A Day In The Life

Shell doings:

First let me note: I AM SO BLOODY AFFABLE; IT'S SICKENING. I don't know how I do it.

Aight. Now, Shell doings:

First and foremost, I give sound directions, even if I'm not certain of the desired destination. Then there's loads of other menial tasks that won't interest you. So, we'll skip to the creme of the Oreo: Emergency situations.

Sometimes construction workers drill into power lines and we're left in the dark. Because making a sign is reckoned counter-productive, I loiter by the pumps and yell, "We aints gots no power!" To which the customer responds, "Oh, but do ya's still have gas?" To which I reply, "We gots plenty of gas-o-line sir, but we gots no means to bring her up from that there ground."
This is an unpleasant surprise to (apparently daffy) customers causing them to curse and speed off (but probably not far causes they gots no gas-o-line).

But wait, why am I speaking in hick dialect? There's a simple answer. About two years ago I went through I stage - a dying, dusty '50's Texan town stage. I read and viewed The Last Picture Show, Texasville, and Duane's Depressed. For the record, I quite enjoyed this stage; I even believe I coined the term 'gooder' around this time to express my satisfaction. Anywhoers, since the most common cause of Texan town death is a dry tap, now, being employed by the oil industry rekindles my fancy with Texan depression (of course the States now rely on foreign oil.) So, I'm carelessly sweeping dust around the battered ol' station just like Sonny and Duane, sipping Cola talkin' 'bout our lousy football team; 0-7 this year. Then some pretty thing passes in her red Mercedes convertible. It's her - Jacy Farrow - the prettiest girl in town, and the only one worth pursuing.

Ah, what a pleasant fiction; probably best left a fairy tale, otherwise the ensuing depression would lead to an undesired Hunter S. Thompson-like bullet to the head. But hey, at least I'd get Johnny Depp to finance my ashes being blown from some canon. That's class.