My friend Bill was a hippie in San Francisco in the '60s and '70s and he has the BEST stories. I finally coaxed him to email me one and he said I could post it. The subject of the email he sent was The Final Straw For Our Human Resources Director.
"There was a period of time in the late 70s where I drove a delivery van for Teledyne out of Palo Alto. Low pay enormous freedom. I might have one delivery all day. Nobody seemed to care. These were happy times. I explored every town, beach, location in the bay area on company time and gas. Had some adventures too. A typical day would start out with a joint on the way in. I'd load up the van and hit the road. Smoke another joint as soon as i was out of sight. At 10 am I'd get a big mouth quart of Coors and if I had em chase down a couple whites (bennies....speed). And so the day progressed.
Sudddenly out of the blue there was a "Human Resource Director" employed at our company. In the past we had a personnel department but this new title I suspected did not bode well for our loose behavior meaning me and all the other stoners at work. Sure enough a dress code was implemented within a week followed by guidelines on workplace behavior, especially in regards to various forms of harassment........I personally believe I invented forms of harassmnet that are now the basis for sordid reality shows today. But I digest.
The Director was a trim blond woman in her early thirties. Ilsa Wicked Warden of the Third Reich I called her. She drove a trim little Mercedees and had this smug fucking smirk on her face......unless I imagined it....I just hated what she was doing, not having yet caved into the corporate dogma. Had a few minor scrapes but was mostly off the radar until I wrote a (what I belived to be) hilariously inept love letter from this dorky stockroom guy to this rubenesque girl in accounting. Phrases such as "I yern to feel of your mammalia"...shit like that. Anyway, I wound up in her office, denying the whole thing. EVERYBODY knew i did it but there was no hard evidence and Ilsa was steaming. She was really out to get me. Instead of laying low like any normal person would do I decided to up the ante. This other stoner in shipping had somehow come into possession of a pile of blank stickers the size of bumper stickers. Blank bumper stickers!1 A prankster's dream! I already told you about "I'm Proud to be a Gay Iranian". Well this time I created one that read "I LOVE NUDE NEGROES". When i got back from my rounds that night I slapped it on the back of that little Mercedes. I don't remember why she didn't see it...she was backed in? It was winter and dark? All I know is a couple of us watched in state of ecstasy as she drove off with that bold statement on her bumper.
This story ends real fast. The next morning the Mercedes screeched into a parking space, Ilsa stormed in, quit, cleared out her desk and was no more! Victory was mine. It almost seemd to quick. I almost felt a slight bit of guilt. Almost.
As i wrote this thought of a lot of other "episodes" from the delivery days. At present I am in the Georgia World Congress Center waiting for these lazy and mentally challenged people to locate and load my trucks. I am at their mercy. I am out of memory,. There may be many typos in the above because i can hardly see for some reason.
I wil communicate again soon.