Hi! Greetings from Rural Pennsylvania! I recently parted company with my beloved San Francisco employer, whose name I will not mention because they may sue me and because I don’t want you firebombing their offices no matter how much they deserve it. Let’s call them STGGCo. (for “Screw Those Guys Game Company”). In the wake of this event, I’ve returned to the ancestral farm in Southern Pennsylvania, where I’ll hang out with my lovely wife, prod the goat, do a little freelancing and ponder my next move employment-wise. For the record, I will not be sacrificing barnyard animals to the Old Ones, begging for vengeance against my enemies.
While I’m profoundly glad to be home with my wife and I’m certainly not gonna miss working at STGGCo., I AM gonna miss San Francisco a lot. Though rural Pennsylvania has got plenty of cows and trees and horses and dogs and deer and water and ducks and stuff (also my wonderful wife), it is sorely lacking in the areas of sushi, Chinese dumplings, Golden Gate bridges, noodles, disturbing street parades and cable cars. On the positive side, if anybody’s going to be drunk-singing outside of my window at 3 AM on a Sunday night, by God it’s gonna be me*.
Thus far I’ve split my time between setting up my office and helping my wife clean up the farm. It was an incredibly tough winter which I thankfully missed most of (I mean “reluctantly missed”, Honey!), and there are tons of downed trees and stuff that need to be taken care of. This weekend I broke out the chainsaw to get started.
I hate the chainsaw. It’s a dangerous, nasty, and awkward machine designed to get caught in trees and kick back and take your face clean off. It’s also loud and heavy and goes dull after ten minutes of cutting. Because the saw hadn’t been used for over a year, it of course refused to start even after I cursed loudly, shook it, changed out all of the bad gas, checked the spark plug, cursed loudly and shook it again. I pulled that goddamned rope like a zillion times with the choke button in every conceivable position and it sat there, mocking me. Defeated, I was forced to take it down to the True Value in Shrewsbury, telling the man behind the counter, “I don’t know whether it needs a new carburetor or what,” which is the kind of idiotic thing you say when you don’t have a single goddamned idea what you’re talking about.
The True Value man took the chainsaw out back for two minutes and then returned with it, casually saying that he had gotten it started no problem. (Bastard.) He kindly explained the correct starting procedure to me and watched me fumble my way through it successfully, then patted me on the head, gave me a lollipop and sent me on my way. (I love those guys. They always wait until I leave the building before laughing at my incompetence.)
I took the chainsaw home and began hacking at the dead trees, not even once pretending that they were the necks of my enemies. It was a productive and kinda enjoyable day back on the farm in which I totally failed to chop my own head off. I call that a victory.
So here I am, at home after a year in darkest California. It was a swell trip, but it’s great to be back. I wish my friends at STGGCo. the best of luck and that they’re out of the office if mighty Cthulhu happens to arise from the ocean and sits on the corporate HQ.
*Also when I hear shots fired I can pretty safely assume that they’re being fired at deer. And God knows they have it coming to them.