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5:32 a.m. - 2003-12-04


I'm not sure how obvious it is to the naked eye ... but I tend to use this online diary thing in order to complain about a lot of things.

Yesterday, I met my match in the bitch, moan and complain department.

Her name was Louise.

I think I mentioned briefly yesterday morning that my entire day was going to revolve around being a chauffeur/tour guide for some visitors to the city, taking them to some of the various sites we have here.

I will be taking them around town in a 15 passenger van.

I meet the ladies and escort them out to the parking lot to the van.

13 of the ladies climb into the van with ease.

Then ... Louise.

"I can't get in this van," she says.

"Why not?" I ask, because I felt quizzical.

"It's too high," she said, wringing her hands like Rain Man on a bender. "I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it."

Louise was a short woman. Maybe 5'2". I'm not sure how to convert that for all you European Metric Scale users, so let's just say she's 17 kilometers tall.

So I had a choice. I could leave her standing in the parking lot for the next twelve hours or I could help her in the van.

Louise is also a stout woman. By stout, I mean she's shaped like an overinflated beach ball.

Now I'm a strong guy. I have the strength of three oxen just as long as one of the oxen hasn't eaten breakfast. Maybe two and three-thirds oxen would be a better description. I dunno.

Anywhoo, strength isn't the factor here.

Picking up a strange grandmother without groping her humongous flabby granny titties or hooking her by the crotch is the problem.

I put my hands in her stank-assed armpits and start hoisting her into the van.

"OWWWWWW!" she yells. "I have a bad back!"

I immediately remove my hands because it's not my intention to kill the woman ... just get her in the van.

After much discussion on how to get this woman into the van, we finally go the "Uncle Bob clasps his hands together, Louise hooks a foot in them and Uncle Bob hoists her into the van" route.

This seems to work.

However ... this is only the FIRST time I've gotten her into the van.

We are on a tour of museums, zoos, hotels, churches, and restaurants.

Louise, due to her "condition" is riding shotgun with me.

Thirteen cackling women in their 50s and 60s are in the back, hooting and hollering like we're headed to Daytona for Spring Break.

We get to our first destination, which is literally three blocks away from where we started.

"We're here already?" Louise groans.

"Uhhhh ... yeah," I said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Do we have to get out of the car?" she asks.

"Uhhhh ... yeah," I said.

"Oh my," she says. "I don't know if I can do this all day. I've got bad knees, a bad hip and a bad back."


Then tell me something, Louise. Humor me here.


She knew that the next three days are going to include a lot of walking, standing and getting in and out of a van.

Getting her out of the van was just as much fun as getting her in the van. I'm fumbling around, digging my hands into her excessive rolls of skin, trying to help her ass out of the vehicle.

I finally manage to get her out in the same time it took 13 other women to exit the vehicle.

And this was our first f'n stop.

We started walking and immediately, Louise asks how far we had to walk.

"Well ... honestly we're looking about four blocks," I said, as it's an outdoor attraction that requires a lot of walking around outside.

"Oh my," she says. "I can't do that. I've got bad knees, bad hips ..."

"...and a bad back," I said, finishing the chorus. "Maybe it'd be best if you sat on this bench over here and we'll come back by and pick you up in about a half hour."

"It's cold out," she said. "I'll freeze out here."

(It was probably 59 degrees)

So me, being Mr. Nice Tour Guide, hobbles back with the woman to the van.

I hook my hands, boost her inside the thing, pull a muscle in my own damned back and tell her to sit tight, we'll be back in 30 minutes.

I run back to meet up with the rest of the group and tell one of the other tour guides that I took Louise back to the van because she couldn't do this.

The tour guide rolled her eyes and looked pissed.

"I've known Louise for ten years," she said. "The woman complains about EVERYTHING. She's very unpleasant to be around and is the sourest person I know. I KNEW she would show up and find a reason to not have to do any of this."


And you assigned her to be in my van ... why?

She was assigned to my van (there were two vans) simply because I didn't know the story of Louise.

It was basically a joke on me. Stick the new guy with Louise. Ha ha ha.

The woman basically signed up for this three day excursion to get out of the office, come to our city and bitch and complain to new people who've never been privy to her tales of woe.


For the next 12 hours, I drove these women from place to place helping Louise get out of the van each time with no regards for my own body, only to have her lollygag behind everyone else and bitch the entire time that she was about to die.

If I had a dollar for every time she said "Uncle Bob, I just can't do this anymore. Just leave me here to die" I'd be a fucking millionaire.

If we weren't on such a tight schedule, I would have taken her by her hotel, slowed down to about 40 mph and pushed her out her door in front of the hotel.

I'm sure the other passengers would have applauded. They've been dealing with this woman for several years and many of them came up to me, grinning and saying "It looks like Louise has a new friend."

Last night, at one of the museums, I happened to catch Louise when she thought nobody was watching her.

She was walking as normal as you and me. You know ... as long as you walk normally.

I think she realized halfway through her stride that she was supposed to have a bad hip, back and knees and suddenly slowed her pace and began walking like a bear with a steel rod shoved up its ass again.

We got to the zoo last night about 7 p.m. I was tired. Everyone was tired.

Louise was "on her death bed", thank you very much.

The zoo was supposed to be a quick jaunt. Ride the train, see the Christmas lights, get back in the van and head for the hotel.

Instead, since it was cold and rainy and the bird handlers had no audience of children to entertain, they begged our group to come watch their "quick" little show.

Forty-five minutes later, the quick show ended as the wind and rain whipped around us and we stood there in a huddle, trying to keep each other warm.

Except for Louise, who stayed at the front gate because she was ready to go home.

During the show, I walked over to one of the other tour guides and told her that Louise was waiting for us all at the front gate.

"Good!" she snapped. "I was about ready to punch her out if she bitched about one more thing."

I hustled everyone along, telling them my van was leaving in five minutes and to get a move on.

I saw Louise sitting on a bench near the front gate, shivering.

"I think I have frostbite," she said. "Where were you guys?"

"Button your goddamned lip Granny and get in the fucking van," I snapped.

Thus officially ending our 12 hour love affair.

I don't have to be a tour guide today, but I do have to do it again tomorrow morning before they all head out of town at noon.

Have a good day, Louise.

You whiny piece of shit.

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