During the summer after my sophomore year in college I moved back to near where I went to high school to live with my Uncle for the summer. One of my best friends growing up had landed a job at the college near where we lived being a “mover.” He told me to apply because they needed another person to fill the other position, and we figured it would be fun to work together. Little did I know that I would be applying for the single greatest summer job ever.
This was job that paid really well compared to the other crappy jobs that people take in the summer, plus since it was a state job, well there wasn’t always that much to do. Our job consisted of filling work orders and moving whatever was on said work order. Usually we could get all three work orders filled within an hour or two. Since moving three different desks in a day really doesn’t fill eight hours, we had to figure out how to fill rest of our time.
They gave us a truck to drive around campus, so we made sure to explore the entire place. If we went out drinking the night before we could always just find an empty dorm room and collapse on a bed. Or we could go surf the internet in the computer center. Basically we found creative ways to spend the day, including chucking water balloons at the students that did landscaping drive by style. The most amount of time we wasted though was looking at the daughter of the women that ran the landscaping crew, she was in her late teens or early twenties and always wore half shirts. She was totally and utterly smoking hot but she had a massive scar at the bottom of her stomach, which we debated if it was a C-Section scar or something from a horrible vibrator accident.
The greatest thing though was when we were asked to move folding tables and chairs. One day we had to break down a conference center, we were told to throw any of the damaged tables out in the burn pile out back, where it would be used for the homecoming bonfire. Since we were incredibly lazy, we determined that at least half of the tables that we had should be dumped back there, even though some were probably brand new.
On our drive out to the pile we got into a discussion about how these tables looked like the tables that wrestlers went through. Knowing that wrestling is fake and bullshit, we talked about how much it would hurt going through the tables, if at all. Deciding that the only way to figure this out was to test it out ourselves, we headed over to the track and field building. Using the mats from the building we padded one of the tables, I climbed up on top of pile of high jump mats and dove off through the table. It was painless, so we decided for our next experiment I should try it without the mats.
We went out back towards the bonfire pile and place a table near the truck. I climbed onto the roof of the truck and dove through the table, breaking it with ease and only getting a scratch from the metal edge. I continued to jump through all the tables we had brought back there, increasing the degree of difficulty with each one and trying new things. Finally we got to the last table which was made of a different material than the ones I had been jumping through and had a little thicker constitution. I debated my friend on the merits of trying to go through this table, his reply was of course the goad, “Don’t be a pussy.”
Predictably I climbed to the top of the truck again and launched my body off. This time though the table didn’t snap like all the others, it buckled down by about a foot and then acted like a trampoline springing me about seven feet in the air and onto the ground where I landed like I was doing a bellyflop. My friend fell to the ground crying because he was laughing so hard, while I rolled around in pain and debating if I should try it again.
Lesson learned: Thicker isn’t always better.