Independence Day?

I never know how to start off a post. Sometimes I like to write something that doesn't have anything to do with what I'm actually going to write. Sometimes I write about how I never know what to say at the beginning of a post. In this case, it's both.

If I may, I would like to talk about the past 3 days. As my lovely cousin (whose blog you will find here) will say, they were three days from H-E-double-toothpicks. See, hers is a family that doesn't celebrate the 4th of July in the old-fashioned, all-American way. Instead of BBQs and lighting fireworks as a family, they sell fireworks as a family. You've seen the fireworks booths along [some street]. You may have even purchased fireworks from said venders. Though you are probably asking yourself what could possibly be so bad about running a small fireworks booth that I must resort to using such profane, harsh language when describing toothpicks, or days of the week....crap. Lost my train of thought.

As I was saying, selling fireworks is no stroll through the park, unless it's central park at 2 in the morning, and you have no weapon or means to protect yourself. This is tough! I don't want to go into all of the details, or you may steal their secrets and take all of their business next year. That's not what this post is about, and if you'd just be patient, I'll get to the point. Jumping straight to it: my job was to be the supervising adult in the booth (as my brother put it: "You're the only supervising adult we have at that booth. Sorry, I don't love you enough to let you go to [city] and have fun."). 38+ hrs in 3 days. 38+ hrs of standing, rarely getting the chance to sit down. Over fourteen of those standing-hours were yesterday. We started at 10 a.m. (each morning) and by 1 p.m. my feet and legs were already throbbing with pain. I finally got to eat my lunch around 3 p.m. (2 hrs after they brought it) as I gobbled it down in the 2-minute-gap between customers. And there were jalepenos on my sandwich. Imagine a bunch of those getting stuffed in your face in 2 minutes and then trying to help customers.

By 4 p.m. it felt like the ground had found all the pressure points in my feet and was actually pushing upwards harder than gravity was pulling me down. Or maybe it felt more like gravity was pulling me down at a force greater than 9.8 m/s^2. You get the picture either way. It hurt just to stand. And sitting was a mistake: when I got back up after sitting for only 30 seconds, the intensity of the pain doubled. I don't mean to complain, I'm simply creating a snapshot of what it's like to work in a fireworks stand. This is my own fault, but I didn't eat/drink too much, alas I must've lost 5 lbs each of the 3 days along with any energy to keep me going. Especially yesterday.

And the questions people would ask: "What does that one do?", "How much is that with the discount?", "What do you recommend?", etc. I know what flowers, sparklers, and snakes do. The rest I had to make up. I got to be as good of a fireworks salesman as I am a blogger due to the large amount of BS I have the ability to cook up. Interacting with most of the customers was fun. Some people were very friendly, and we would joke and laugh and tell stories. Others were serious and my extremely dry humor couldn't pierce the surface of their stone faces. I had fun trying, especially when, ever-so-slightly, they would smile and let me know that I had won.

When the day had finally ended and we had packed the excess fireworks up in boxes, it was time to go home. I hurt from head to toe and I was beat. My whole body was made of dust (estoy hecho polvo, a Spanish phrase meaning I was completely dead) except for my brain, which continued to work all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in the booth, selling fireworks. You know what I'm talking about. H-E-double-toothpicks. When I woke up (assuming that I actually slept), I lacked the ability to walk. Weak, yes, but I laid in bed most of the day recovering.

To Jerry, Nate, and Shawn (the guys who run this thing): I don't know how you do it. Next year, before I help with the fireworks, I'm going to come down with something serious. Like death.

Peace.