Seven of us had hazmat endorsements, and we were scheduled to view a training video before class began at 8:00. I sooo miss sleeping in.
The morning was spent going over a few last document training sessions, then we hiked to the office building next door to meet a few more key people in the organization. Again, despite their level at the company, all were very approachable and friendly, and they all encouraged us to contact them at any time for any reason.
In the afternoon, Helga was inspected and Hoss and I had our road tests. All three of us passed.
It was my birthday, and although we'd planned a nice dinner and cake for dessert, I was just too doggone tired. We decided to try the roadhouse connected to our hotel for some bar grub and a beer. It was karaoke night. Midweek. At a rather seedy, rundown old roadhouse next to a motel used primarily by truckers. When it began at 9pm, a grand total of 15 people were in the bar. Two were well over 75 and already staggering, a few were locals getting a bite to eat, and the remainder were the karaoke draws - regulars, I suspect. The first, a youngish blond, sang a country-western number and actually did pretty well.
The next contestant did not.
Another blond, bearded cowboy (they must grow them in bulk out here), wearing a black hat, a long black duster, and the ubiquitous boots approached the mike. Ohh, let's guess! Hank Jr.? Garth Brooks? George Straight?
No. AC/DC. And badly, at that.
You would think a man who struts about like God's gift to women would be somewhat aware of rhythm and timing and hitting the mark (well, they ARE transferable skills). But, no, this poor man sang most of the song at least a half stanza behind the music, couldn't quite squeak out more than a three note range, and noticably forgot the words (duh, dude, they're right there on the monitor) on several occasions. He was horrible. And I had the giggles.
We had to leave, it was that bad.
But -- the dude's got more nerve than I, I'll have to give him credit for that.