Well, I might as well formally tender my resignation. If my latest scheme pans out, I won’t need to work anymore. I’ll finally have enough money to live the life of Riley, with plenty of free time for my Jeep projects. My latest money-making idea hit me at a big Jeep swap meet. Actually, the swap meet was for all sizes of Jeeps, not just the big ones, but you probably knew what I meant. While perusing the aisles, I realized how out of place my dress was. Seems I shouldn’t have to explain myself so often, but just to be safe, “my dress” refers to my general attire, and not necessarily an item of women’s clothing that I may or may not have been wearing. Okay, it’s getting worse, but when I said “clothing I may or may not have been wearing” I do need to be clear that I was actually wearing something, at least to this particular swap meet. After all, the weather was still kind of chilly.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I was fully dressed in a manner that met most norms of society and I was blissfully wandering the aisles at the swap meet. I’m not sure why it matters what I was wearing, as I was planning to wrap myself in double-sided tape, roll down the endless tables full of Jeep parts, and then buy whatever sticks. This is a great timesaver, so please feel to borrow this idea.
That’s not my moneymaker idea, though. I’ve decided that I should get my own booth for next year’s swap meet. Before you get too alarmed thinking that one of the constants of the universe has been upended, it does not mean that I’ll be selling any of my Jeep parts. Au contraire, they will remain safely ensconced in my garage. And in my basement. And in the shed out back. And under the tarp next to the garage. There might even be some in that big hollow tree out back, but I’d have to double check. Oh, anyway, there’s no need for concern, as I won’t be selling any Jeep parts. Instead, I’ll be selling Carhartts and camo clothing.
At this swap meet, there must have been a bouncer at the gate, enforcing a dress code—a dress code of Carhartts and camo, or C&C for short. The bouncer must have been on a potty break when I arrived. Looking around, it seems I was the only guy in the place (the swap meet, not the restroom) wearing normal clothes. From what I observed, hundreds of carpenters, still dressed in their work clothes, apparently stopped at the swap meet after work. Regular Carhartt work pants are tough and durable, but I did see a few guys take it a notch too far by wearing overalls. The trouble with overalls is they lower your IQ, unlike a scientist’s lab coat, which actually increases your intelligence. Speaking of brainpower, my gray matter must have not been firing on all cylinders, because I had my calendar all mixed up. I could have sworn this swap meet took place early in the year, but it was obviously hunting season, at least judging by the amount of camo clothing I saw.
The whole dress code thing reminded me of a recurring nightmare I keep having. I’m not talking about that one where I find out I’m a magazine editor. Thankfully, it’s nothing that scary. It’s just your standard-issue dream where I’m in front of a crowd without any clothes. I’m not talking about the crowd sans clothes, which may not be so bad, at least depending on who’s there. No, I mean I wonder if others have that same dream as I do, where I’m au natural. Once again I have to explain myself, as I certainly didn’t mean to imply that others were dreaming of me personally in my birthday suit. It’s not a bad outfit, mind you, but there are a few places where it should probably be taken in. It wouldn’t hurt to iron the wrinkles, too.
Dang it, I have to clarify again, as it would hurt quite a bit to actually iron the wrinkles on my birthday suit. That’s something for which I’d need to see a doctor. I don’t mean to have him do the ironing, even though he might do so if I asked nicely. But that’s beside the point, as I’d really need him to look at the burns from the iron.
While I’m at the doctor’s office, there is one other malady he’d definitely need to treat, and this is 100-percent Jeep related. I’ve got a bad case of Swap Meet Neck (SMN). Only Jeep aficionados are so afflicted, and it can last for weeks. Walking between the rows of tables at a swap meet, my head may as well have been on a swivel, rapidly scanning side to side so I didn’t miss a single Jeep part. Not only that, I had to look up and down, too. I wasn’t about to miss any goodies, whether resting on the floor (the Jeep parts, not necessarily me) or stacked up high on tables. With my neck quickly craning left and right and up and down, I felt like a bobble-head. Next year, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be all set up in my booth, looking only straight ahead, as I sell a great selection of Carhartts and camo. You may as well buy them from me, as all proceeds will go towards Jeep parts.