frankiechocolate
Member
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2008
- Messages
- 60
Manna © 2009 Frankie Chocolate
(For all the hard working boys n girls on Mikey’s Board)
The room lay before him like a 12,000 square foot blue-lined monster. An old steel fabrication shop converted into a gym and balancing beam studio. A jib crane still stood against one wall and in the corner an overhead crane rested half purple, half original yellow. They ran out of paint. On the floor were pits filled with foam chunks, trampolines, launch boards, balancing beams, high and low bars and 12,000 square feet of blue covered foam flooring.
The powerful overhead exhaust system, and state of the art air conditioning were running full bore. The overhead dock door and side doors were wide open. A four-foot tall gleaming steel fan ran on high. And still the gym stank. Too many sweaty little bodies and not enough world rocking deep cleaning. The owner would regularly wash everything down with simple green. It was like trying to take out an elephant with a popgun. The bacteria just laughed and ordered another round for all twelve gazillion of his friends.
The owner had a collection of ancient vacuums. Some broken, many clogged with white chalk powered and useless. Turn them on and they spewed more dust than they collected. Frankie Chocolate surveyed the whole mess and breathed a silent prayer.
Give away Frankie was, like many contractors caught between too many bills and not enough income. He needed this job and he needed it bad. He had monster truck envy. He’d go on line to the various carpet cleaning chat rooms and read about cleaners with monster trucks capable of sucking up small goats and boulders. They’d talk about their two wand systems, hurricane blowers and their freshwater tanks the size of Lake Michigan and how once they got cranked up they could do a bazillion square feet an hour and it was dry to touch in under six seconds. They had names like Man Breaker 4000 and Suck Crusher 8500.
Frankie ran a Wussy Man 250, having traded up from his Limp Noodle 100 portable.
Maybe someday Frankie could step up to a man’s man cleaning machine. But at close to 100 grand a pop, probably not today or anytime soon.
Looking at the beast before him he realized he shoulda brought two things. A second vacuum and his Ipod. Nate, his grunt had already strapped on his headphones, was vacuuming and was blissfully lost in Nirvanna or some other grunge band.
Maybe if he went in hard and poured it on fast he could burn through the job before he collapsed. He went to the truck. Ate a half a peanut butter sandwich, had a power goo. Washed it down with a Gatorade and a diet coke. He deeply regretted not bringing his Ipod but there was nothing he could do about so he went to the truck to mix up his prespray. Some of this, a touch of that, an oxygen booster and some orange oil for stink-um, some “Cides” to kill the bad guys and he was ready to rock and roll.
He presprayed a large chunk of the blue matting near the overhead door and brought out his titanium six banger. His bud Larry had sold him an almost new six-jet lightweight S shaped wand with a two-inch vacuum hose. If he drove a piece of crap machine at least he had a big boy wand. He’d put extender and check valves on the jet and it cleaned like a dream, it’s 13.5 inch cleaning path gobbled up the floor. Next job he’d install Teflon glides for smoother sailing but for now this would do nicely.
The sugar and caffeine kicked in so Frankie lifted his wand launched into an acappella rendering of the Dixie Chick’s version of, “Stand by your man.” Dogs howled, skunks gritted their teeth under porches and Frankie waded into the fray.
The idea of going in hard turned out to be a good one—as far as it went. Twelve hours and a half hour, two pizzas, a six pack of pop, and many bottles of water later he and the grunt were dead on their feet, done for, done in and finally done!
The smell was gone, the floor coverings were bright and clean and fresh. Call the Pope. We need a canonization here. The loaded up the blowers and equipment and cashed it in for the day. Thank God the gym owner had popped for the extra sanitation and mat cleaning charge. He duked his grunt Nate an extra fifty bucks, dragged himself through the shower and collapsed on the bed next to Mabel, his sweetheart.
“How was it baby?” she asked sweetly.
“It was death warmed over.”
“Poor baby, want mama to make it feel better?”
“No, daddy wants four advil, two tums and eight hours of collapsing.”
“Just the Tums. You just had Nyquil. No Advil. Frankie you must be dead. You never say no.”
“First time for everything sweetie. Night.”
She kissed her man and he fell into a restless Nyquil induced coma where he cleaned the entire gym again. He woke up more tired than when he went to bed.
He felt like death on a bad day till he had four liquid gels, a cup of double strength tea with soymilk and some cold pizza from the night before. He dragged his cripple stiff arm around to his backside, wormed out his wallet, dug out the check for the job and flopped it on the table in front of Mabel. It had been hell but it was a decent sized check.
“Oh Frankie this is wonderful. We’re behind on everything and have almost no groceries. This is great. You are the man. You are my man.” She leaned across the table and kissed him right on the smacker.
Later she had deposited the check and started paying bills. God came first, then a piece for the mortgage, the dentist, the car repair, groceries etc. When she got done there was three bucks left.
“Good news honey. We paid down a lot of bills and we got three bucks left.”
“What?”
“What about for savings? Did we put anything away for savings?”
“I’m sorry babe but there just wasn’t any left for savings. Some of our vendors we were really behind on. They’ve been good to us and you don’t want to crap where you eat.”
“Babe Nate and I killed ourselves and all’s we got to show is $3.00?”
“Actually, Nate did better than us. He got his hourly which is decent, he got a fifty dollar bonus and he has none of the bills. I think he came out further ahead than we did.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Come on baby…”
“No. No. No. It ain’t right. Why should I have to bust my hump pouring my life out on some crummy gym and get three bucks to show for it?”
“Baby we were behind. That check helped us get caught up big time. Things will get better.”
“Yeah, when hell freezes over. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of driving that stupid weak-kneed truckmount when other guys are driving ball busters. I’m sick of working like a dog for nothing. What’s the point?”
“The point is be grateful for what you got Francis Chocolate. We don’t have much but what we got is ours. We got a roof over our head. We got food and we got friends, we got each other and we got God. That’s a lot more than a lot of folks got.”
“If God is so good how come he don’t bless us more? He could give us good jobs and we could be rolling in it. Other people are. What’s wrong with us? Hey God, it’s Frankie and Mabel down here. Did you forget us? You feed 5,000 with just some loaves and fishes. How about sending us some Manna cuz we sure could use some.”
Mabel was quite for a while. She sat in the den and drank a cup of coffee while Frankie paced and schemed in the kitchen. When he cooled down he grabbed a Diet Coke and sat down across from her in his beat up Lazy Bowl recliner. Quietly Mabel spoke. “You know Frankie. I think maybe God heard your prayer.”
“I think the neighbors heard my prayer.”
“No I mean it. I was sitting here reading the bible and God showed me something.
“What’d he show you?”
“He showed me about Manna. Remember you were shouting about him to send us manna?”
“I was not shouting.”
“You were shouting. God showed me that he fed the children of Israel manna every day. They had to go out and gather it each day and he’d provide for them. They only got what they needed each day.”
“What if someone wanted to store up a little manna for the week end or sock away a little manna for their old age?”
“See here’s the thing. They needed to trust him to provide for them each and every day. Every day they spend time with him, thanked him and went out to see what he’d provided. I think if he’d given them tons of manna they might have forgotten who provided for it. Who needs God when you got a barn full of manna?”
Frankie answered, “Maybe some people might but I wouldn’t forget God. I could tell him, ‘Hey God, let’s do a new thing. Instead of you making me poor so I trust you to provide my needs how about if you make me stinkin rich, just screaming with money and see if I don’t stay my own sweet lovable self.’ Now that’s what I’m talking about. He could use me as an example to others. See Frankie down there. He’s stinkin rich and he’s a humble nice guy.”
“Gee what an original thought. I’ll bet in all the years God’s been around he’s never gotten a prayer like that. I’ll bet he’s got a couple of strong angels loading up sacks of greenbacks winging their way to our front door right now.”
“You really think so Mabel?” He asked incredulously.
“No. I don’t. Now go cut the grass. When you’re done we can walk to Dairy Queen and split a medium cone.”
She pecked him on the cheek and he pinched her playfully on the bum as she walked past.
Frankie put on his earphones and IPod and walked to the garage. But as he walked past the front door, he opened it a crack and looked out. Just in case.
The end.
(For all the hard working boys n girls on Mikey’s Board)
The room lay before him like a 12,000 square foot blue-lined monster. An old steel fabrication shop converted into a gym and balancing beam studio. A jib crane still stood against one wall and in the corner an overhead crane rested half purple, half original yellow. They ran out of paint. On the floor were pits filled with foam chunks, trampolines, launch boards, balancing beams, high and low bars and 12,000 square feet of blue covered foam flooring.
The powerful overhead exhaust system, and state of the art air conditioning were running full bore. The overhead dock door and side doors were wide open. A four-foot tall gleaming steel fan ran on high. And still the gym stank. Too many sweaty little bodies and not enough world rocking deep cleaning. The owner would regularly wash everything down with simple green. It was like trying to take out an elephant with a popgun. The bacteria just laughed and ordered another round for all twelve gazillion of his friends.
The owner had a collection of ancient vacuums. Some broken, many clogged with white chalk powered and useless. Turn them on and they spewed more dust than they collected. Frankie Chocolate surveyed the whole mess and breathed a silent prayer.
Give away Frankie was, like many contractors caught between too many bills and not enough income. He needed this job and he needed it bad. He had monster truck envy. He’d go on line to the various carpet cleaning chat rooms and read about cleaners with monster trucks capable of sucking up small goats and boulders. They’d talk about their two wand systems, hurricane blowers and their freshwater tanks the size of Lake Michigan and how once they got cranked up they could do a bazillion square feet an hour and it was dry to touch in under six seconds. They had names like Man Breaker 4000 and Suck Crusher 8500.
Frankie ran a Wussy Man 250, having traded up from his Limp Noodle 100 portable.
Maybe someday Frankie could step up to a man’s man cleaning machine. But at close to 100 grand a pop, probably not today or anytime soon.
Looking at the beast before him he realized he shoulda brought two things. A second vacuum and his Ipod. Nate, his grunt had already strapped on his headphones, was vacuuming and was blissfully lost in Nirvanna or some other grunge band.
Maybe if he went in hard and poured it on fast he could burn through the job before he collapsed. He went to the truck. Ate a half a peanut butter sandwich, had a power goo. Washed it down with a Gatorade and a diet coke. He deeply regretted not bringing his Ipod but there was nothing he could do about so he went to the truck to mix up his prespray. Some of this, a touch of that, an oxygen booster and some orange oil for stink-um, some “Cides” to kill the bad guys and he was ready to rock and roll.
He presprayed a large chunk of the blue matting near the overhead door and brought out his titanium six banger. His bud Larry had sold him an almost new six-jet lightweight S shaped wand with a two-inch vacuum hose. If he drove a piece of crap machine at least he had a big boy wand. He’d put extender and check valves on the jet and it cleaned like a dream, it’s 13.5 inch cleaning path gobbled up the floor. Next job he’d install Teflon glides for smoother sailing but for now this would do nicely.
The sugar and caffeine kicked in so Frankie lifted his wand launched into an acappella rendering of the Dixie Chick’s version of, “Stand by your man.” Dogs howled, skunks gritted their teeth under porches and Frankie waded into the fray.
The idea of going in hard turned out to be a good one—as far as it went. Twelve hours and a half hour, two pizzas, a six pack of pop, and many bottles of water later he and the grunt were dead on their feet, done for, done in and finally done!
The smell was gone, the floor coverings were bright and clean and fresh. Call the Pope. We need a canonization here. The loaded up the blowers and equipment and cashed it in for the day. Thank God the gym owner had popped for the extra sanitation and mat cleaning charge. He duked his grunt Nate an extra fifty bucks, dragged himself through the shower and collapsed on the bed next to Mabel, his sweetheart.
“How was it baby?” she asked sweetly.
“It was death warmed over.”
“Poor baby, want mama to make it feel better?”
“No, daddy wants four advil, two tums and eight hours of collapsing.”
“Just the Tums. You just had Nyquil. No Advil. Frankie you must be dead. You never say no.”
“First time for everything sweetie. Night.”
She kissed her man and he fell into a restless Nyquil induced coma where he cleaned the entire gym again. He woke up more tired than when he went to bed.
He felt like death on a bad day till he had four liquid gels, a cup of double strength tea with soymilk and some cold pizza from the night before. He dragged his cripple stiff arm around to his backside, wormed out his wallet, dug out the check for the job and flopped it on the table in front of Mabel. It had been hell but it was a decent sized check.
“Oh Frankie this is wonderful. We’re behind on everything and have almost no groceries. This is great. You are the man. You are my man.” She leaned across the table and kissed him right on the smacker.
Later she had deposited the check and started paying bills. God came first, then a piece for the mortgage, the dentist, the car repair, groceries etc. When she got done there was three bucks left.
“Good news honey. We paid down a lot of bills and we got three bucks left.”
“What?”
“What about for savings? Did we put anything away for savings?”
“I’m sorry babe but there just wasn’t any left for savings. Some of our vendors we were really behind on. They’ve been good to us and you don’t want to crap where you eat.”
“Babe Nate and I killed ourselves and all’s we got to show is $3.00?”
“Actually, Nate did better than us. He got his hourly which is decent, he got a fifty dollar bonus and he has none of the bills. I think he came out further ahead than we did.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Come on baby…”
“No. No. No. It ain’t right. Why should I have to bust my hump pouring my life out on some crummy gym and get three bucks to show for it?”
“Baby we were behind. That check helped us get caught up big time. Things will get better.”
“Yeah, when hell freezes over. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of driving that stupid weak-kneed truckmount when other guys are driving ball busters. I’m sick of working like a dog for nothing. What’s the point?”
“The point is be grateful for what you got Francis Chocolate. We don’t have much but what we got is ours. We got a roof over our head. We got food and we got friends, we got each other and we got God. That’s a lot more than a lot of folks got.”
“If God is so good how come he don’t bless us more? He could give us good jobs and we could be rolling in it. Other people are. What’s wrong with us? Hey God, it’s Frankie and Mabel down here. Did you forget us? You feed 5,000 with just some loaves and fishes. How about sending us some Manna cuz we sure could use some.”
Mabel was quite for a while. She sat in the den and drank a cup of coffee while Frankie paced and schemed in the kitchen. When he cooled down he grabbed a Diet Coke and sat down across from her in his beat up Lazy Bowl recliner. Quietly Mabel spoke. “You know Frankie. I think maybe God heard your prayer.”
“I think the neighbors heard my prayer.”
“No I mean it. I was sitting here reading the bible and God showed me something.
“What’d he show you?”
“He showed me about Manna. Remember you were shouting about him to send us manna?”
“I was not shouting.”
“You were shouting. God showed me that he fed the children of Israel manna every day. They had to go out and gather it each day and he’d provide for them. They only got what they needed each day.”
“What if someone wanted to store up a little manna for the week end or sock away a little manna for their old age?”
“See here’s the thing. They needed to trust him to provide for them each and every day. Every day they spend time with him, thanked him and went out to see what he’d provided. I think if he’d given them tons of manna they might have forgotten who provided for it. Who needs God when you got a barn full of manna?”
Frankie answered, “Maybe some people might but I wouldn’t forget God. I could tell him, ‘Hey God, let’s do a new thing. Instead of you making me poor so I trust you to provide my needs how about if you make me stinkin rich, just screaming with money and see if I don’t stay my own sweet lovable self.’ Now that’s what I’m talking about. He could use me as an example to others. See Frankie down there. He’s stinkin rich and he’s a humble nice guy.”
“Gee what an original thought. I’ll bet in all the years God’s been around he’s never gotten a prayer like that. I’ll bet he’s got a couple of strong angels loading up sacks of greenbacks winging their way to our front door right now.”
“You really think so Mabel?” He asked incredulously.
“No. I don’t. Now go cut the grass. When you’re done we can walk to Dairy Queen and split a medium cone.”
She pecked him on the cheek and he pinched her playfully on the bum as she walked past.
Frankie put on his earphones and IPod and walked to the garage. But as he walked past the front door, he opened it a crack and looked out. Just in case.
The end.
