Unbeknownst to me this morning….
I tried to kill myself…
As most of you know dear followers, I am a truck driver; aka: Trucker, Big Rigger, Cargo Relocation Specialist, Official Counter of Interstate Hash Marks and Professional Tourist, and so on etc.,
I have a very weird schedule concerning eating, sleeping and hygiene.
I live and starve by my available hours of service or “drive time”.
I live by the clock. I AM the clock.
I can’t even begin to explain the scenarios I have experienced on a daily basis in relation to “The Clock”.
To make it quick: I sleep when I can…I eat when I can…and shower when I can.
And today was shower day.
I delivered my load of cottage cheese and sour cream this morning, after driving all night, in the outskirts of Chicago.
I had absolutely no available hours to drive with until after 5:30 pm today.
So I went to the Pilot Truck stop in Monee, Illinois and decided that I badly needed a shower. I was starting to be offensive to myself. Plus I needed a shave, since the last time I took a shower I had discovered that I was out of my high-dollar razor cartridges. I was already naked and didn’t feel like walking out to the store part and causing a stampede of women wanting to bare my children…
I’m not a piece of meat…I have feelings you know…?
I didn’t shave that time.
I bought a razor from the Pilot truck stop store before I went into the shower area this time. I was looking a little bit grizzly to say the least.
After I had spent the ritual 5 minutes in front of the mirror looking for bald spots, extra hair on my back, discolored blotches on my skin, and shit hanging off, I decided to get in the shower with my pink scrunchie and get scrubbin’!
I stood to the side of the shower head and turned on the water, then gradually adjusted it until it was just right. About the same temperature used to cook Ramen noodles I think.
I like coming out of the shower as pink as a babies bum, with just a twinge of apple red around the shoulders, ears, happy place and toes.
I like to squeak as I dry myself.
I now stood at the sink admiring this big sexy piece of man candy with pink man boobs in the mirror. I tore my gaze away from my reflection and opened up the GILETTE RAZOR (remember that name) and proceeded to cover my face with Edge shaving cream (I love that stuff).
I started shaving…”MMM MMMM HHHMMM mMMM” I hummed to myself as I separated the chaff from my countenance.
I was twisting my head and neck this way and that…making shaving faces to get at particularly treacherous spots…
Why women cry about shaving their legs and getting nicks means they’re a buncha cry babies and don’t know or appreciate how close to death we men are each time we shave. Sure…the femoral artery is in the leg, but if a woman cuts THAT while she’s shaving, then I suggest that you call the men in the white suits and tote her off to the booby hatch.
But we men are only about a 1/8 of an inch from eternal rest with each stroke of the razor.
One slip up….one shaking hand…one shave across the grain…
It’s “Psycho” all over again….the good one I mean.
I finished up and reached down to pick up the wash cloth from my bag. I turned on the hot water in the sink, soaking the rag and sterilizing my fingers.
I screamed like a girl, then cussed like a sailor.
It’s amazing…it doesn’t matter how old we get, we STILL haven’t learned TO NOT touch the hot shit!!
I waited for the 3rd degree burns on my fingers to heal.
I lifted the rag to wipe off the remnants of lather from my face when I noticed something odd.
Somehow…some way…Someone had entered the shower and tried to cut my throat.
There was blood everywhere!
There was blood on the left side of my neck, the right side, on the nape of my neck, and in my freaking left ear!
I didn’t even touch my left ear as far as I knew!
But it was bleeding like a stuck pig!
Someone had come into my shower area after circumventing the keypad entry lock, lifting the door lock clasp, opening the door, taken a pee…and then tried to cut my throat from ear to ear…
I looked around the shower room.
No one there…
I looked in the mirror again and saw that I had to stop the bleeding or I would go into shock.
I started ripping off little patches of toilet paper to staunch the flow of escaping cells and platelets.
I could not tear up patches fast enough to keep pace with all the fresh gaping wounds that spewed gore.
I thought to myself in a panic “What would MacGyver do?!”
It hit me like a flash!
“Quick!! Grab the after-shave and splash it on your face and neck!” I thought…
Wait…this gets even more better…”It’ll cause the blood to clot”…I thought again.
Apparently blood doesn’t clot when you’re screaming…
It’s amazing I’ve lived THIS long…
I grabbed an extra roll of toilet paper from below the sink and started wrapping it around my neck like an Ace bandage.
I looked like a priest.
….Wearing a Duck Dynasty tee-shirt and a Mickey Mouse watch.
After I was satisfied that I had applied enough bandaging and realized that I didn’t really need to breathe that much, I came to the conclusion that I was alone in the shower room and that no one had tried to kill me.
But…what if it was me that had tried to cut my own throat?
The thought chilled me to my soul.
What if…unconsciously…I had tried to kill the big sexy man in the mirror?
Was it jealousy?
Was it an old grudge?
I speed dialed Sherlock Holmes….he was out of reach in the Baskervilles.
I speed dialed Charlie Chan…he was on the Orient Express, out of cell range.
I speed dialed Angelina Jolie…she told me she was tired of me calling her all the time and just breathing on the phone….
I speed dialed Freud….he said I was crazier than hell
I was upset by the fact that I had tried to kill myself without my permission….
The gall of some people…
I laughed at myself after a while of introspection and realized there was no way I would ever kill myself.
I love me too much.
One piece of advice though before I wrap this up:
Never ever shave with a $1.69 Gillette Sensor Disposable razor from a truck stop.
A $300 dollar box of 4 razor cartridges is well worth the money…and your life.
And oh….girls…? Quit crying every time you get a little boo boo when you shave your legs.
Act like you gotta pair for hell’s sakes!