Most days, I am not in contact with coolers filled with body parts. Generally speaking, that part of my life was years ago and faded out to a dim memory.
Today, however, was a revisiting of hauling pieces and parts to be used for scientific inquiry.
Since we have previously established in earlier postings that my legs are less than Rockettes ready, driving for long distances sometimes creates a problem.
To be specific, the van I drive has an interesting little peccadillo. The drivers side seat vibrates just enough that when you reach a certain speed on the highway, you get this odd little side to side motion that, when combined with the wobbly tires and odd shimmy of the van as a whole, produces a motion guaranteed to numb up your sciatic nerve.
The miles to Cullman have ensured that the nerve to my left gluteal region is, by now, hopelessly absent in function and my left leg drowsily follows behind it in a choreographed routine of anatomical abandonment.
When I get to my first stop along the way to pick up a load of cow hearts (no, I am NOT kidding), I realize I just might have a weensy bit of a problem.
You see, the jiggly, jouncy, vibrating and bouncy ride of my aging chariot has rendered my leg like so much navy blue clad Jell-o.
This can't be good. And, as it turns out, it isn't.
Yes friends and neighbors, I am here to testify to you that it is virtually impossible to exit from the DRIVER'S side of the vehicle with your entire left butt cheek and left leg numb to the gills. Prayers that you will somehow land on your right leg in a tortuously slow ballet of shifting weight and motion is comedy fodder for the people in the parking lot nearby.
While I don't mean to be the opening act for a comedy revue, it is. In retrospect, it must have looked awfully funny and awfully awkward to see someone trying to hitch themselves around to a standing position with no support from the left leg.
I am happy at this time for the handicap tag that hangs from the visor. At least there is a possibility it will explain the odd and jerky marionette like motions the other patrons of the establishment are seeing.
I'm also happy I'm at a meat processing facility and not near a bar. Other explanations for my lack of motor coordination would be evilly inferred...
When I can finally feel my leg and butt cheek again, I'm helping the nice stocky beef dude (who is kindly explaining to me about vacuum sealing and flash freezing cow hearts) to load them into the iced cooler I have brought along. I thank him for his help and especially thank the meat packing company for giving me so many of them in the name of students getting a high school diploma.
Heading back north, my next stop in Hartselle, the ride back has done nothing to improve my leg. On the contrary, it is a spreading evil. It is like a maniacal version of a massage, but instead of bringing relief, it brings loss of feeling, embarrassment and, eventually, a great deal of pain.
Did you know that accidentally landing on the leg that is numb makes a crunchy sound in a bad knee and ankle? Me neither. But it does. Sounds kinda like a bag of potato chips being squashed.
The nice young man at the next slaughterhouse regretfully informs me that he doesn't have the requisite number of bovine eyes for me. I assure him that the kids in my sister Xan's class will be happy to have ANY eyes at all.
The customer service area of his slaughterhouse is adorned with a host of taxidermied animals in various poses both threatening and just plain awesome. I told him so.
Xan would have like to have the mounted and stuffed animals for her classroom. Maybe that one kid who was high last year at school would have some kind of a freak out if he saw them... looking a him... wondering if anyone else saw them, too. But I digress...
Dragging my leg back out to the van, I'm thankful for the long drive home because I know it will numb the pain that is now creeping up to my brain. Opening the passenger side door to the van, it's time to start icing the eyeballs. Once in place, I shut the door, walk around to the other side, haul my unwilling carcass into the van and busy myself with closing the lid to the second smaller cooler.
Looking at the gas gauge in my unwilling chariot, I have concerns. The van isn't well known for it's high gas mileage and efficiency... Houston, we have a problem. How can that much gas go away that quickly??? Yikes!
Have you ever heard of the phrase "on a wing and a prayer"?
Well, I'm here to tell you that's exactly how my Jell-o leg and I made it to Athens with animal giblets in one piece. The people on the highway were FLYING past me as if 70 miles an hour was just not near Indy enough for them. Speed on brother, hell ain't half full and I'm sure they have reserved a spot just for you and your lead foot!
I found myself once again in my least favorite position. Semi in front, semi in back, semi to my left and another semi closing in on my 3 o'clock from the merge lane. As if he thought he could wedge that 18-wheeler between those other two and I'd never notice his presence, he crept closer. I hate it when they play monkey in the middle and I'm the monkey!! I could smell the Jimmy Dean sausage on his breath, people! And it wasn't a pleasing aroma!
Where is beaming technology when we need it???? I could wide beam his tail into deep space and send his truck right along with him!
Finally, one of the game-playing truckers pulled off at the next exit giving me a nano-second of breathing space. The van was going slightly uphill at that point which means that it was running as fast as the squirrel powered motor would allow... and losing speed with every turn of the tires. Nothing like a small grade to check out the relative power of squirrel versus horse.
Apparently, the other long distance truckers shining my bumper and side don't like following my van under those conditions because they peeled off from behind and whipped around me almost taking the paint and trim striping with them. The van rocked from side to side in their wake of wind. I'm just glad it wasn't raining...
At last, I reached the exit for Athens and got to Xan's to drop off the guts! Yeah! I was amazed at how happy their cat was to see me. I wonder why...?
Dragging a gazillion pounds of frozen cow hearts and a box of eyeballs into the house, I realized I was never destined in life to be stevedore. I'm just not built for the action.
The assorted guts are in their garage refrigerator now. I hope she remembers to tell the kids they will be there, otherwise I'll be blamed for their nasty surprise. But then again, it would be dang funny to hear them screaming at the cow eyes looking woefully upon them when they opened the door... muuahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
My assorted guts are now at home trying to regain feeling. And I'm left to wonder why that would be a good idea as the pain builds. I just have to remind myself that this is much like coming in from the snow... you have cold, numb hands that have to be reintroduced to proper function and it hurts a bit. So it follows that returning sensation to buttock and leg would also have a bit of a tingle... like a Taser hooked up to a Die-Hard battery.
I hope the students enjoy their guts and the effort taken to locate them because people at slaughterhouses and meat packing places sure ask a lot of funny questions when a person calls to ask about picking up a box of hearts and eyes.
Cue the "Godfather" music now...
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