That summer between my sophomore and junior year I worked with my dad
and my friend Jordan was looking for a job so he was also working
with my dad and I. We rode to jobs in a truck with a crudely drawn
picture of an elk on the door which we called the Elk Truck. You
know? Because of the picture of the Elk. Our typical say would start
with me going to pick up Jordan at his house across town in the truck
that had no radio, heater or air conditioner. I would get to his
house and he would not be ready or even be out of bed most days. I
would have to roust him out and then wait for him to get dressed and
then diddle-doodle around getting breakfast. When we finally hit the
road thirty to forty-five minutes later I was stressed because we
were late and my dad was going to yell at me. In these pre-cellphone
days everyone had to make a plan and stick to it or else all was
lost. A miss communication could cost us a days work as we would
never be at the right place at the right time. So when I spent the
morning trying to get Jordan to wok my dad would be at the job
fidgeting himself to a ever increasing level of frustration rage.
When we got there my dad would yell at me, not Jordan, about being
late. I would apologize and explain that I was ready on time but I
had to spend an hour or so getting the help on board. He would just
keep complaining and fussing about our lost time. We would work on
through the day and then head home and go rock climbing up the canyon
by Jordan's house. Then the next morning I would go and try to get
Jordan back out of bed. Wash, rinse and repeat – all summer long.
