LIAH #928

so today at work they banned reading. in anger i wrote this.

andrew southard wrote this

It was a dark, dark day at Westchester Country Club. That is metaphorically of course, because even with an 80 percent chance of T-Storms, the weather was anything but dark. Rambling I am and making up the weather forecast, I am as well.
Lieutenant Kevin Donahue, or Kev, gathered up the troops at precisely 9 AM. Something wasn't right, I could almost taste it in the air. Did someone leave cushions out? Was there another grilled cheese complaint? Was there a swarm of African killer bees coming towards the cabana beach? Any of those would have been viable options compared to the flaming trident of information that was thrown in our collective faces.
Backtrack.
Let me explain.
My name is Andrew, and I am one eighth of the cabana team at Westchester Country Club. Some might ask, what does that mean Andrew? We get your ice, set up your chairs, we watch you while you sleep. Do NOT fuck with us. Nice little Fight Club reference there. I hope you enjoyed that, I know I sure did.
There are three essentials for a cabana man. And when I say essential, I mean essential with all three syllables. E-ssent-ial. Meaning very fucking important. They are, chits, a pen, and a book. Chits are to write down food orders, a pen to do the actual writing, and a book for any time you're not using the first two items.
If I had to do a percentage, I'd say you're reading 75% of your time working.
75%.
About 5 1/2 hours a day reading. Maybe. I'm not good with numbers. You do the math.
Fast forward.
The cabana beach is burning. The National Guard is heading down the Playland Parkway. The battalion of cabana men is holed up in the Gun Club, waiting to make our next move. I've got an AK-47 and half a pack of cigarettes to my name. How the fuck did this happen.
Backtrack 6 hours.
"Boys, the Beach Committee layed down the law last night. Library hour is over." Lt. Kev informed us.
What? No. They can't. He's not serious.
"No more reading on the bench."
Maybe just on the weekend.
I can deal with not reading on the weekends.
"Ever."
No.
"Library hour is done."
They can't do this. They can't. They can take away our facial hair, sure. I used to have a killer beard, but it's whatever. They can take away our weekends. They can take away our dignity, pride, and self respect. But they can NOT take away our books.
Shortly after, the cabana men gathered.
"This is bullshit."
"Fucking bullshit."
"If I had another term for bullshit I'd fucking use it."
"I have sun poisoning."
That was Basso. He got sun poisoning today too, so he was really not happy.
We needed support. We needed guidance. Even the vets were left speechless. Come on Farrell. You're the ranking officer here, give us something. "I think it's time I show you boys why we call this the Gun Club."
That's when we stormed the beach. It was pretty easy to take it over. We know these beaches better than anyone else. King Bernie III sent the pawns after us first, but a lifeguard doesn't know much beyond using a whistle. Then came the kitchen staff, a much more skilled elite, but no match for pissed off cabana men.
Then Basso fell down.
"Basso! No!"
"The sun poisoning, it's eating away my body."
"Don't you die on me Basso. Don't you die on me"
We had to get him help. You don't leave a cabana man behind. We brought him back to the Gun Club, but this battle is slowly getting out of our hands.
That leaves us to about here. We are strong, but we're certainly not Army strong.
It's not looking too good and I'm running out of chits to write on. If you read this, please, don't let them win. They can take away our books, but they will never take our freedom.
Stay golden ponyboy.


so yeah. i was pretty bored today. i hope you enjoyed.