This part of the story begins in a cabin in the woods. If you are following the Helmet story, and have read parts I, II, and III, you will understand that Helmet, is a very strange person and I could not and would not make this crazy crap up. The Hobbit sold his haunted house at the end of Cascade Shores (a long, true and completely different story) and moved even further into the wilderness into a camping resort for boy scouts attempting to survive on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. This private property log cabin in the middle of hundreds of miles of National forest was completely off the grid. It was powered by solar batteries, and though expensive entirely awesome if you are a hermit and hate the human race in general.
The property was 11 acres, and consisted of a beautiful two-bedroom log cabin with a nice sized loft, fully functioning bathroom and decent sized kitchen with a lovely, large sitting room. It was furnished well, with warm blankets, expensive leather furniture, and beautiful original artwork. The front porch was a rustic covered hand-built deck, with an endless view of pine tree covered mountains. This was a picturesque cabin in the woods. Some sweet old man made it with love and he lived out the rest of his life there on the mountain with his hardy wife. When the couple passed away, they had no offspring, so the beautiful cabin on the mountain in the middle of what is now National Forest was sold to a church group. The church group that resided in the Bay Area built another cabin a stone's toss away that was just one large community room with a giant closet area, a small bathroom and a loft. It was sparse, mainly used for a lot of young children or unimportant people to sleep on the floor or cots. Both of these cabins had wood burning stoves which was very necessary, and won’t be as important in this part of the story, but very significant for later episodes of the Helmet saga. The church group also build a large bonfire area or marshmallow toasting area, complete with bleacher type seating and a decent sized stage for whatever church groups do in the woods, charades? It was semi sloppily made compared to the old man’s lovely construction base, and on his stepped rock stairway and crafted rock retaining walls. The scene is set, and we are working, cutting flowers in the deep woods of Northern California, usually laden yearly with deep, heavy snowfall, starting at the beginning of November. Imagine “The Shining,” if you will. Because of the heightened elevation and lack of sunlight due to mass amounts of trees and hillsides, in addition to the Hobbit being paranoid and an old school Humboldt taught farmer his crop was always later than most; it was not unusual to see see a little snow before our two-three week “work” cation was complete. It wasn’t snowing yet, as we were starting out in the later part of October. We did have to park on the dirt road at the top of mountain and be 4x4 driven in by the Hobbit down the rabbit hole in his beat up, old, flipped twice Toyota. He was a terrible driver. The crew the year of 2005 consisted of me, Helmet, and Gayla and Alissa on the weekends. Hobbit’s secret girlfriend, we knew they were together but he never admitted it, was there as well, she was a great friend of mine, we’ll call her Bek. The extra toothbrush in the bathroom and lady shampoo was the giveaway. Helmet camped out in the cabin and Hobbit and his lady slept in the house. I drove up daily, it was a long drive, but Gay kept me company and we didn’t mind the commute. We worked 5 days a week, 12 hours most days including the drive. I was sad because I was missing Alissa, when she worked on the weekends. Returning after the first weekend Gay and I felt refreshed and ready to work again waiting at the top of the hill for Hobbit to pick us up and take us down the deer trail aka pitted, steep, dangerous road to his house. He bragged nonstop about Helmet’s work ethic, either to rally us or just because he was ignorant. In his exaggerated Irish brogue, “She works 17 hours a day straight, no breaks, no days off! She did as much as you two combined over the weekend.” Whatever. I take whatever Hobbit says and divide it by two tons of BS. He always had an ulterior motive, maybe he was attempting to make us competitive, but Gay and I knew our worth and his game. We had much experience, and no worries about our cleaning competence. Helmet’s work was sloppy. She was a dude. Hobbit wasn’t lying about the 17 hour days. The trimming machine, his new name for her, was looking like she not only needed a break, but some sleep as well. We didn’t comment, and she obviously forsook the shower we realized after the smell greeted us. “How’s Alissa?” I asked to make small talk, and because I actually cared. Alissa was and is rad. I don’t remember what Helmet said exactly but somehow the subject came up that Alissa was driving out of her way daily to Helmet’s house (the grannie house on my property) after working all day to feed Helmet’s fish while Helmet was on the hill working for the Hobbit. So far it had been a week and a half. We lived across town from Alissa, and I think she might have been working 2 jobs then. “You’re giving her some product or pay, right?” “No, she likes feeding my fish. It gives her pleasure.” “I doubt it gives her pleasure to drive an extra 30 minutes out of her way every day to feed your fish.” We got paid by weight, so Helmet was making a killing, plus she was on paid vacation from the photography studio (where I met her, and used to work). She was using her vacation and sick pay in addition to getting paid by Hobbit. She just shrugged, because she didn’t understand my point to begin with. Gay and I shared a sideways~weirdo~glance but dropped it. A few days later Alissa got a day off from her regular work and came up the hill to work with us before flying out of town for her Grandpa’s funeral. Helmet was mad because she was going to have to go home and feed her own fish. “Why don’t you call Dan and ask him to feed your fish? He already has a key.” Helmet lived in our grannie house, literally in the backyard. Dan, my husband, loved fish, he wouldn’t mind feeding the little guys, and no drive. Brilliant. Helmet could keep plugging away impressing the Hobbit with her dedication to his farm. “I don’t want him to go in my house. There’s dirty dildos laying everywhere, and my porn is out.” So it’s okay that Alissa has to step over and view all the dirty dildos (Alissa told me later she accidentally sat on one) to feed the fish? How awkward did this conversation suddenly become? I changed the subject. “Alissa, does it give you pleasure to feed Helmet’s fish?” I was dying of curiosity now that I knew the house was decorated with used sex toys and Helmet’s porn, only Alissa knows the nasty details of that collection. “No, it does not give me pleasure.” Alissa’s face was beet red, and she just kept dutifully working and was probably thinking of more important things. “Your grandpa was a jerk.” Did Helmet just insult Alissa’s dead grandpa? How could Helmet even know him? He lived in Minnesota. Alissa was headed there in a day or two. Alissa didn’t say anything but was noticeably annoyed. This may have been the beginning of the end of that friendship, which slowly started to unravel; but that is Alissa’s story, not mine. Completing our hill labor was wonderful. Everyone went back to work at their regular jobs and all seemed well and good. My husband, Dan, freaked out soon after and asked me if I had seen anyone hit his work van. He worked for Stanley Tools, it was a brand new F350, and all the other workers wanted the new ride but Dan got it because he was an extremely hard worker, a super badass video installation technician, in addition to being very careful driver. There was a giant dent on the side of Dan’s new work van. I tried to remember if I saw anything suspicious, but no, when I came home from work the day before (I worked as a receptionist at a medicinal dispensary) I had only seen Helmet washing the back of her truck. I thought it was weird because she had just washed her truck a couple days prior to that, but knowing her well enough by this point that the less contact the better, I just did a quick greeting and bypassed any substantial interaction. Maybe she liked a really clean vehicle, though her house was a pigsty. Dan asked Helmet if she saw anyone hit his van. She did not. Dan spent hours of unpaid overtime going over the video in the parking garage where he parked the vehicle at Stanley trying to find out how the vehicle was smashed. After reviewing the footage for over a week, wasting at least 12 hours and finding nothing, Dan was really worried. He had to report the hit and run to his employer, and he was afraid of major repercussions. My neighbor, Ron, an old hippie guy, that had been living in the house for many years and knew us very well approached me, we were both just coming home from work at the same time. Our houses are close, he just caught me, “Did you guys get all that nasty business worked out with Dan’s van?” “No, Dan’s going crazy, he’s afraid he’s going to get fired. We don’t know what happened” “You mean she didn’t tell you?” “Tell me what?” Helmet had pulled out her vehicle, drunk as a person could possibly be, and backed into the side of Dan’s van at a good speed. She pulled forward and backed into it again. Then she pulled forward and backed into it a third time, each time just as hard or harder than the last. Maybe if she went fast enough she could go through the impediment. Ron ran out of his house hearing the commotion (Dan and I were out in my vehicle) and Ron had to get in her truck and back the vehicle out for her, and when he did, she jumped in and took off. He was worried because she was obviously very intoxicated. Understandably I was angry. I thanked Ron, who was shocked that Helmet never confessed, and I recalled seeing Helmet washing the back of her truck the next day, the day after the accident. She was washing white paint off her bumper. I went into the house and called Helmet and told her to come to my house immediately, which was a hop skip and a jump away (literally). She entered and I held my cool, but explained to her that I knew the circumstances of the accident and needed her insurance information ASAP. She begrudgingly gave the information to me right before Dan came home. When Dan walked through the door the phone rang. It was Helmet’s mom. I let Dan answer the phone. Helmet’s mother said she hit Dan’s van and would take care of the damage. He was thrown. He had no idea Helmet’s mom hit his van. She didn’t. She was trying to cover for her do-funny daughter. Helmet’s mom asked if he would be willing to lie to his employer, say it was a hit and run and make them pay for it. We declined her kind offer, and discussed the true happenstance when she was no longer on the line. Dan was livid. Helmet called and was angry because we were going to cause her insurance to go up if we reported the actual truth. Helmet's opinion was no longer any interest to us, and I had to talk Dan down as he wanted to immediately evict her. I knew there had to be some laws in regards to that, so we just sucked it up and moved on with our next step. Dan doesn’t take it lightly when a person lies to your face about something important like your job, especially when you are worried about getting fired and you have a mortgage, an 8-year-old son and your wife is newly pregnant. Dan and Helmet were no longer on very good terms. In closing, Helmet's fish died. She didn't want to drive and lose valuable time at the Hobbit's and wouldn't ask Dan to do it because of her porn/dildo situation--though he would have done it for free, and maybe just gagged or vomited in the process. Helmet blamed Alissa or her grandpa and just buried them in our back yard. To be Continued Part V -- Helmet vs. Gayla disrespect at the Art show and some one almost gets punched in the front yard (right where she hit Dan’s van, go figure) Part VI -- Killing Mickey, Angry Dance, Don’t tempt me, 2 steps Part VII -- Hot Tub, Ripping off the Hobbit, Ripping off my family (I warned them, their bad) Side note: Lying to my future friends 10 years later
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