LIaDVp.25: Living with Chiloquin and 9-Finger Stan

September 25, 2004

Well I guess it was only a matter of time before I got a roommate from Chiloquin. I think he's from Chiloquin at least. I got a call much like I'm sure Rabbit did months ago when I was en route: Pam from HR breaking the bad news that a new roomie is moving in. Looking around the room, things looked a lot like they did when I first came to the park months ago. My stuff is in both closets. Both beds are pushed together. I've got a small blue boombox. There are a couple of empty bottles on the desk. Full circle.

I haven't met the tike yet, but he's fresh out of high school and dating one of the skaterats native to the state of Jefferson, known by most as "Z." This is a very Chiloquin nickname, because her actual name starts with an X. Who knows, I may really like him. God I hope so. I can't handle 18 year old shenanigans, or the two of them humping like teenage bunnies right next to me. The last time I had 18 year old roommates was when I was 18, and that's probably the only reason it was acceptable. I was pretty upset all day, but now that I've moved the furniture back into it's two-person state, I've come to accept my fate. It's actually kind of nice, like a homecoming, since now my room looks identical to when I started what seems like so long ago. A few more books in the “have read” pile and a few less in the “to read” pile. A few more items stolen from the company decorating the room.

Speaking of roommates, I forgot to mention that Rabbit jumped the fence. The stories I've heard indicate that he wasn't exactly beloved on the front desk. Lodge manager Lindsay told him he'd have to help out with housekeeping like all lodge staff, and he decided to quit. He shortly after told Dru that he's moving to Redding to live with the fat ranger he's been trying to have sex with. I guess he probably had sex with her and fell in love with her giant, fat boobs. He told Dru that this ranger is the reason he's in the West, he just didn't know it. She still has to break up with her boyfriend before they can run off together. Shortly after their conversation, he threw his shit in his Saturn and drove off the mountain. Just like that. Bam, out the door just like everytime he ever walked out of the dorm. Godspeed to good old Rabbit. I wish he would have said goodbye or given me his email or number, but I understand what it's like when it's just time to go, and saying goodbye might lose you one of those moments where your life makes a kind of sense and you gotta do something. Still.

Today as I was getting ready to leave work at the desk I got a call from Dru:

"You're still there?" she asked. I was supposed to leave a while ago.

"Yeah, Cody's in the bathroom," I said.

"Have you seen Chef around? Stan Frick cut his finger pretty good."

"Oh shit, so now he's 8-fingered Stan?"

"Yep."


Stan Frick is a big dumb prep cook, who believes he knows everything, but in reality knows very little due to an alleged bout of amnesia. He claims to be very close to a degree in biology, but just before finishing was in a car accident and the injuries wiped out his memory. When the Rim was covered in snow and ice last weekend and half of the road was closed to the public, Frick opened up the gate and drove on it anyway in his $200 Geo. He used to work on an oil rig, where he lost one of his fingers. So now when anyone differentiates between Stan Frick and other Stans on the mountain, it's "9-finger Stan." Or in George’s case, just "9-finger." When I went down to finally leave work with Dru, I passed by an open store room in the kitchen. 9-Finger was sitting there looking kind of white, with his hand held up at eye level to his side, blood streaming down his arm.

"Oh, shit," I said unconciously.

"Yeah," he said in kind of a "what are you gonna do, one more down, eight to go" way.

"How bad is it?"

"This bad," and he held up a butcher knife covered with vegetable scraps and a streak of blood running almost up to the back of the blade. "About a quarter-inch gone."

He nonchalantly held up his thumb up to me and sure enough, the tip of it was gone. I left pretty quickly.

Later as I was contemplating whether to have another grill cheese sandwich at the EDR, since they made jack shit for vegetarians, I heard the chef yelling down the hall about Frick.

"It's just the tip of the thumb, they're not going to be able to sew it back on! He doesn't need to keep it, I keep fucking telling him. But he has to go to the hospital!" Some of the people in the EDR were snickering. "Well, he's a fucking moron!"

I decided to go to Prospect tonight for pizza instead of EDR.