On to New Things

I may have a new job on the horizon, I'm not sure and I don't want to jinx it. Suffice it to say that if the new job comes to fruition I'll be seeing significantly less of the aged and nude.

Things are looking good, I think. The universe is on my side, or at least its trying to tell me that my current job has run its course.

Last Tuesday I made a delivery up to Clearlake, CA. For those of you who have never been to Clearlake, it's tucked inside a mountain roughly 40 miles from the middle of nowhere. Clearlake needed a bed frame which required stopping in Manteca. Manteca, for those who have never been there, is quite a bit south and east from that same middle of nowhere. My schedule went as follows:

10am Leave San Francisco.
11:30am Arrive in Manteca.
11:55am McDonald's drive through.
12:25pm Regret McDonald's drive through.
4pm Arrive in Clearlake.
4:30pm Leave Clearlake for San Francisco.

At that point I thought I was going to make it back home early enough to take the object of my coffee affection to Costco to get some pictures printed. But as I was cruising down HWY 29 a guy in an orange vest a blue-tinted Jon Lennon glasses shut me down. Placed sideways on a stand beside him was a sign which said "Chains Required." (I don't think there is any significance to the orientation of the sign, he may have just been dumb.)

"How can I get to San Francisco from here with 29 closed?" I asked.
"I have no freaking idea, dude." He replied. "I'm not from around here. I think you can go up that road there [pointing to my left] and you'll come out in St. Helena."
"Ok, thanks." And I turned down the road.

It was an entrance to a trailer park.

After extricating myself from the trailer park I found a corner store and the helpful man behind the counter told me I could best get to San Francisco via 29. He was even more helpful when confronted with my road closure information and clued me in to Butts Canyon Rd. It meanders through Lake County and finally into Napa County where Howell Mountain Rd heads toward home, where the grapes grow strong, and where the snow ceases to annoy me.

Lo and behold it was snowing on Howell Mountain Rd. In Napa. On the grapes. It shouldn't snow in Napa. The universe was out to get me.

The proof is in the pictures.

The following day I got the call informing me that I probably have the job. I excitedly exited my van, strode into a facility to pick up a mattress, and promptly slipped in a puddle of pee.

To paraphrase Lajos Kossuth: The time draws near when a radical change must take place for the whole world in the management of mattresses by me.