The road to China is fraught with danger and excitement.
Recently, I had the opportunity to make a work delivery to the Kennecott Copper Mine. As my little truck approached the guard shack, through the obscured vision caused by my beaded eyelash extensions, my eyes were accosted by a barrage of red flashing lights on the closed gates. I slowly brought the truck to a stop. My innermost Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drag Queen senses awakened, preparing me for instantaneous fight or flight. I rolled down the window and took a deep calming breath, channeling my inner Laura Croft in preparation for the upcoming interrogation. I was taken aback when a stunningly handsome uniformed guard emerged from the gatehouse. How cunning of them to use attractiveness to lower the defenses of unsuspecting queens.
Breathless, I glanced at his name tag. Rick, in a sonorous, angelic voice, asked me for my papers. I experienced a deep, hot burning in my bosom as I watched Rick’s tight, firm buns retreat into the guard house to get approval for my entry. It was impossible to determine whether the batteries that light my boobs had shorted out and had begun giving my heart unnecessary defibrillation, or whether I was receiving a revelation from God that Rick was the one and only true and living guard, and I was destined to bare his progeny.
After an extremely short session of fasting and praying, less than 60 seconds, I received a testimony that subsequent to performing a mandatory cavity search on me, Rick and I were destined to ride off into the sunset. This was confirmed when Rick returned to my window, telling me to pull forward and wait for an escort, and added with a positively gleaming smile, “I’ll see you back here in a few minutes.”
My dreams were rudely interrupted when a little man best described as a scruffy, mud-covered troll knocked on my window and said in a low, growling voice, “Follow my truck.” I put my truck into gear and both vehicles climbed the side of the mountain, offering a clear view of the Salt Lake Valley. From one vantage point near the top, I calculated that in clear weather and with a small telescope, I would be able to see nine temples. This was further confirmation to me that truly, Rick and I were destined to live a blessed life together.
All wonderful thoughts of Rick were sent screaming from my consciousness as we crested the rim of the vast, cavernous pit of the largest man-made excavation on the planet. I sensed the troll had it in for me as he led me to the haul road that is traversed by the huge dump trucks that haul the ore up and out of this gigantic pit. We merged into the line of slowly laboring mechanical beasts. The top of my truck didn’t even reach its hub caps. Since I felt as if I could be crushed like a defenseless ladybug at any moment, I turned the blinking lights on my boobs to their brightest setting, removed them from my chest, and placed them on top of the hood as flashing beacons, trying to ensure that the drivers of the big trucks would be able to see me.
I began to experience vertigo, during the slow laborious descent of one vertical mile from where the top of the mountain used to be to the bottom of the pit. We passed an enormous shovel swinging its immense arm like a perilous pendulum over the road that could have picked up my whole truck in one super duper pooper scooper, and still had room for a five-bedroom house in the cavernous jaws, as it dropped loads of rock into trucks. Down, down, down we went. My ears popped three times during the descent.
Upon arriving at the bottom, I craned my neck looking heavenward out of the pit. I noticed that we were so deep that the sun had set at about 1 p.m. and the bottom area was in a near-constant shadow. I was actually surprised that the workers at the bottom were not speaking Mandarin since I calculated that we were closer to Beijing than Salt Lake at that point. I also noticed two portals that led to underground tunnels that went even deeper into the mountain. I could swear that I heard the mysterious strains of, “The Hall of The Mountain King” wafting from the tunnels.
I am a size queen and the expression “drill deeper” is no stranger to me. Therefore, the exploration and filling of holes of any size should be of no real consequence. Nevertheless, I was unaccustomed to having gone down so far and I was experiencing some claustrophobic anxiety. As quickly as possible, I unloaded my load and retraced the perilous path out of the pit. Giddy as a school girl, I advanced to the guard shack, ready to profess my unending love to Rick. You can imagine my shock when a rather homely woman emerged to check me through. I asked where Rick was and was informed that his shift ended 10 minutes earlier and he had gone home. I did likewise.
Like always these events leave us with several eternal questions:
1. Could a menopausal hot flash have been the cause of the burning in my bosom?
2. Because of vertigo, should people begin referring to me as a dizzy queen?
3. Could wearing heavier earrings have prevented my ears from popping?
4. Should I begin marketing flashing boobs as standard mining safety equipment?
5. If I had been faster, would Rick and I be on our honeymoon now?
These and other important questions to be answered in future chapters of: The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.