Today we had 3 workers - Dave, myself and worker #3. My quickie from earlier sets the scene for the morning as we head to Eastie for a day of digging bounds. The bound we were going to dig today was in an old railroad bed and there was a large fuel line nearby so the company wanted to be present. It turns out that the fuel line runs right below this bound and is probably no more than 3.5' below grade and Dave was not pleased. I fully expected him to dig and set the bound anyway despite the danger and liability. Surprisingly, he didn't force the issue and we proceeded to move the tools and the 235lb (worker #3 calculated the weight today and it's more than the estimated weight) granite bound up the steep embankment. Dave was pissed that we had to call this guy Mark and he wasted our time.
Dave: What the fuck? We just wasted half the day waiting for this guy and we can't set it. Gotta call Mark The Homo!
Me: Mark DiHomo? Is that spelled with a d-i or a d-e?
Dave: D-I for DICK!!!!!
Some time later after scrambling for new work that justifies a 3-man crew I had to make a U-turn by going around the block. On this trip, Dave was doing his usual oral recitations of signs we pass.
Dave: Frank..fort.. Street. Hot dog. We're on Hot Dog Street, ha ha ha. Hot Dog Street.................................. For... Rent... Hey, Sniffa you could move there.
Worker #3: If you lived here you'd be home by now.
Me: Ha, but Dave would hate me. Right?
Me: And why would you hate me?
Editor's Note: Dave has been complaining almost daily for the last month as we worked in this area that the place makes him sick and gives him a headache.
Dave: Because of the homo's. This place is full of them.
Editor's Note: East Boston is not known for its gay population. It's rather miniscule actually.
Me: Ok, um, why do think this place is full of homo's?
Dave: Because of the parks. There's one right there, and the one next to it and the one up the street. It's where the pickle smoochers like to go.
Me: What!? Ok, please feel free to explain.
Dave: It's where the pickle smoochers like to go. They like to go to parks and smooch each others pickles. Pickle smoochers.
Me: Oh dear!
Dave: I'm not kidding! one time I was heading back from Maine from a party - and I was all fucked up - and I pulled into a rest stop to take a nap. No lie I woke up and there was this dude knocking on my window. He wanted to suck my dick. I tolk him, "If I wasn't so tired I'd made you look not human you fucking queer!" He walked away all like, "I love you."
Me: *gasp* Oh, wow!
During the above exchange I began texting my wife (practice for Twitter) a string of words so I'd have a memory jogger on what Dave said/did today. Once I finished sending it the following conversation took place:
We were discussing our boss' new habit of wearing and using a blue-tooth and I mentioned how I always think that people talking on them are raving lunatics because their ear piece never seems to be facing me.
Dave: Yeah the other day this big, fat broad was wearing one in Home Depot and she said to me, "I'm not talking to myself, but I am lonely." I told her I'd ,"take her back into the changing room and show her what I'm made of. I'll fuck every fat fucking crack on you."
Me: *starts a new text*