Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Tuesday, 13 September 2016

A Personal Fantasy

The office of Wernher Von Braun. He had to cut a hole
in the ceiling to accommodate the Apollo. How cool is that?

I shouldn't bitch because I got it pretty good. I'm a sales guy that doesn't have to do the suit and tie thing - my customers are much like me: good ol' boys that go to work in steel toe boots, hard hats and Carrharts. I don't have to put up with the bullshit of office politics and power plays and inside baseball. I pretty much don't have to manage anyone anymore; I just drive around in my truck dropping in on my customers, helping out where I can, and harassing those that should be dealing with us but aren't. It's a sweet gig and sometimes, like all people I suppose - I forget how good I have it.

I work out of my truck, using wifi or the phone's hotspot to crank out quotes, estimates and emails. I try to keep it neat and orderly but it always fills up with paperwork, equipment and tools. Inevitably some bum will get in the passenger seat in a pair of dirty coveralls, and next thing ya know I have grease and oil stains in my truck. I'm not complaining - it's a hard working company truck and it goes 24/7/365 without a break. I dunno if we are allowed to use them for personal business but I do anyways. Nobody's bitched in over 9 years if that means anything.

But sometimes, when I'm on the long road out of town putting in windshield time ... I sometimes day dream about The Good Life ... and what work would look like for me. I suppose I would have an office like this. It probably wouldn't have ultra cool rockets and missile models for decoration, here in Alberta I would probably have models of the massive machines that rule the tar sands and oil/gas industry. I'm thinking about those massive cranes from Mammoet. Draglines, trucks and shovels by guys like Terex, Komatsu and Cat. What ever happened to Bucyrus?

The secretary outside my office would be a smoking hot bimbo so beautiful that she could make old farts feel young again. My desk would be neat as a pin because my office would have an honest-to-God old fashioned file cabinet. (And, of course - heh heh heh, a state of the art paper shredder for incriminating documents dontchya know). There would be a humidor and one of those glass things from the 70's that would hold an entire carton of cigarettes at a time. Oh yes, I would start smoking again - right in my own office! When bums work associates like Wirecutter or Quartermain dropped by, I would reach into the bottom drawer and bring up a bottle of scotch and two glasses to lubricate the conversation. Visitors would have posh leather seats and an ash tray on an ornate stand close by. I would haul out the bottle at 9 or 10 in the morning without a second thought. There would be polished wood everywhere and everything would smell vaguely of cleaners like Pine Sol. I would still want to wear my Carhartts and steel toe boots though.


But reality intrudes. My truck smells like a dead fart and it's covered in bugs and dust and mud. I've got a long lonely week ahead with a ton of driving. If I'm lucky I'll get home Friday...otherwise it will be Saturday. I've got people to see and miles to go this week - and though I am less than enthused about it now I will probably remember these days with fondness in my elderly years.

Maybe I am better off without the booze, cigarettes, cigars, and all the other trappings of a successful career?

Let Tuesday begin!


  1. On the road - no one looking over your shoulder every 10 minutes, sounds pretty darn good! Having your own office isn't really what it's cracked up to be. In reality it's really a jail cell. You're a prisoner and the Board of Directors are your wardens.

  2. I dunno how I got this job, CM.

    I see the national sales manager once every couple months and he avoids me like the plague because I crap all over him when he doesn't do his job and give me what I need to do mine. I think he likes me in spite of it. The comptroller and his bean counters cross themselves in my presence and refuse to speak my name. I even told the HR fag and one of his biddies to get stuffed and got away with it.

    I DO have it good and need to remind myself of it at times.