When I woke up I was surrounded by firemen. I wasn’t wearing any pants. I was lying on the ground, wearing only a bright pink T-shirt with white letters that spelled out “Hussy of the Month” on the front. How did I come to be in this situation? The explanation is really quite simple.
I wrote about my factory job and the kidnapping of the foreman’s dildo in my last blog, The Ransom Note. One month after that incident, I was still working at the same factory. We made the little wooden bases for trophies. It was my job to spray shellac on the bases after they were cut and sanded.
I had made friends with a tall Native American woman named Tedra Bear that worked beside me. Tedra and I decided to liven the place up a little, so we created the Hussy of the Month contest.
You know what a Hussy is, right? Here’s how Webster’s defines it— 1 : a lewd or brazen woman 2 : a saucy or mischievous girl.
Tedra had a T-shirt printed up and guess who won the Hussy honor the first month? That’s right! Yours truly. I was saucy and mischievous! I proudly put the T-shirt on and proceeded to work.
Now in that time (1980) it was perfectly legal and acceptable to smoke inside the factory building. Everybody that worked there chain-smoked. It helped to ease the boredom.
So, with a cigarette hanging out the side of my mouth, I stacked a tray of wooden trophy bases in the spray cubicle, picked up the hose and sprayed the highly flammable shellac onto the wooden bases.
How was I to know that my cigarette ash would fly into the cubicle, get sprayed with shellac and explode?
That’s exactly what happened. I think. It was hard to know exactly what went wrong with all the screaming and alarms and sirens that happened in the next few seconds.
All I knew was that my butt was warm. Very warm. Too warm.
When I looked down, my pants were on fire and my butt was smoking. I quickly shucked off my pants and ran outside. I guess I only made it a few feet out the door before I passed out.
Thank God I was wearing my good underwear.
A minute or so later, I woke up wearing only a Hussy T-shirt, no pants, and coughing smoke. It took three fire trucks to put out the blaze.
I didn’t get fired, if you can believe that. I did, however, quit the next week because all the employees hated me after the owner laid down a new law: No smoking in the building.
That’s the story of how I became the first and only Hussy of the Month.