Troll’s Hole

I flew to Denver this weekend for a company event.

I don’t mind doing these things. They usually are fun and you get to see people that you have worked with before and tell tales about this former co-worker or that former co-worker. You get to watch others schmooze the bosses and get brown stinky stuff all over their faces. You usually get to eat for free.

I have one problem with these trips that comes up each time.

I do not like the TSA.

I appreciate their function and intent, but I hate the fact that every power hungry ineffectual asshole in the world works there. It is a veritable magnet for spineless twits that have a need to push other people around.

One of their overzealous people pushers pointed out to me that my deodorant would ‘cause problems’. I had a choice at this point; to say what I was thinking, or say something that would not result in a strip search and anal cavity probe. I chose the latter. I told the twit that he could throw it away.

I was pissed at him because the man next to me had the same container with even more product in it, but the TSA monkey said nothing to him. It also did not help that the container when full was less than 3 ounces, but he clearly did not know or care about his own rules and chose to pick on me.

I think it is clearly Troll Discrimination.

We Trolls need our deodorant to pass in polite society, and I feel that this asshole sensed that I am a Troll and deprived me of my personal deodorant in order to make life hard for me. I feel that he is a racist and that he took it upon himself to cause me emotional harm in order for him to feel superior.

If there were justice in this society I would sue the TSA.

I will not do that because I would end up on some list somewhere that makes it impossible for me to board a plane without a strip search and an enema, or find out that my driver’s license is suspended because it was also issued to a retarded pedophile in West Virginia.

They have the power.

Someday I hope that they learn the difference between power and responsibility.

I did, in fact, have to take time off of work to drive to Albuquerque to retrieve Mrs. Troll’s keys from the hands of the authorities.

I only took off about half the day and had it in my mind that I had planned things reasonably well.

I found the place pretty easily, seeing how they had hidden the building behind several other buildings and marked the address not at all. The sign indicating the place is just a huge magnifying glass with a huge fingerprint painted on it. No words, no numbers, just the international warning sign of criminals everywhere; the fingerprint.

Then my mind and thought processes left me completely and I tried to enter the building with a pocket knife in my pocket. The security guard was not amused.

I had given no thought to the fact that I was going to a place where the authorities hold drugs and guns and other things from the hands of people that will do drastic things to get these items.

After a minor disagreement and a near strip search, (Steel toe boots will set off a metal detector) I was permitted access to the door that lead to the other door that let me talk through bullet proof glass to the person who could call the other person that could get the bag that has the keys.

After that, it only took my ID, the case number, and patience to get the bag what holds the keys.

Now the Mrs. has her keys back, I still have not seen the ungrateful bastard that started this whole thing in the first place, and life on the home front is looking quiet.

I LIKE quiet.

Even on the best of days it is not a good thing to be woken up at three in the morning by the telephone. The phone going off in the middle of the night usually foretells of disaster. (Or some remarkably drunken bastard calling his ex girlfriend and dialing wrong.)

It gets suddenly worse when the person on the other end of the line identifies themselves as a police officer. It gets even worse than that when said police officer tells you what has been going on while you are sleeping in another county.

It seems that while his mother was on the East coast and I was in the Lost Parts of Northern New Mexico, the ungrateful stepson decided to buy vast amounts of booze and throw a party in our house while we were gone. He did not ask permission.

When the cops were called he bolted like a child with its hand in the cookie jar and left his friends to get cited for possession of alcohol, and others to clean up the mess.

I don’t think I need to tell you that I am mad as hell at him.

I drove back from the lost lands to make sure that the animals were OK and the house still standing. Imagine my surprise when I found people that I have never seen before coming out of my house. I was not nice to them. It was 11AM and people that I do not know were making themselves feel at home in MY house. There were still cars that I do not belong to parked in my yard and in the street. It looked like a war zone and my house was on the loosing side.

I blocked the driveway leaving it up to them to figure out how to get away when I told them to get the hell away from me. Of course the first thing the driver did was drive over a landscaping rock and get stuck. I was particularly not helpful to them. They were not gushing oil when they finally got away so I guess it was not too bad. Dammit.

The ungrateful bastard of a stepson came back, I yelled at him for a while, told him to clean up the mess, then left to go back to the Dog House in the land of the Lost and calm down.

Now his Mother’s keys are in the possession of the county, only I can get them, and he is living somewhere else. I don’t know when I will be able to get his Mother’s keys. I will have to take a day off work to do so and don’t like the idea of loosing the money that I would make to get him out of hot water.

I should charge him, but if I do then I will want to charge him for cleaning, fuel for at least two trips, lost time from work; and if I get cited for his behavior, all other fees associated with the whole damn thing.

In other words; he can NOT afford me.

His Mother took his house keys away from him, making certain that he will not be sneaking into the house, and I know that for the time being that I don’t have to keep myself from grabbing him by the short hairs on the back of his neck to toss him down the road.

It’s best if I don’t see him for a few weeks.