I Should've Called 'No Tag Backs!' :)
Well, some folks don't take kindly to tagging, and there appears to be no clearly defined etiquette on these matters. I get emailed memes from Schmoop all the time and I generally don't return them, but normally will at least try to make time when it comes from blogging. That's an odd double standard I'll admit. So I tagged Scott from Oregon a while back and apparently guilt tripped him into a response by virtue of an awful tale of nut trauma. Having aged enough to forget the protocols of tag, I failed to call 'no tag backs'. He's come up with a new meme model that includes aerial photo corroboration. This is my penance.
The time I was nearly shot.
This is a view of the St. Louis Union Station. I used to work at a restaurant that was right in front facing the (Market) street, and had (has?) large windows all along the street side. On the opposite side of the road was a large fountain sculpture that would routinely spray water well outside the fountain pool (as is evidenced by the photo). The local homeless people would bathe in it in the warmer months. This was funny considering how swanky the restaurant was- that folks would spend $20+ per entree (in the late 80's) to look out onto homeless people cleaning themselves and doing their laundry in this fountain. I remember vividly one evening a homless looking man walked up to the outside of the window (remember the movie Trading Spaces?) but instead of looking dejected or longingly at the food on table or the well to do people dining mere inches away on the inside, he whipped out his dick and pissed on the glass in a trajectory that would have (glass not withstanding) soaked the meal. The folks at the table were trying their best to ignore the guy, but some woman at another table started screaming and it everyone freaked. By the time anyone of authority could chase him off, he was done, and I was nearly sacked for laughing. This happened about where the word "me" is shown, but that's not the story I'm writing about. My busboy got stabbed in the face one night just to the right of the word "me" as he was leaving through the front door to go to the parking lot we all used marked with a green "X" as well, but that's not the story either.
My story, selfishly, is about the night I was shot at. Apparently someone near the red "X" on the right was in disagreement with someone near the left red "X" and decided to resolve the matter in a natural St. Louis fashion, gunplay. Completely unaware of this, I was leaving work late one night and was heading to the green "X" where I'd parked, and walked into the line of fire. I could swear to you that I heard the Doppeler Effect of the bullet, and dopey me, I stopped there to try and figure out what had just happened. So there I stood perplexed waiting for the sound to be repeated for further analysis and in harms way. Thankfully, the party on the left had sized up the situation more swiftly than I had and fled accordingly. This caused the party on the right to lose interest, or perhaps not wanting to answer questions (I know this motivation), they left too. So, with my catlike reflexes, I had a handle on the moment once the moment was over. In a cold sweat I drove home. And I didn't do my homework.
"Can I Take It To The Bridge?"
This is a photo of "the bridge" and this is home to several stories. This is the place where competitive freight train urinating was born [the rules are simple, how many freightcars can you partially or completely cover with urine without stopping. My best was 21- it was a fast moving train]. This was where my buddy Don and I spent countless hours discussing all matters of varying importance- ways to get booze, chix, drugs, and the designated hitter rule. This was where we moved a discarded couch onto the tracks and saw the hidden hydraulic arms on the front of the locomotive send the couch flying (and we got shot at with rock salt). It was a public road that never got used, and is sort of hidden within a private golf course. The golf course people weren't thrilled with us hanging out there and initially tried to hassle us out of there, but I've always been pig headed. Eventually they gave up since we never did anything to the golf course and would just offer us glaring looks as they went by.
In case you are wondering about the blue "X", I'll only say a gentleman never tells, and I won't either. Let's just say that the color is appropriate from a thermal point of view, and for further details you can inquire with Schmoopie
The time I was nearly shot.
This is a view of the St. Louis Union Station. I used to work at a restaurant that was right in front facing the (Market) street, and had (has?) large windows all along the street side. On the opposite side of the road was a large fountain sculpture that would routinely spray water well outside the fountain pool (as is evidenced by the photo). The local homeless people would bathe in it in the warmer months. This was funny considering how swanky the restaurant was- that folks would spend $20+ per entree (in the late 80's) to look out onto homeless people cleaning themselves and doing their laundry in this fountain. I remember vividly one evening a homless looking man walked up to the outside of the window (remember the movie Trading Spaces?) but instead of looking dejected or longingly at the food on table or the well to do people dining mere inches away on the inside, he whipped out his dick and pissed on the glass in a trajectory that would have (glass not withstanding) soaked the meal. The folks at the table were trying their best to ignore the guy, but some woman at another table started screaming and it everyone freaked. By the time anyone of authority could chase him off, he was done, and I was nearly sacked for laughing. This happened about where the word "me" is shown, but that's not the story I'm writing about. My busboy got stabbed in the face one night just to the right of the word "me" as he was leaving through the front door to go to the parking lot we all used marked with a green "X" as well, but that's not the story either.
My story, selfishly, is about the night I was shot at. Apparently someone near the red "X" on the right was in disagreement with someone near the left red "X" and decided to resolve the matter in a natural St. Louis fashion, gunplay. Completely unaware of this, I was leaving work late one night and was heading to the green "X" where I'd parked, and walked into the line of fire. I could swear to you that I heard the Doppeler Effect of the bullet, and dopey me, I stopped there to try and figure out what had just happened. So there I stood perplexed waiting for the sound to be repeated for further analysis and in harms way. Thankfully, the party on the left had sized up the situation more swiftly than I had and fled accordingly. This caused the party on the right to lose interest, or perhaps not wanting to answer questions (I know this motivation), they left too. So, with my catlike reflexes, I had a handle on the moment once the moment was over. In a cold sweat I drove home. And I didn't do my homework.
"Can I Take It To The Bridge?"
This is a photo of "the bridge" and this is home to several stories. This is the place where competitive freight train urinating was born [the rules are simple, how many freightcars can you partially or completely cover with urine without stopping. My best was 21- it was a fast moving train]. This was where my buddy Don and I spent countless hours discussing all matters of varying importance- ways to get booze, chix, drugs, and the designated hitter rule. This was where we moved a discarded couch onto the tracks and saw the hidden hydraulic arms on the front of the locomotive send the couch flying (and we got shot at with rock salt). It was a public road that never got used, and is sort of hidden within a private golf course. The golf course people weren't thrilled with us hanging out there and initially tried to hassle us out of there, but I've always been pig headed. Eventually they gave up since we never did anything to the golf course and would just offer us glaring looks as they went by.
In case you are wondering about the blue "X", I'll only say a gentleman never tells, and I won't either. Let's just say that the color is appropriate from a thermal point of view, and for further details you can inquire with Schmoopie
posted by Stucco at 3:13 PM
9 Comments:
To my amazement I remember this story and have nothing to closely compare sadly. I had a rather uneventful childhood and the worse I did growing up was sneak out, cut the wires of Christmas lights in the shape of a cross and erm... borrow a car or two.
My life was more aimed at cross country, biking and anywhere outdoors that had mountain like functionality. You however make my life complete knowing someone out there took the extra effort and did everything he could to make life fun.
Now I may guess that the blue x was not a location of a sexual nature, but rather an important spot of fond memories... that led to something of a sexual nature :)
hi Schmoopie :)
21 cars? Holy crap. I got 12 ounces. I know that for a fact. I am a one beer, one trip sort of guy, and that means 12 onces. How many cars will 12 ounces get?
What? Like three?
Four if I incorporate some pinching moves?
Who ya gonna tag, big fella?
I am from the city on the other missouri border. One thing both had in common was the means of conflict resolution.
I remember playing with trains too but we just put coins on the track. I didn't wan't to get shot in the pee pee with rock salt. Our tracks were littered with the empty shotgun shells.
Google Earth has instigated all kinds of reminiscing since I discovered it. Among other events, police raids in ‘76 and ‘78, a bad car crash in ’81, another event that ended a Friday evening with two broken arms and buildings that I erected during the construction years, several that evoked particularly unhappy visions of grief, so far, not a lot of good memories. As I consider myself an optimist, I guess it’s odd that I haven’t gotten around to pinpointing the happy times yet. I guess I’ll do that after I’m finished cuddling up in all of that warm, comfortable misery. ;-)
Excellent although, as a female, i'll never understand the peeing compulsion that men have.
You've reminded me of a story i must put in today's blog. Ta.
There seems to be an awful lot of pee in this post. I find it disturbing.
Hi J! Let me just say that when there is a good six inches of snow on the ground, it's good to be the one on top ;)
Hey, doof! You never told me what goes "poketa poketa poketa" and be damned if that doesn't rank very high in the final qualifying round for Strangest Non Sequitur Comment Ever Left On A Post.
This is just too original, you should be writing movie scripts. :-)
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