Juan and willy, p.1
Juan and Willy,
Juan and Willy
Copyright 2012 Lorraine Ray
Juan Verdugo cussed Willy out for him not getting right to work on the F-250, but afterward, when Willy got the steam sprayer going, Juan did his best impression of a sneaky mother and crept around the left side of the work bay where this truck was parked. The truck, the one with the R.O. on it (and that meant the repair order), which Willy was now beginning to detail, and which they had already parked in the work bay, now had Willy’s head under its hood. Willy was busy soaking the truck's engine with steam from a hose.
Juan hoped to hell that Willy was not destroying the truck’s onboard computers by being careless with that steam, which was something that they had already done a couple of times, but they didn’t give a flyin f about that actually, point blank. They better not get their pay docked, though, or that would suck. Not that they could do anything about it, truthfully, because they were the bitches of the goddamned service writer who was the dickhead taking orders from the general pain-in-the-ass manager of the shop, whom Juan referred to as Mr. Thank You Very Much Already for a Shitload of Nothing. Juan Verdugo was thinking all this and creeping in a crouched position with something like a black snake hidden in his hand trailing behind him. The big shiny truck was getting detailed, and Willy was under the hood soaking the truck’s engine with steam, not knowing that he was about to get hit by something powerful for no reason other than the fact that Juan was bored that afternoon and Willy had made a nasty crack about the Santa Claus Mine that Juan and Willy had tried to find one weekend a couple of weeks ago using Willy’s brother’s good truck. The damage they had done to his truck had cost them (Willy, actually) a shitload. That Willy was full of nasty cracks and besides, Willy had tricked Juan the week before with a joke which wasn’t very funny, using a garbage can, compressed air, and fire.
When Juan reached the front of the truck, he was hidden by the open hood, and the noise of the steam deafened everybody nearby, which gave Juan a chance to take a position, whip up the snake, and carefully aim it. The snake was an air hose that you use to fill tires and also which makes a sick weapon in a battle if you should want to have a battle at the end of a long day.
“Yo, son,” Juan said as he flew the hose around in the air like a Star Wars Light Saber, “take this, you silly m.f. er! Take this, hombre! Ya, ha. Ayeeee! You’re the bitch!”
He shot the hood of the truck squarely with compressed air and as he did, a loud rat-a-tat-tat of the compressed air smashing into the hood burst across the three bays where the detailers, Juan, Willy, and two others, all worked.
The noise was unbearable. It was ear-breaking, pounding, excruciating to listen to, louder than ten impact wrenches, and that horrible din of the air hitting the hood made Willy grab his head and scream and straighten up, and as he did so the hood of the truck came down on Willy, the friend of Juan Verdugo.
“You stupid fuck!” shouted Willy, screaming and stopping the pressurized steam.
“Ha, ha,” shouted Juan Verdugo back. He peeked under the hood at his friend. “I got you, dog! Look at your face!”
Willy slowly extricated himself from under the closed hood. “You stupid fuck! Damn you, you little Mexican shit,” he said, whipping the pressurized steam hose out of the engine compartment. “The hood hit my fucking back! And you know my back is almost broke! You know that really hurted me!”
“Yeah! All right, ese! Got you back, mother!” said Juan Verdugo. “Got you back for last week. Fire ain't funny, bruder. You best keep your hands off me.”
“I’ll whip you, then, man. Yahhh!” Willy ran to the side of the truck and pulled out his own air hose. “Hah!” shouted Willy.
The duel was on.
Juan Verugo scrambled onto the open truck tailgate and into the bed. Seeing his rival above him, Willy looked for a higher position somewhere at the back of the bay. He leapt atop a rolling cart and kicked some tools off it.
“Hey, those were mine, you shithead,” yelled one of the other detailers at Willy. “You put those back!”
Willy paid no attention to the other man’s request. He was shooting compressed air at Juan who was shooting it back.
In the lube bays across the yard, in the detail bays and in the yard where the cars were, the impact wrenches sputtered to a stop and the bays emptied as the mechanics gathered to watch Juan and Willy fight. They were always battling each other and were famous for the ridiculous way they dueled, the screaming taunts, and the way they jumped all around the bays, whipping each other and attacking with pressurized air.
Juan leaped on the edge of the truck bed and shot air at Willy. “Ayeeee!” Willy screamed, sliding himself out of the way in the rolling cart. “He, he, I knew you were going to do that. You didn't fool me at all! Try again, fucker!”
“Come on, come on, compadre,” coaxed Juan. “Come to your amigo Juanie.”
“No, you come here,” replied Willy. “You come here!”
“Come here, bruder,” said Juan. He tried to whip the hose at Willy, but missed. “Oh, trying to run over there, huh!” cried Juan happily. “Take that!”
“Ahahhhh! Woo! Gotcha!” shouted Willy, shooting air at Juan and barely missing.
“Missed! You are no good at this! I’m gonna give you lessons. This is my wild lasso,” cried Juan.
“I’ll give you a lasso, too, hombre, you mother.”
“He’s going over there!” cried an onlooker.
“Look out below, Geronimo!” screamed Juan.
The crowd of mechanics were grinning at the spectacle of two grown men whipping and shooting compressed air, screaming and jumping away.
In the middle of some of the shouting, a tall man in a white shirt, dress pants, and a tastefully striped tie stepped out of the back door of the showroom, which led into the shop. “What’s all the noise out here? There is strange noise at the back of the showroom and the customers—" began Mr. Thank You Very Much for a Shitload of Nothing.
The crowd of mechanic who were watching began to disperse.
“Come on, dude!” cried Willy to Juan.
“Here, here, little bruder,” said Juan evilly.
“Whoa! Whoa! What do you think you’re doing with those hoses?” said the horrified manager, “Didn’t I tell you never to fight with those again? You were written up for this before!”
“Come on, come on!” said Willy, ignoring the manager.
“Ayeeee!” screamed Juan again as he leaped back into the truck bed and attacked. “Geronimo, bruder. Look out for you self. I’m comin'!"
Willy shot air at his flying attacker. Paper, metal particles, asbestos from brake shoes, dead leaves, pack rat pooh, and pigeon feathers pelted the bays and everyone gathered around the bays and the other remaining mechanics cringed and backed away and even the manager was forced to close his horrified eyes. His thinning hair rose on his head and the end of his tie, below his ten year pin, flew up.
When the air hose moved away, the manager opened his eyes and began ranting and raving: “Shut those hoses off, now! What do you think this is? A fight club? I told you none of this should ever happen again. I told you! What did you think you were doing? I’m writing you up. That’s right. Fighting with air hoses? I told you I would write you up if this happened again. Didn’t I tell you? I told you directly from the upper management that this dealership would not tolerate this dangerous situation and there was to be no more trouble from the two of you, no more dangerous fighting! Didn’t I tell you no more trouble? No more fighting in here? You’re both going straight to Scott! I’m gonna recommend you go! Yeah, that’s right, both of you! I’m going to fire your shit outt
by Lorraine Ray have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on16 votes