So a few of you may remember the reason we were shoveling gravel around by hand like peasants was because a hydraulic line on King the backhoe was leaking and we realized we were going to have to fix it. Or more correctly call someone to fix it for us. So we (and by we I mean Scott) called Mr. I-don't-talk-much-and-have-all-the-right-knowledge-tools-and-equipment. Whom you might remember as the guy who put the inner tube in the tire for us after we failed like the goddamned kings of failure town.
So Mr. Quiet Bitter Backhoe Guy shows up this afternoon and he did his magic less talking more working trick and took the hose lines off. We had debated doing this ourselves, but we didn't really know how to depressurize the system and we were afraid of having hydraulic fluid spraying out of the machine and doing that double whammy where it cuts you open at the same time as forcing hydraulic fluid into your tissues like a poisoned dagger made of pressure and your own stupidity. So we paid him to do it.
Since he was least likely to die in the driveway from fucking this up.
Then he of course filled us in about a few other things that we may need to fix and then he told us how much it was going to cost to get more two foot long hydraulic hoses and then I blacked out into a world where everything was open and empty and clean and then I came to and Scott was all like, lets replace all four lines and I though “oh boy nothing like eating peanut butter sandwiches for lunch everyday for forever. Awesome.”
Also I have to point out that a backhoe has like, a shitton way more hoses then four, these were just the worst four. Because ha ha we don't need money to live ha ha no. So then he caps off the lines with these nifty screw on caps but then he didn't have enough and he just plugged the lines with clean rags that looked like the clothes his kids had out grown cut into squares. Then he got back into his truck and told us he would be back to install the hoses later today when he got them made and left us standing in the driveway looking at King the backhoe with is new bright fabric plugs in every color that made him look like the most festive non-working backhoe ever.
I should also point out that we were both splattered with black paint because we had been painting the solar kiln black and I was dressed in pants two sizes too big for me and a neon green tank top I got at the good will. Since you know, dressing up to paint things with enamel paint is stupid and of course Mr. Backhoe was dressed in a reasonably tight fitting T-shirt and some nice jeans because of course when attractive men in my age group come to my house I always look like a colorblind hobo.
Every. Damn. Time.
Anywho. Moving on, Mr. Backhoe Guy showed back up after a while and put the hoses back on and tried to walk Scott how to fix the leak in the boom arm while Scott got more progressively alarmed as the instructions got more and more technical and then I watched his eyes glaze when Mr. Backhoe got to the part about pulling the chrome rod out of the arm and replacing the seals in the cylinder and then Scott was all like, I'll have you do that. In the future. Yes. Not me. You. And Mr. Backhoe didn't say anything because he doesn't really talk except to transmit important information. You know, like you do. Well he got the hoses back on and they did black magic things and tested the air and got the air out of the lines somehow. Possibly with voodoo.
So then it came time to pay him and then, in a fit of inspiration Scott asks if he wants my dad's old welder that we don't have the power to run. And then they go look at it and then he says he could use it and then they load it up into his truck and then he knocks 75$ off the bill and then Scott pays him with his credit card using that app for smart phones because WE ARE TRULY LIVING IN THE FUTURE. Which is not something I would ever expect to see from someone in Buttfucksnowheresville WV but whatever.
Shine on you crazy backhoe fixing diamond is what I am trying to say.
So then he drove away and then we walked back to the house and Scott's phone binged and it was his electronic receipt and then I called my robot butler to bring me some tea and then I realized that we weren't that far in the future. Really though, even if we were I would never be able to afford one because I am kinda poor. Although this is probably lucky because then the robot butler couldn't kill us in our sleep all Skynet style.
Which made me feel better about my life. You know, the lack of robot murder.
Although that robo-butler would have been pretty damn sweet.
Probably wouldn't be able to move gravel worth a shit though.
Eh, I'll stick with the backhoe.