Idle Hands

Idle Hands

Feb 24
Idle Hands
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
Dantes Inferno

I’ve always scoffed at the saying “Idle hands are the devil’s handiwork”. It’s one of those trite comments your mother made to you when she wanted you to do chores on a beautiful summer afternoon. I never put any stock into it, until I witnessed what happens when my husband has idle hands. For months now we have attempted to lounge peacefully on our back porch, only to be disturbed by teenagers jumping the fence behind our apartment. It’s used as a shortcut to get to the apartment building down the hill. Not using this unmarked path by our patio would force these kids to walk down the sidewalk and back to their initial location, since there are no stairs until you get about a half a block down the street. Evidently, this is a herculean effort for them, so we have had our patio solace interrupted on numerous occasions. Well have no fear….the laid off man is here.

A man without a full time diversion is a dangerous thing. We recently purchased a 27’ sailboat and I thought this would be enough to keep the husband out of trouble. I was wrong. A few days ago, my significant other trotted off with his friend down to the marina to work on the boat. He returned from his foray with a large oblong box full of some strangers biological refuse. Evidently, the guys he purchased the boat from didn’t find it necessary to remove, clean out, or sanitize the waste holding tank. Perhaps they felt they had left us a big prize in the cabin. Who knows?? Now for me, that box would have taken a one way trip to the trash but the guys have informed me that this big box of crap is worth about $100 U.S. I find that total more than fair to avoid lingering in the aroma of someone else’s feces. Now I bet you the reader are just about now putting 2 and 2 together. Our young teenage interlopers and the turd box are about to cross paths. Instead of going down to one of our local campgrounds and properly disposing of the filth box, my husband decides that he is short on entertainment. He’s between jobs and I am in another city for a few days. Ding…ding… “I know how to liven things up, I’ll pour the turd box down the side of the hill.” Now before you call the EPA, keep in mind that for the most part my husband is an extremely clean individual. He’s borderline OCD. So how he even managed to make this happen is funny in and of itself. I can just see his face as he dons his rubber gloves, turns his head to the side and half runs across the parking lot with a large plastic receptacle full of poo. He then proceeds to shower the area just below where the kids jump the fence, creating a hellish slip and slide for the next unsuspecting teenager who dares cut corners.

To my husband’s dismay, he did not get the perfunctory satisfaction of witnessing the results of his handiwork but the physical evidence plays out something like this…. Some poor kid was jaunting happily along over to his buddies apartment. He strolls across the parking lot completely unaware that he is about to meet with an extremely unpleasant fate. He jumps the fence and as the shoe prints tell us, took an unfortunate and unexpected ride somewhat like a slip and slide into a sewer. We were unable to find evidence of the hand that must have reached out in futile desperation to stop the impending descent into a valley of human waste. The poor bastard. All I can say about this wretched incident is that the recruiters better start calling soon or we could all be at risk.

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