Hollywood Hilarity and Total Trainwrecks

So, the roomie has an event entertainment business. It has to do with Clowns and being Around. (It’s possible there would be copyright infringement issues, or that libel could be pointed this way with this post, so let’s just say it’s some combination of the two words.) He asked what yrs truly was up to on Saturday last.

I shrugged. "Nada. Maybe some volleyball. You know, just get some exercise in, finish unpacking because I’m clearing my storage unit on Friday morning."

"Cool, want to do an event with me? I need someone to drive the train," he said with the air of one not sharing the whole story.

Fast forward to Friday, unpacking the storage unit, and combining/condensing/consolidating 13 rubbermaid 64 gallon plastic containers and a ZGallerie (shameless plugs, send me my check) footlocker/chest/coffeetable, and then loading them all into a Jeep Cherokee took it a little bit out of me. Then, when I arrive back at the house and unload everything, the roommate has his trackless train in the front yard, sanding, painting, and re-fiberglassing.

He looked over as I carried 75 pound containers into the house. "Ready to get to work?"

I coulda and maybe shoulda smacked him then and there.

What followed was 7 hours of painting, loading a riding lawnmower into a truck, using Bondo for the first time (a truly disgusting substance used for patching holes in fiberglass), sanding, painting, and throwing heavy equipment around more. Note to readers: avoid fiberglass splinters. They f-king hurt.

Then, Friday night out with the boys. G-lamp, vodka, vodka, vodka, followed by Taco Bell beef and potato burritox4. Sleep at 2 am. Knocking on the door at 5:30 am. Pure pain.
The rest of Saturday morning was a blur of trying to put an innertube on a tubeless tire (note to readers: don’t do this. It’s stupid.), loading said riding lawnmower into truck bed, trolley cars into trailer, and discovering that the bounce house he owns is totally filthy. Caked with dried mud from recent rains, there was no way on God’s green Earth that the client for this little production number will accept it as is.

We’re late. Of course. The event coordinator only has my number. My phone is blowing up. We arrange for a bounce house to be delivered at 11:00. It’s 9:45 when we place the order. The warehouse for said rental is in Santa Fe Springs. The client is in Bel Air. You can do the travel time math.

We show up at the client’s location. The event coordinator, a pretty, mid-to-late 20’s brunette with a New Zealand accent is relieved, not happy, to see us. And we then scout the location.
Bad times. The riding lawnmower will have to through the doorway to the backyard, and the locomotive "body" that fits over the mower will have to go over the doorway, which includes hopping up onto a garage, carrying said body over the rooftop and then lowering it to waiting hands below. This baby is fiberglass and big, so it takes at least two men to move it.

But wait. It gets better.

After the doorway fiasco, there is a hedge with 28 inches of clearance through which we have to fit mower, the two train cars, our cotton candy cart, and ice cream cart. The locomotive body will not, repeat not, fit in this gap. As my buddy put it most succinctly, if crudely, "It’s like black d*ck and Asian p*ssy."

We eventually made it happen amidst copious amounts of sweating, straining, and cursing, and in so doing, got a round of applause from the production crew who were filming the whole thing, as we were bringing the train in to work an event for a celebrity kid’s birthday party, and mom and dad have a reality show that’s in its 3rd season.

The rental bounce didn’t show up until 2:00. The event coordinator was damn near tears. And my roommate did balloon animals for the kids while my buddy and I took turns driving a smoking, coughing, and sputtering lawnmower with a train body and cars following it around a backyard basketball court trussed up to look like a railway.

Overall, it was an okay day for me. Horrific for my roomie’s business. But okay for me. Aside from when the party was over. Then it was time to push the damn thing back through, up, and over the hedge, garage rooftop, and onto the trailer and truckbed. When the event coordinator approaches you and says, "Oh my God, I feel so sorry for you guys having to take that train back through there," it’s indicative of the herculean task before you. But, we did it.

Oh, and although we spent all day driving the damn train around without a hitch, when it came time to get the celeb’s kid on it for the money shot, the f-king thing broke down. Just awesome.