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The House That Broke Me: Chapter 12: Welcome to The Farm

Tags: house party broke

 

As you opened this link, the synopsis of this article should be rather straightforward. In the late fall of 2014, we decided to throw a “welcome to the farm” Party. Now, this is no peculiar themed party amongst the collegiate and youthful folk. A time where everyone can cut their old wrangler jeans and transform them into the whitest trash of ensemble’s: Jorts. Maybe throw on some cowboy boots from goodwill, a kid rock mullet and a piece of straw in your mouth and there you have it, you’re officially a resident of Tuscaloosa. All you need now, is your cousin clinging to your arm like a disease and you’re all set for the farm party.

Usually, you head to a party and there’s an open venue, maybe a few props here or there followed up with  a few complimentary adult beverages.

Say what you will about our efforts to keep the House in a livable condition but one thing we did put an immense amount of effort into, was our parties. Every 2 weeks, we would combine our household paychecks which would mercilessly equivalate to under $900, (That’s $10,800 netted for the household per year) head to party city and total wine to throw away our money and our futures. This barn party would be no different.

After buying an absurd number of wasteful items such as a fog machine, bubble machine, pig pinitia, pin the tail on the donkey, strobe lights, Milk balloons etc… I decided to contact a local farmer on craigslist to take this shindig to the next level. I met this farmer out in the woods of Cape Coral where we exchanged $30 (25% of my paycheck) for 5 barrels of premium, country grown hay. I’m not talking a couple straws, these bundle of hay where imported from Kansas themselves.

We scattered these bundles of hay across our 2,000 square foot home and waited for the party to transpire. The thing most people don’t know about hay, is, it’s extremely flammable. I guess that’s more widely known than I had thought. Hay also is likely to combust if it becomes wet. Now, imagine 400 drunk college kids toppling over 5 barrels of hay spilling alcohol all over the place….. creates quite the potential disaster. A risk management nightmare if you will. Luckily, the house never combusted nor caught on fire. Instead, the house became so damn hot from all the hay, it Broke the AC.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. 4 broken souls sitting on a house filled to the brim with hay, no working AC, a destroyed home and work loomed ahead. I remember saga like it was yesterday. I called out of work. When they asked why, I said,

” I have no real excuse, Denise, other than the fact my house is engulfed in a heap of flames. It looks like the dust bowl hit my house. I have larger problems at hand. Fire me, I don’t care.”

” We’ll see you Monday.”

I don’t know if they just felt bad for me or if they didn’t want to take the time to train another idiot.

At this point, we couldn’t call our landlord  as the AC was broken and  his handyman would mention the house was full of farm straw. So, we decided to just throw another party that night, in the sweltering 90 degree weather. Nothing like pushing your problems off until Sunday. That Sunday, we dispirited all the hay into large amounts of black trash bags. It took hours, sweating in the suns of what felt like Sudan.

The AC was fixed 4 days later.

I’ll never forget on my final walk thru in 2016, I could still see strands of straw stuck under baseboards, in light fixtures and imprinted into the carpets. If I were a betting man, I’d bet $1,000 on black that there is still some fossilized l hay to this day roaming free in the house that broke me.

Check back next week for the Great Fire of San Carlos.

Beat the heat this summer with the official jersey of San Carlos Park.

Use code “park rat” for 20% off your order

unnamed-3 copy

Written by Clarky

The post The House That Broke Me: Chapter 12: Welcome to The Farm appeared first on Office Jockeys.



This post first appeared on Office Jockeys, please read the originial post: here

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