Long Island Railroad Rest & Relaxation
The unsolicited old school advice keeps rolling as we wait for the 5:33am train into the city
Twenty-fourth in a series of conversations I had with Tom da Lung Eyelund Carpenta on the train platform before our early morning commute…
“Seems da ting I’m lookin forward to da most when I get on da train in da mornin, is gettin off da train in da evenin. I usta like workin, but not no more. Why, youse aks? Good kwestshin. Guess what? I got a good answer.
I seen lazy fools who suck, stayin on gigs foreva fucken shit up, alongside masta craftsmen who work deir balls off, only ta get da fucken axe fore dey even get started.
I also seen ridicklous construckshins burn tru millions a govermint coin, an take tree times longa den dey promised, alongside perfect designs wid byooteeful handiwork, dat den get da plug pulled halfway ta compleeshin on account a losin private equity funds.
But who, me worry? Dey seem ta always call me back fer anodder round a fun, eider over by here, or over by dere. ‘Let’s get Tom! Dat mofo chews wid his mout closed, laughs at our jokes, an doesn’t harass da help.’ Lucky me.
I defnitely need a famly vacayshin, dough. When we go, we go large — but not accordin to da wife, who tinks drivin ta Florda an seein Mickey, Minnie, an Goofy in Disneylan is no big deal, until I remind her wid a quick looksee at da bank statemint.
Den she brings out her missus kung fu, insists we go ta upstate New Yawk visitin her batshit crazy relatives. Lord have mercy, instead take me out ta pasteurization like a rabid zoo animal dat gets loose in da neighborhood, sniffin da garbige while tryin ta fuck a coyote.
As an alterntive, she talks bout goin ta Nova Scotia wid all dem lakes an ponds an beached whales and bullshit. What da hell does she want, tourin a goddamn Scottish castle wid Liam Neeson? ‘Sure, I can tell ya if I’m a Mason — but den I’ll haveta kill ya.’ Get da fuck outta here!
We went ta Mexico once, a resort wid free pinya colitis. Dey even had a kid place where youse could drop off da brood all day long, so youse could go back ta da hotel room an unsuccessfully try ta grope da missus. If dat didn’t work, youse could instead get a melanoma on da shore or get wiped out by a tsunami, whichever comes first.
Great idea! At first I was like ‘Who wants ta do all dat widdout da kids, it’s a famly vacayshin after all?’ until I quickly realized dat we was happier and so were da kids when we left da snivelin spoiled rottin brats behind, let dem Jamaican nannies who’re more qualified anyway take ova.
But was she happy? Did eighty-degrees an a cool breeze an zero stress an no children please her fer four fucken seconds? Hellllll, no, Son. We might as well have been kidnapped by commie cocaine terrorists, an held for fitty cent ransom, which by da way my cheap-ass brodder-in-law would neva pay for all it would be wort.
Meanwhile, surprise surprise, it’s Tuesday in da Big City, Son, just like last week only worserer. Here’s our five-turdy-tree train, give or take a few minites, which our employas will gladly take.
Bring it! Begin da shift wid a yawn, an end it wid a wank, ready to fight anodder day.
God bless Amerca!”
Yet more Tom to enjoy…
