Nancy Kaur

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1. Director=Michael D. Olmos
2. tomatometer=8,6 / 10 star
3. release Date=2019
4. resume=Windows on the World is a movie starring Rene Auberjonois, Ryan Guzman, and Luna Lauren Velez. After watching the news on 9/11 with his family, Fernando travels from Mexico to New York City to find his father, an undocumented worker
5. runtime=1 h 47 min
6. &ref(https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMzIyMzkzN2ItZjBjOS00Mjg1LThmMGMtOTkxYzA2Mjc1MDFlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTUyOTk5OTg@._V1_SY1000_CR0,0,629,1000_AL_.jpg)

You don't need to be a doctor or lawyer to be proud of your job. Continuing. “Well”, I begin, “This one is the Bureau of Land Mismanagement. This one is the Bureau of Indigenous Affairs. This one is the Department of the Inferior. And this is from the Occupational Safety and Health Act, cautioning that this vehicle is carrying high explosives. ” “You know”, he replies, “You really shouldn’t be doing that. I mean, you shouldn’t put official stickers on your truck if you’re not actually carrying explosives. ” “Oh, but I am”, I reply, “See, I’m a fully licensed and certified Master Blaster. ” “Oh, sure you are. ” He scoffs. Evidently in his world, blasters can’t wear a Stetson, shorts, atrocious Hawaiian shirts, and field boots. “I’m not kidding, officer. ” I say, “If you’ll allow, I can show you my certifications and licenses. ” He then sees my sidearm. The next thing I know, I’m slammed up against the side of my truck. “My beer is getting warm”, I mentioned to him. Actually, I said: “Hold on, Kojak! I’ve got a CCL! I’m from Texas and am fully licensed! ” “Sure you are”, as he paws at my Cusall. I probably shouldn’t have, but I broke his hold, spun around and hands up, repeated that I’m licensed. I was going to mention that first before he sidetracked me about those nefarious stickers. He drew down on me and I just stood there, hands I the air, while the entire parking lot was watching. I’m staring down the barrel of a Glock 9mm, handled by an unhinged office of the law. “Officer! ” I say, loudly, hands up. “Please. Relax! If you wait a second, I’ll slowly give you my sidearm while we sort this all out. No problem. Look at my truck’s plates. I’m from Texas! ” “Shithead. ” I thought but didn’t add. “On the ground! ” he barks. “Now! ” I give up. He won’t listen. I comply and go slowly to my knees. “Sir, I’ve got a really barking back right now. I’ve been sleeping rough in a tent for the last week. This is as far as I can go without a forklift. ” I say. He barks something else and scrabbles for my sidearm. I just knelt there and made certain I made no moves this twit could interpret as threatening. “Flip the leather strap from the bottom, ” I say, “It’ll come out a lot easier. ” “Shaddup, you! ” he barks again. He yanks my sidearm out of the holster and goes to toss my Casull aside. I protest heavily. “I do have a permit, and that’s a $2, 500 custom pistol. Please, a bit more care, officer. ” He sets it down, beyond my reach, and cuffs me. The cuffs are too small to fit me singly so he has to use both pairs he’s carrying. I make no effort to help nor hinder him. He retrieves my pistol and tries to stand me up. I tell him that I can get up on my own. “I’m not going anywhere, Officer. This would be too good to miss. ” I almost snicker. I stand up and lean against my truck. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. ” I restate. He takes my pistol, and hotfoots it over to his squad car, and is instantly on the radio. A few minutes later, it’s like the antepenultimate scene in the Blues Brothers. Cops everywhere. Local cops. State Troopers. Sheriffs. Probably a detective or two as well. I’m just standing there, smirking as I watch my bags of ice melting in the shopping cart. Finally, a police Captain walks over and asks “What’s all this then? ” Before I can say a word, Officer Excitable goes on how I’m probably a felon, I’m armed, I have a truckload of explosives, and I am probably responsible for the sun going Red Giant in 5 billion years. I just stand there, grimacing, shaking my head, waiting for things to simmer down. Finally, the police Captain wanders over and asks for my side of the story. “Sir. I am Doctor Rocknocker, on a district-wide project sanctioned by the BLM, BIA, and the Department of the bloody fucking Interior. I have a full CCL permit, valid all over the entire southwest, am a fully licensed and certified Master Blaster. Officer Excitable over here was quizzing me about the stickers on my truck, saw my sidearm, went apeshit, and completely ignored me as I tried to identify and explain myself. ” “Is this true? ” the Captain asks Officer Excitable. “He said he had explosives in the truck. Then I saw his gun! ” Officer Excitable whines. “Uncuff this man”, the Captain instructs. Like I’m going to try anything with probably the entre force standing in the parking lot giving me the stink-eye, stroking their sidearms with their hand on their hips. “Thank you”, I tell him, rubbing my wrists. “If you’ll allow, I’ll get my wallet out to show you my ID and permits. ” “OK, slowly”, he replies. I dig out my wallet and just hand him the whole thing. Let him root around in it to his heart’s content. He first found my driver’s licenses. He could actually read the Texas one and figured I was who I said I was. Then he found my Concealed-Carry Permit. Then he found my Licensed Master Blaster permit. Then he found my ISEE certifications, AAPG, GSA, SEPM, DOT, BLM, BIA, DOI, and Communist Party membership cards. Well, everything except for the last one. They would never let me join for some reason. [That’s a joke for the humor-impaired. ] He looked over to Officer Excitable. Suddenly, the tables have gone 180 0. Now, he was the one in deep shit. The Captain returned my wallet after making some notes in his cop pad. I asked if I could put my groceries away before they all melted. “Sure”, he replied, “But please stay here. I need to make some calls. ” “Will do”, I replied, grabbed my cart, opened the back of my truck, and dropped the tailgate. Officer Excitable went nuts. “Sir! Look! He has explosives in back here! ” The Captain walks over, looks in the back of my truck, and sees the yellow and black striped, welded, thick cast-iron locked box which is bolted to the frame of the truck. The one with the OSHA and DOT stickers plastered all over it proclaiming: “DANGER! EXPLOSIVES! CAUTION! ” The Captain says something I couldn’t hear to Officer Excitable as the officer returns my sidearm, hightails it to his squad car, and squeals out of the parking lot. I load up the groceries. Put the beer and such in the cooler, go to the cab of the truck, and retrieve a cigar. I’m sitting on the tailgate when the Captain returns, I’m just dusting off my Stetson. “As expected, you check out”, he says, “I knew you would, but you have to admit, you really don’t look like a Doctor of Geology or a Master Blaster. ” “Really? ” I ask, “How many do you know to make such a comparison? ” “Good point, Doctor”, he replies. “Sorry about Officer Excitable. It’s usually pretty quiet around here and I think the desert heat gets to these guys sometimes. Fries out all their brain juice. I’ll understand if you want to file an official complaint. ” I sit and think. And then think some more. I puff away in thought. Puff. “Nah, I’m just passing through”, I say, “But please tell Officer Excitable he really needs to work on his listening skills. I was trying to comply but he refused to pay attention. That could be dangerous with some really unhinged whack job. Rather than someone who just looks like one. ” “Fair enough”, the Captain continues. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s in the lock box in back, and what DOI project are you on? ” I show him the contents of the lock box in the back. He whistles lowly. “Holy shit” he laughs, “I’m glad you’re on our side. ” “You should be”, I thought to myself. I then tell him of the Mine Closures Act and how Dr. Eva and I are out combing the Southwest, closing mines and making life safer for ignorant people and winged sky rats. “I’ve heard about that”, he replies. “Doing any here in Arizona? ” “Yes sir”, I reply and get the map out of the truck. I show him the areas we’re off to next, right after dinner, laundry, a few well-deserved tots, and a good night’s sleep. “I’ll call some of the stations in those towns nearest your project. I’ll let them know you’re on official business. You won’t have any more problems in this state, Doctor. ” He assures me. “The DOI sent out a Twix on this project. ” I say, “All law enforcement agencies in the affected areas were included in the notice. ” “Still, I’ll spread the word. ” he grins, “Y’know, just in case…” “Fair enough, Captain”, I say and shake his hand. “Oh, Doctor”, he adds, “I have to ask. What’s that cannon you’re carrying? ” “Oh, that? ” I say in mock resignation, “Just a. 454 Casull Magnum. Pea shooter. ” “Holy shit”, he smiles. He shakes his head and slowly walks to his vehicle. Back at the hotel, Eva asks what took me so long. “Nothing much”, I reply, “Just chatting with some local law enforcement. ” After breakfast the next day, we’re back on the road again. The next week we visited mines around Tuba City, Supai, Seligman, Indian Wells, and Ganado. Tenting again and living off the land, we blasted 15 mines and set bat-gates for 7 more. I got to exorcize a lot of my demons. I was able to design all the mine demolitions with no one, especially regulatory bodies, looking over my shoulder. I could go for a little overkill and no one would be the wiser. I was profligate in using dynamite. I was creative in using molded C-4 shaped charges. I used more Torpex than many submarines in WWII. I played with the new Kinestik binary explosive and rattled windows miles away. I even gave Eva a crash course in detonic chemistry. We closed all those mines good and fucking proper. I went so far as to wrap one internally with Primacord. The adit was around 6 feet in diameter but had a number of bolts on the roof, Ackermans (rock-screws) on the walls, and rails on the floor. I looped the Primacord around the roof bolts, down the walls, across the floor, back up the wall…you get the idea. I affixed a satchel charge of C-4 and HELIX binary to a couple of lengths of Primacord that hung down exactly 2. 5 fe
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That reminds me of a story. “Rock”, Esme yells to me exasperatedly, as I’m out in the garage trying to fix the winch on my truck, “Your satellite phone’s going nuts. Will you please answer the damned thing? ” I had left my Osmoridium phone in my study as I’m off-duty and elbows deep in a wayward world-weary worn Warn Winch. “Oh, sorry”, I reply. My, she’s cranky. I know Tash has lately been into everything, but that’s no reason… “ROCK! ANSWER YOUR GODDAMN PHONE! ” Esme orders at great volume. “Yes, dear”, I rapidly and meekly reply as I run to my office. I guess it’s time for a conciliatory Haagen-Dazs infusion. I run into the house, trip on the stupid cat, and get waylaid by Lady who insists that now would be a good time for walkies…. Out of breath, after promising Lady I’ll take her for her daily constitutional if she’ll let me answer the damned phone, I pick it up, cue the passcode, and yell into the infernal device: “WHAT?” “Umm…Hello, Doctor. ” the phone replies. It’s Agent Rack. “Yes? Sorry. I’m a bit out of breath. ” I apologize. “Sorry. I didn’t catch you in the middle of anything, did I? ” he leers, which is difficult to convey over the phone, but he manages. “Yes. ” I snap back, “I was welding on a winch…” but I stop. I knew this was going nowhere. “Oh? ” he replies. “Yep. Now, Agent, what for can I do you? ” I ask. “How’s your schedule look for the next couple-three weeks? ” he asks. “So far, semi-clear, ” I reply. I’ve got some galley proofs to read over on an article I’ve submitted to Science magazine with some other geological types, but I’m holding off on contracts for a time. These last few trips really took it out of me. I need a little R&R. “Well, I’ve got a request”, he explains. “Great. More Agency skullduggery? ” I wonder aloud, “Or another training mission to some far-flung locale? ” “No. Not this time”, he explains, “It’s more of an interdepartmental courtesy…” “Oh, lord, ” I muse, “Now what? ” “Well, Doctor”, Agent Rack proceeds, “The US Department of the Inferior, in collaboration with the Bureau of Land Mismanagement and the Bureau of Indigenous Affairs was asking us if we knew anyone with mining geological experience. Naturally, your name came up. ” “Um, Agent”, I explained, “I’m Oil Field Trash. I’ve done some mining; coal, hard and soft rock, surface and underground, as well as quarrying, but you know well I’m mostly an oily, drilly sort of guy…” “We know that”, he continues, “But they are in explicit need of someone with a large amount of geological…” “Yes? ” I ask leerily. “…and blasting experience…” he adds. I can hear his grin growing over the phone. “OK, you got me”, I note, “You have piqued my interest. You will not be hung up on now for another 2 minutes. The clock’s ticking, Agent…” “Umm, yes”, he noted, “They need someone to make the rounds of a number of disused mines in the Southwest, some in New Mexico as a matter of fact, and de-activate them. ” Visions of Primacord and binaries begin dancing in my head. “OK, you’ve earned yourself a few more minutes”, I reply, “Please. Do continue. ” “If you accept”, he notes further, “You’ll be paired with an accredited Wildlife Biologist. Those mines with populations of bats are to be closed but retaining access for these animals. Those mines without an indigenous winged mammalian fauna will be closed permanently. ” “Whoa. ‘Indigenous winged mammalian fauna’? ” I ask. “Since when did you go to school? ” “I’m reading from the prospectus, Doctor”, he replies, icily. “Ah. ” I reply, “When, where and most importantly, how much? ” “When is as soon as possible. Where is New Mexico, Colorado, and Arizona. Possibly Nevada. How much remains to be seen. ” He replies. “OK. What about materiels? ” I ask, “Will I have access to some governmental goodies? ” “If you are referring to explosives, ” he continues, “Of course. You will have full access to whatever you need. That includes building materials. You can mix and lay concrete, can you not? ” “Oh, sure. ” I reply, “Just ask Guido the Blade. Oh, never mind. He wouldn’t say much from the bottom of the Chicago River. ” “Humor. ”, the agent continues, “A most difficult concept. Particularly with you. ” “Yes”, I clarify, “I’m adept at handling concrete. It’s not exactly rocket science, y’know. ” “Good”, he replies, “Interested? ” “As usual, let me ask Esme. If I get the all-clear from her, yeah, I’d be interested. Is it FIFO or DIDO? [Fly in/Fly Out, Drive In/Drive Out]. ” “We’d prefer you drive”, he notes, “You already have most of the equipment, and that will save time in the long run. ” “Y’know”, I reply, “rental on my gear is going to cost you…wear and tear, transport, insurance… This is a very ominous assignment -- with overtones of extreme personal danger. I'm a bloody Doctor of Geology. This is important, goddamnit! ” “Yes, we know”, he says somewhat defeated, “Send us your quote by the COB (Conclusion of Business) today. We’ll be back in touch. ” “BuzzBuzzBuzz. ” The phone buzzes. “Hmm. He hung up”, I notice, “How rude. ” First things first. If I’m going to spring this on Es at the present moment, I need to make plans. “Es! ” I yell, “I’m taking Lady walkies. I took my phone. Back in a few! ” and I’m out the door, being dragged by our 130-kilo Mastiff. Luckily, there’s a Stop-n-Rob just on the other side of the sub-division. We head over there and pick up a container of Dark Chocolate Fudge Mocha Chip Trüffel Caramel Custard Marshmallow Triple Ripple, a pint of Peppermint Custard Sandwich Cookie White Chocolate Peppermint Schnapps, and some Butter Rum Custard Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Almond Bark Pecan Macadamia with Fudge-Covered Peanuts, Lite for home. I also picked up a pint of Blue Bell Bean Vanilla for me. It’s not bribery. It’s for maintaining sanity and a sense of normality back home. They have thermal insert bags, so I purchase one to keep the frozen bounty in its present condition until Lady decides she’s walked enough. Over a pint of choco-goo, I broach the idea of my traveling to New Mexico for a couple or three weeks. “Yeah, Es”, I explain, “I really don’t want to go, but hell. It’s the government, and they asked specifically for me. It makes me nervy, especially if I say no and they talk to their buddies at the Infernal Revenue Disservice. ” Not really. It’s a small fib, although I never did let them know about my accounts in Russia’s Sverbank… Not that that’s illegal or anything. I think. I hope. Esme looks at me askance. “Leaving again? ” she asks, “Home alone with the kids. Well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it…” “What job? ” I foolishly ask. “Marrying you. ” She grins. Actually, she’s fine with my taking a road trip. It gives her the excuse to order plane tickets for her mother to fly in and sit with Esme and the kids whilst I’m gone. Of course, Esme will tend to this, she has all my pertinent numbers. I’m now on a schedule. And a mission. “All that ice cream for nothing”, I lament. “Everything in life has its price”, she smiles at me. “So, I can go? ” I ask her directly. “Well, ” she smirks, “As long as you’re going to New Mexico, you could drop by the Scavada and see what’s on dead pawn…” “Gotcha. ” I smile, “Good thing the Agency’s got deep pockets. This is going to cost me a bundle just to get there. ” “Turquoise”, Esme notes, “Not turtle shell. Oh, silver conchos if Fred has any. ” “Message received. ” I smile. “Well, I need to mail Rack and Ruin my prospectus for this job”, I note, “And now I really need that winch fixed. ” “Rock”, Es says, “Don’t take this wrong, but why not call in Digger? You worry about your Agency contract and let Digger sort out your truck. That thing is evil and hates me but you seem to like it. Let him get it ready for your road trip. ” My 1-ton GMC pickup is a big old truck, and Esme hates it because it’s huge, has a custom 10-speed manual transmission, three fuel tanks, four-wheel drive, and mind of its own. However, she’s never let me down and I refuse to trade her in. That’s the truck I’m referring to… I call Digger and he sends over his top mechanic, Cletus. I pile the bits and pieces of the winch into the back and he drives off to Digger’s garage. He’s going to give her the once over, change all the belts and hoses and charge me a fortune. But, he does excellent work and stands behind it. He even changes and tops off the blinker light fluid. More than I can say for most mechanics I’ve run across. I work up my contract for the Agency. It’s bog-standard: per diem, travel allowances, Door to Door, Force Majeure clause, Take or Pay; the usual. I send it off and within three hours, I have the signed contract in my hands along with my contact information, itinerary, and the job description. It’s actually rather simple work this time. Assay disused mines all over the southwest. If they are home to a bat population, then close the mines adits (portals) so that the bats, but nothing else, particularly humans, can gain entrance. No bats? Close the portals permanently. I love vague wording. Translation: get loads of explosives from the government and blast those fuckers shut good and tight. Since we’re back in Texas now; yes, we do a lot of bouncing around for the next couple of decades, I’m actually looking forward to the drive to New Mexico. I decide to take the scenic route. I’ll go down I-10 through San Antonio, to El Paso. Spend the night in El Paso, then drive north to Las Cruces. After that, it’s just due north to Albuquerque and the offices of the BLM. Easy drive, nice and scenic. I’ll leave at midnight, be in San Antonio by 0300 or so, and then spend the morning and early afternoon driving to El Paso. Overnight in ‘The Pass’, with maybe a bit of a side trip to Ol

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