True Story©... Hiatus

 

    “So where was he?” you ask…
The short answer would be “away for two weeks,” but the full picture is much MUCH deeper.

    Part of me wants to just up and tell you “look, I lost track of what day it was week before last and landed myself in the ER last week and got thrown off,” but where would be the fun in that?
Let’s go back, way back into time to the distant time coordinates of Monday August 19… I had a doctor’s appointment that morning and, after noticing that I have a TON of unused leave time at work, decided to take the whole day off instead of just the couple of hours to cover my appointment/lab time. My visit goes fine and I swing by the lab to have my blood drawn on the way back to the house to cut my front yard. As I have made some adjustments to my mower which anyone connected to me on BookFace has seen, I double-cut the yard so it took me 30 minutes instead of 13. Still no biggie.

    What happened next is the beginning of my problems… I finish the lawn, come in and make some lunch and let the dogs out. While waiting on my food to finish heating, the phone rings from a 702 area code…

Me: “Wasn’t our last interaction enough?”

Caller: “Good afternoon to you too, sweetheart.”

Me: “Let’s hear it, whatcha got for me this time.”

Caller: “Getting the band back together.”

Me: “You know I’ve lost another 15 pounds since we spoke in January, right?”

Caller: “Work with me here.”

Me: “I’m listening.”

Caller: “So while the whole ‘fat’ thing is no longer your area–…”

Me: “… PLUS SIZED!!!”

Caller: “Let me finish. While the whole ‘plus sized’ thing is no longer, well not technically your thing anymore, there still remains a market for just-over-thin-sized models out here nowadays.”

Me: “This is not endearing in the least.”

Caller: “Well…”

Me: “… but it is funny, so continue.”

Caller: “Okay, so while you’re no longer what anyone who sees you would call ‘obese’ can you concede that at, what, 190–…”

Me: “193.4, thank you.”

Caller: “… that at 193.4 pounds, you’re still not a small guy?”

Me: “Sure.”

Caller: “One might even say, th–…”

Me: “Choose your words wisely.”

Caller: “Stick with me here, I got something.”

Me: “Begrudgingly… continue.”

Caller: “THICC BOIS!!!”

Me: “What?”

Caller: “Look, we had the idea last time and now that you’re legitimately just a lil thick and not necessarily fat, we got something.”

Me: “No sale.”

Caller: “C’mon, man! The plus sized male revue was always your idea and we can’t let it go on without the original Thicc Boi!”

Me: “What the fuck, hol’on a second man, my Luck Dragon done got out again.”

Caller: “Luck Dragon, like in The Neverending–…”

Me: “FALKOR, GET BACK IN HERE!”

Caller: “What is going on here?”

Me: “Hold on, I’ll be right back!”

    And with that, I hung up the phone. Not to let you in on things you don’t already know about me, but I do not have a Luck Dragon. Honestly, if Wife Person™ hadn’t named Yeti before we met him and if I knew he would get as big as he has gotten, I might have named him Falkor but that is neither here nor there. Right now, I got some shit to do.

    I got in the car and drove over to the airport and emptied my bank account on the first flight I could get on to Vegas. I didn’t tell Wife Person™ for reasons that will be more apparent shortly. I touched down at McCarran Harry Reid airport and summoned a Lyft to the hotel. Bear in mind, I have traveled with zero bags, only my phone and my charger.
I walked right past the check-in straight to the offices, found the entertainment manager sitting at his desk…

Manager: “Oh, you’ve decided to come on out! You should have told me you were coming, I would have arranged a car for you.”

Me: “Well…”

Manager: “And will the wife be joining you this tri–…”

Me: “… I told you, in no uncertain terms, that if you ever called me ‘Thicc Boi’ ever again, I was gon’ fuck you up.”

Manager: “wait…”

There was no waiting. By the time he had gotten that one word out of his mouth, I had grabbed one of the chairs from the corner of his office and thrown it at him. He feebly attempted to block it, but my throwing the chair was never about landing the blow. I was RIGHT behind that chair and in that moment where he took his eyes off of me for the chair, I was on him. Punching and kicking with the fury of a man teaching a promised lesson, until hotel security dragged me off of him and outside to a pair of waiting Las Vegas police officers who cuffed me and stuck me in the back of a cruiser.

Two problems are in play, here…
1 - I cleared my bank account paying for plane tickets out to Vegas
and…
2 - I can’t call my wife, because then I gotta explain why the fuck I am in Las Vegas without her. I was supposed to beat this guy’s ass and get back home in time to give an alternative explanation as to why I was away.
Combining the two things above, I am kinda stuck in Vegas until I can see a judge and am then beholden to what happens with said judge as far as how I am punished. Worst of it all is that I cannot afford bail to even attempt to escape, even if it wouldn’t be damn near impossible to fly home with those charges pending.

    So in jail I waited this whole-ass time. Now at home, you do about 48 hours to cool down on a simple assault before the judge WILL see you. In Vegas, there is enough up-fucking for the volume of cases to serve that if it is only 48 hours before a judge CAN see you then you got lucky.
So I sat.
… and sat…
And dammit SAT!!!

    After over a week and a half, I was finally called before the judge and told that the manager from the hotel had called and pleaded with them not to press charges and offering to pay any of the necessary fines. Having the co-sign of someone who apparently has some sway and that person also being the one I assaulted was enough for the judge to have some leniency and let me walk free.

    One problem…
Now I done missed my return flight AND fucked up my money. I don’t know that I want to face Wife Person™ behind this extracurricular fuckery either, but that is a tale for another time. Walking out fo the courthouse, there was a limousine with the driver AND that manager standing next to it.

Me: “I don’t know whether to apologize or thank you first.”

Manager: “Then I will apologize, that was all on me.”

Me: “Hm?”

Manager: “You told me and I should have known better, but I thought I was being funny.”

Me: “Wow.”

Manager: “Talked to your wife and she talked to your manager, so you will still be married and have a job when you get home.”

Me: “How the fuck I’mma get home?”

Manager: “Delta.”

Me: “What?”

Manager: “We’re here.”

I looked up and realized we were back at the airport.

Me: “But…”

Manager: “It’s handled. Just get home safely.”

    So where have I been the last couple of weeks? I was in jail in Las Vegas.
On top of that, I very apparently now owe someone who has some considerable sway and connections a favor as well and I don’t know if that is a good or a bad thing.

I would also LOVE to know exactly what words he said in what order to smooth this over with Wife Person™ to allow me to continue to not be murdered and buried under a single-wide trailer.