Our superintendent Scott Krout’s face was redder than his hair. He was so mad he couldn’t speak. He had put his trust in three men and they failed miserably.
Clarence, Dave, and Harpo volunteered to roast a pig for the Fiesta. They used a back-hoe to dig a pit in a dry wash by #12 Geronimo. Then they built a spit, hauled wood for the fire, and made a camp for the night. Starting the fire mid-afternoon when the crew went home meant the pig would be ready for lunch the next day.
But, they didn’t show up with a barbequed pig for lunch and the crew was gathering. Time was of the essence. Scott had promised to feed the crew and sent them home by one o’clock. He raced off to see what was wrong and found the fire was out cold. The pig was raw. Clarence, Dave, and Harpo were asleep, with empty bottles of Vodka, Whisky and beer beside them. When he woke them, and they realized what had happened, they were scared. They could lose their jobs over this, which was hard to comprehend with a hangover. Returning to the shop with the three drunks in his truck, Scott ordered them to sit at the picnic table while he huddled with his supervisors to iron out a solution to this disaster. That’s when the Mexicans approached the drunks with thoughts of revenge.
More than fifty angry Mexicans surrounded the three white men seated at the picnic table with heads in their hands nursing hangovers, and demanded answers. Pointing to their watches they yelled at the threesome that they were supposed to go home at one o’clock. Others yelled that they were missing a free lunch. The crowd of angry employees grew closer and closer to Clarence, Dave, and Harpo.
Quickly Scott stepped between the two groups in an attempt to relieve the tension. These Mexicans deserved better. They had worked ten hours a day, seven days a week for the past three weeks, preparing the Cochise and Geronimo courses for the over seeding of winter grass. They had mowed grass so low that grass flowed over the mower reels like waves of water. Through clouds of dust they blew the dry grass into piles, vacuumed it up, raked it up, shoveled it up, and loaded it into 200 cubic yard dumpsters. The workers were recognizable only by the sounds of their voices, as they protected their faces from the dust with goggles, masks or bandanas. They looked so much like bandits that the county sheriff would put them in jail if he had seen them. Their reward for the hard work and dedication was supposed to be a fiesta.
Bill Counts, older and seasoned by years of experience, stepped in to save the day. A man of action, Bill barked “Let’s fire up the grill. I’ll grill the meat and feed you guys rather than let the damned thing go to waste.”
“That’s the best idea we’ve got,” Scott said. “Let’s get to it. I can’t have all these people standing around hungry.”
An assistant superintendent drove off with a front-end loader to fetch the pig. Bill started the charcoal and Andres Salgado prepared a table for butchering. Once the pig was unloaded Andres and his brother started slicing it and handing chunks of meat to Bill at the grill. The supervisors lined up the crew members and Bill put a piece of grilled pork on each plate when the meat was ready.
Although the crew went home an hour late, the day was saved.
Of course, Bill Counts was angry that he had to step in and save three dumb asses that couldn’t stay sober.
In the 20 years that followed this disastrous day, there has never been another pig roast for the maintenance crew. Wonder why?