he was paying us. (hey! we got everything done).

mike didn’t like the shell guy parking on his lot either. and heckled the shell guy.

shell guy came back out with a bad look. and the 5 of us were peaking around the coke machines to look and try not to laugh.

he knew. he was looking right at us. and my friends were quickly deserting me. to my fate.

but then mike started yelling at him again. he climbed back in that wrecker and drove back down the street.

he never parked in our parking lot again.

there’s only a handful of people who know this story.

BD RIP 2000

elsewhere in my blogworld,

Jeanna is getting ready to go to angleland
the hot librarian loses her low rider yoga pants in a parking lot
black mamba ponders whether or not to drop a class
horse hell gives an open forum for questions.
Madame Butterfly is upset about the alito hearings/confirmation
beth doesn’t agree with ahrry belafonte.
zee is tired of the rape being committed by jihadis in europe.