Oh So Glad It Wasn't My Fault

Days Walking - 77

Where to begin.
We lost a vital, beloved member of the team today.

It was tragic, regrettable, and the twisted remains are hard to look at, even now.

Remember those winds I mentioned weeks ago, and the chasing of the bags which bounced merrily away? Well that was on the wide-open flat nothing of tundra, where no blown item could truly get away as long as we cared to chase it.

It was the blessed flat nothingness of open snow, where patience and plodding after a bastard bag escapee meant never having to say you’re sorry.

Picture me at a piano with Carroll O’Connor.
Those Were - yea verily - The Days.

It was about 5:30 in the AM, and I approached the Poop Tent, as Gabe and Church were attending it in morning service.

And then, with an abrupt leap away from us - the Poop Tent escaped, caught in one of those mischievous Loki-Spawned Winds like unto the one that stole Frosty’s hat in the classic tale of woe.

So well-timed was the elated tent’s freedom-bounce-jouncing down the slushy slope and into the highway, so perfect the curve in the road, the approach of the truck, so exacting the impact as Gabe, Church and I watched with horrified faces, as a slow motion, deep-voice-distorted ‘NOOOO!’ escaped our lips, and the tent was CRUNCHED under the giant right-side wheels of an eighteen wheeler.

I don’t think the trucker ever realized he’d hit anything, oh so ephemeral the mass of the tent compared to his truck. The big rig roared on northward, in a “I sh*t bigger’n you.” huff.

We three scooted down the slope as fast as we could, as if getting there quickly mattered. As if we could resuscitate the shredded remains with a 9-Volt and the Desperate Will not to pee with our asses bare to the toothy wind, our fanged and hungry foe.

The flexi-tubes that had so energetically sang an ardent ‘poof!’ for so long were snapped like chicken bones, split along their length and splintered. Not even a weak or weary ‘flup’ could be summoned from the corpus.

Bow your heads, my brethren. The Poop Tent is no more.

I would like to state for the record that it was not my fault, it was Church. Church and Gabe. I only got there just in time to see the horrible episode unfold. I wish I had it on TiVo.

And then we had to break the news to the rest of the crew.

Oh my - You should have seen everyone else’s faces as we told them what happened. With our arm wavings and gesticulations and gestures and the sound effects and the crying and eventually the display of the corpse itself. Yes, the once mighty poop tent had to lie in state before they could all really believe that the damage was more than duct tape could bear to repair.

They were still bleary from sleep, and it had to seem unreal to their recently woken world. ‘It’s a nightmare. I’ll wake up. It’s not real.’

But it is real. And it’s a nightmare. Jake responded with his typical denial rage. It seems The Man is still trying to keep him down. Caeled teared up, I swear. I’m a bit misty myself.

Litany Webb, signing off

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