These days my days start about the same. Up early, drive to my first inspection and work as fast as possible to avoid as much heat as possible. On Thursday, July 21, things went a little differently. My first inspection was at an Indian Reservation. I met with the tribal chief and started work. The main tribal council building was first – hail damage. The second building we inspected was the casino. It took a little longer … not because of the damage but because I lost a hundred bucks. Finally, we made it to the sweat lodge. These buildings are usually off limits to white men but because I’m 1/62 Indian, the chief made an executive decision to allow me to inspect.
The building was about 300 feet behind the main council building and was set on a 4/12 pitch. As I was completing my final test square, the chief got excited. Apparently, he thought I said there was no damage … Before I knew it; he had assembled the war team. Within seconds, they had painted their faces and mounted their horses.
With fierce looks through piercing eyes, they starred my direction. I acted with quick, cat like instincts and climbed from the single story section to the gambrel style second story. They circled the building firing flaming arrows over my head.
Moments later, the building was ablaze. Fortunately, my training as a super ninja worked. I tied a lasso and slipped it around the chimney. And that’s when I snapped a photo of the damaged flashing and flue cap. I tossed the other end of the rope over the limb of a large oak tree.
With arrows flying and the building fully engulfed, I leapt from atop. My do-rag worked great as I slid to safety. Running toward my trusty steel steed, I turned to face my enemy. Three, four maybe six hundred raging Indians were at my heels. I stood my ground, fighting one by one. In my mind I kept telling myself I couldn’t leave until they were completely satisfied.
As I bravely recited our five-pronged commitment, a flying tomahawk struck the back of my head. I felt as if I had fallen on concrete. Blood poured from my skull as the work turned bright white and I felt my eyes fading into a tunnel. It was over. I was finished. A fallen hero lay broken on the reservation.
As fate would have it, our field general came to my rescue. To this day, I have no idea how he did it. All I know is that I’m alive and so is he. I think he must have a secret weapon in that cruiser. Well, maybe it’s a toaster over.
Ok, Ok, it didn’t really happen that way …..
I was on a secret military mission ….. No that’s not it either.
Actually, I’m allergic to gravity. I fell from a roof, busted my head open, lost some blood, got a few staples and a concussion. That’s it.
Funny thing about the day …. Scahufler had to sign me out of the hospital as a responsible adult. I’ll give you a few minutes to recover from your laughter ….. pause, pause, pause. Get off the floor. That’s right, Schaufler is a responsible adult.
The doc told me to keep my head elevated ….. (let that sink in) ….. She looked puzzled when I said the only time I have a problem with that is when I’m upside down bouncing it off the concrete.
