Adventures of Me and Martha JaneChapter 11G
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SunnyChapter 5 free porn video
Carl’s turn:
What a night ... So far, I’ve had half a great hamburger and I’ve knifed a guy. I’ve been to the county sheriff’s office and come home in orange coveralls...
“Let me get pictures,” Sunny said.
“Sunny, this ain’t what I wanna be famous for...”
“There are worse things, Carl.”
“God, I just wanna get home...”
“Don’t be a wuss. You stepped up. Masterfully...”
I was trying to parse the look on her face.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Well, there’re a lot of posers out there. You know ‘em. I know ‘em. Walk around all chest pushed out, talking the talk. You’re just a plain ol’ guy, but when the cards hit the table you stepped right up.”
“Little Miss Assault Sugar Shaker,” I said.
“He had you, Carl. I didn’t know what YOU could do, I looked down and figured that a burger basket wasn’t gonna be much help. Heaviest thing on the table...”
“Ain’t we a pair,” I said.
She took a sip from her cup. “Mmmm. This is different. I could LIKE this.”
“I kinda do,” I said. “Hate to talk much about it, though. Don’t wanna sound like one of those wine connoisseurs talking.”
“Well, I certainly can. The taste is assertive, forward. There’s body. Mouth feel.”
I laughed. “See, that’s what you sound like.”
“Okay. Good beer. This the only one you drink?”
“Nah, there are some others. But a six-pack’s a week’s worth. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Me neither,” she said, “But could I perhaps have another?”
“I can do that.”
So we each had a couple of beers, ate a bag of corn chips and half a bottle of salsa and I guess that through a couple of beers Sunny looked just as pleasant as before the beers. I mean, I wasn’t on the hunt and neither was she. Traumatic evening, and sharing a couple of drinks, that seemed to ease the tensions of the evening.
Later, the second beer done, she stood up. “Thinking I’ll head to my little house, Carl. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Okay?”
“I mean, post-traumatic stress...”
“Uh, you’re the girl. Are YOU gonna be okay?”
“I’m okay. Six-thirty good?”
“Yeah. If we’re goin’ up the road for breakfast.”
“I just can’t see cold cereal tomorrow morning. Maybe later...”
“0630.” I said. “And from there we go to work.”
I popped a pair of over the counter sleep aids after a quick shower and shave, and I went to bed. Sleep was a bit elusive. Okay, there’s the GOOD stuff a doctor had prescribed, but I knew that tomorrow I’d regret it.
Regret started immediately with the sound of the alarm. I got up, brushed my teeth, gargled, washed my face, dressed – an easy task when ‘dressed’ is work clothes. While I was pulling on my shoes I glanced at my watch. Right on schedule. I locked the trailer door behind me and saw Sunny coming around the end of her trailer.
At the diner, waiting on a breakfast of grits and eggs and sausage, sipping coffee, we overheard conversations about last night’s happenings.
I found it revealing that the two different conversations both said ‘it was gonna happen sooner or later, or they’d be in jail for good.’
After we left and got into the truck, Sunny breached the subject. “I get the distinct impression that we just might’ve performed a community service.”
“Sounds that way,” I said.
“You okay, though? Afterthoughts? PTSD?”
“Nope. And I’ve run out of adrenaline, so I guess this is the way it is.”
Jobsite. We’re early in the game here. Not too early, you understand. This is what’s termed a ‘green field’ project, because essentially that’s what they started with – a bit of acreage with a few trees. We’re at the stage where there are various concrete pads on the grounds, several of them with a range of objects needed to provide electricity for the surrounding area: transformers, circuit breakers, instrument transformers, switches, and connecting all that together, the HUGE bundles of multiconductor cable.
We weren’t at the stage where the heavy conductors were in place, the ones that actually carry the real power, high voltages at hundreds or even thousands of amps.
When it’s finished, we expect the place will be covered with a thick layer of crushed limestone. Right now, though, it’s a dust bowl because it hasn’t rained. With rain, it’d be a mudhole.
Sunny and I trooped into the construction trailer to meet the site superintendent.
This little wormy-looking guy stood up when we walked in. “Hi, I’m Kevin Phillips. Everybody calls me Jumbo.” He snickered. “Dunno why.”
“I’m Carl Primeaux. This is Sunny Kim.”
“Bill told me that y’all’d be there. Look, I have a couple of truckloads of limestone coming in this morning. We’re gonna lay some fabric, then put some limestone down around the equipment we have installed so y’all won’t be standin’ in the mud...”
“Doesn’t look muddy right now,” Sunny noted.
“Yeah, we ain’t had rain in a week. It’s drying out. But we had rain two days in a row and that stuff gets BAD. One of my guys walked out there and got stuck in a low spot. We had to retrieve ‘im with a cherry-picker.” (Author’s note: A cherry-picker, formally known as a hydraulic mobile crane, has a boom that can extend a good distance, the amount varying with the model)
“Well, having gravel to stand on is a notable luxury,” I said.
“Bill Carmody said to do it. Ain’t arguin’ with Bill.”
Sunny smiled. “Bill’s a good guy...”
“I think so,” Jumbo said. “I worked on his crews for a while. Now he set me up to run this job.”
“Any problems, so far?”
“Nope. Checked the tattletales when the transformers came in. They’re good. Still on there...”
(Auth. Note: When shipping power transformers, the manufacturer will commonly install devices that show if the transformer has been subjected to undue stress that might damage the delicate internals of the transformer.)
“You got the air conditioning on in the control house?” I asked.
“Yessir. Had it waiting. Hooked it up as soon as they put the building in place.”
So that’s a picture – work’s lining up to be as good as work can be for us considering the client’s facility.
First step was to unload the ‘luggage’. A couple of construction workers saw us open the tailgate of my truck, ambled over to help.
“I appreciate it,” I said, “but let’s see if this thing helps. Sunny?”
“Yes, boss,” she said.
It occurred to me that just possibly those two guys didn’t come over to help ME. Sunny’s a thing on a jobsite – female, young, cute, and heaven help me, that ‘oriental’ thing fits her and magnifies all the other attributes one might derive from just looking.
“What’s THAT thing?” though, is the question as Sunny reaches in and turns on the switch to wake the robot up.
“Call it a powered dolly,” Sunny said. “Our robotics lab developed it. We’re gonna see how it works in the field.”
Luggage’s head woke up, peered over its flat platform. “Hi, Luggage,” Sunny said. “Who am I?”
“Sunneeee...” Luggage said.
“Do you see Carl?”
“Carl is here.”
“Two new people, Luggage,” Sunny said. They’re good. She turned to the first one. “Introduce yourself. Call him by his name and tell him yours.”
“His name is ‘Luggage’?”
Luggage recognized his name. “Hiiiii!” The Munchkins left the original Bot-bot robotic voice in place.
“Uh, hi, Luggage. My name is Homer Stutes.”
“Hi, Homerrrr,” Luggage said.
“Hi, Luggage. My name’s Bob Jones.”
“Hi, Bobbbb,” Luggage said.
“Luggage, get out of the truck.”
Luggage rolled to the end of the tailgate. Sensors judged the distance to the ground. “Too farrrr ... Need help.”
“Yer shittin’ me,” Bob said. “Hell, thet thing’s smarter’n some of our crew. How do we help ‘im?”
“Grab handles on all four sides,” Sunny said, pointing. “Just put ‘im on the ground.”
Bob and Homer looked at each other, then each grabbed a side, putting Luggage on the ground. When his tracklets landed, he said, “Thank youuuu!”
“Politer’n most of the crew, too,” Bob said.
“Give me the plot plan, Carl, and I’ll teach Luggage where everything’s at.”
I handed her the sheaf of drawings. She flipped a couple of pages, then, “Luggage, follow me.” and she took off, leaving Homer and Bob gape-jawed.
“You’re kiddin’ me,” Homer said.
“Other branch of our company is waaay into robotics. They built this one to test in the field. Carries three hundred pounds.”
“Why’s it called ‘Luggage’?” Bob asked.
“There’s a writer who wrote fantasy stories. In some of them, there’s a magic chest that follows the main character around. It’s got a bunch of little feet and it’s referred to as ‘luggage’. Ours has little feet, so ... Luggage. Was named Bubba-bot when we first got ‘im. We just changed the name.”
“Good move,” Homer said. “You holler ‘Bubba’ around here you liable to get four or five responses.”
“Ain’t nobody named Luggage, though,” Bob added helpfully. “What’s she doin’ with it now?”
“She’s showing him all the major equipment. That way, I can load a test set on the platform and tell ‘im to take it to T2 transformer, or whatever...”
“How strong did you say he was?”
“Carry a hundred fifty kilos – over three hundred pounds – over fairly rough terrain,” I said. “That’s what the designers say.”
“And that little gal’s in on all that?”
“She’s my junior technician,” I said. “She spent some time in the robotics lab learning the thing.”
“Smart girl. Easy on the eyes, too...”
“Yeah,” I said. “Seems to work good. Just hit the ground running.” She was out in the yard, drawings in hand, Luggage following her.
“That thing just follows ‘er?”
“Yep. Pretty neat, huh?”
Elouise
- 20.04.2020
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