Tuesday, November 01, 2011


My new roommate is a big biker guy named Buckshot. He’s not exactly big though, he just seems big. Guys with goatee’s always look bigger than they really are. Buckshot stands abou 5’4” and weighs at least 140, but I swear he seems like a 6 footer. He drives a big Harley chopper, all decked out with death insignia, and tops it all off with one of those biker helmets with spikes all over the top, with a matching leather bracelet and vest.
Buckshot has a really nice house. Its two stories, with a hot tub and swimming pool. We each have our very own Bathroom. Buckshot operates a big crane for a living. I didn't know big crane operators did so well, but having 5 years clean and sober don't hurt.

There are tile floors, and wood floors, and chandeliers and leaded glass doors. Built in stainless steel appliances, vaulted ceilings with the crown molding and little ledges everywhere for decorating. There is a gas fireplace with fake wood in it.

Buckshot has a real flair for decorating. Every room looks like a “Rooms to Go” room. I swear there is not a single personal knick-knack anywhere. There are carved Indian heads, and antique looking glass bottles; wooden bowls with carved fruit and generic artwork on the walls; he even has electric candles perched high up in his vaulted ceiling that he turns on with a little remote. He says he wants to get more of those, that they really help with his serenity. That’s important for a 5’4” biker guy with a goatee. It’s important for everyone I guess.

I come home in the evening and sometimes he has moved some things around a little, like the three telescoping tables that are too small to sit at and too big to use as kindling, and he will ask me how it looks and I say that it looks really nice. Or maybe he has moved the tray with the marbles and candle to where the Afrikaner Straw Lamp was, and changed out the Maltese Cross bookends that have 3 books between them.

But there is not so much as a rock he found when he was a kid, or a little piece of driftwood collected from his trip to Sturgis, or an old catcher’s mitt or broken top to a gumball machine laying around for guests to look at and wonder about.

On his sofa there are 3 pillows, “Decorator Pillows” I have learned is what they call them, and they are tastefully arranged on the sofa, and every time you get up from the sofa you have to re-arrange the pillows back to the way they were. The one with the Sequins goes on top, and I have learned you do not want to fall asleep with your face on the sequined pillow.

I’ve reported on this blog many times about what a slob I am and how challenging housekeeping can be for me. I think it is good for me to live for a while with a tough looking neat-nik of a biker dude for a while.

Last week I said "Goodnight Buckshot" and went upstairs to my room. I had left my cell phone on the coffee table. A few minutes later Buckshot was knocking at my door.
“You left your phone downstairs “ he said.
“That’s OK” I hollered through the door “I’ll get it in the morning.”
“I’’ve got it right here “ he says.
I open the door and he is smiling in his bathrobe and hands me my phone.
As I closed the door it occurred to me that the reason he brought me my phone was not because he thought I might need it as I slept, but simply because it does not belong on the coffee table.


AnitaNH said...

Ha! I like that: "tables that are too small to sit at and too big to use as kindling." Wonderful line!

Martijn said...

A story almost too good to be true! Wow, Steve, what an adventure. Buckshot sounds like a great roommate for you, I think. Of course I can't get the Laurel & Hardy connotation of Colonel Buckshot out of my head... ha ha ha.

Damn, what a good story! Hey Steve, you are doing well!

soubriquet said...

I'm laughing here.
Where to start?
I've always had questions about big crane drivers. i'm thinking here of those tower cranes, where the guy's about a hundred feet up. Clean and sober? I'd hope so. the alternative is a bit scary.
Main question? What do they do all day? When there's no load to lift, do they learn sanskrit? do they knit? swleep? read?
And then, after the morning's climb, I assume they stay up there, self sufficient, coffee and sandwiches... but then? The portapotty's a long way off, in distance and time.
I just think maybe you don't want to stand too near the bottom of a crane if it's dark, or foggy, or raining.
And you don't want to ask what's in the backpack he brings down at the end of the day.

The other thing is that description of the house. Like a show house nobody inhabits.
I have stuff. Tons of unneccessary crap I can't throw away.
Ten minutes of me being there, and he'd be out digging me a shallow grave.
I can't do tidy. I just can't. There's a thing... in my head, tidy makes me panic. I need mess.

I love this guy, he's such a contradiction of the tough guy harley biker image. electric candles.
Bless him.

bulletholes said...

Thanks ya'll for stopping by! If I can snag a picture iof him I will. He's a great fellow. When I met him 4 years ago he had had an accident...fell 20 feet from his crane Souby, and landed with a piece rebar sticlking out his chest.

red dirt girl said...