March of the Convicts

For the majority of you that have never met me, I have an enormous tattoo of an eerie jail scene covering my entire back. From one shoulder to the next it reads, “Only The Strong Survive” which unfortunately – for the better part of my prison existence – was my creed and I lived it to the fullest. Needless to say I didn’t wait in many phone lines.

Now I’m much older, and after having a revelation in which I vowed to live more humbly, I patiently. That includes even  in the dead of winter when the temperature routinely drops into the minus digits in these mountains.

I stand there and do the pee-pee dance without needing to shed a drop. My beard – which I grow out for just this reason freezes like an arctic explorer’s. By the time I get on the fucking phone, I’m actually pissed off someone cares enough to be waiting for my call, As if no one cared, frostbite wouldn’t be setting into my extremities. Here is where my patience gets tested – while I wait my turn (hopefully next to someone I can have a decent frozen conversation with) without fail, there are always several idiots that didn’t have an epiphany and decide to cut the line.

To make matters worse, as if to test my humility, I could smash these people’s skulls and not even be winded when I was finished. This would give me ample time to make a call before they came to take me away. So, when it happens, I look away to give my pride a chance to reboot and just pretend it never happened.