A map and a mysterious letter arrived in the mail from Egypt, a professor asking me to consult with him on a dig. He warned me that a band of zealots were attempting to stop him from continuing with the dig. The professor described them as notorious and obnoxious; known as “Asmemeken Aguibeha”: English translation, “Bring it”.
*Note: it is important to keep in mind my “WMS”. “WMS” stands for “Walter Mitty Syndrome”, also known as “IOE”, “Issues of Exaggeration”.
I could not find my fedora, my bull whip, my khakis, my leather jacket, and that strange-looking bag with a shoulder strap that I put archaeological finds in. Without my profoundly important gear, I almost scrapped the adventure …
. . . that was not an option. Guys who heroically go in (usually at night, not really), an extraction team, TAP (Tube And Pump) with a state-of-the-art tank on the back of the truck, were to arrive on Thursday @ 3pm. No fedora? No bull whip? No khakis? No leather jacket? No strange-looking bag with a shoulder strap that I put archaeological finds in? No map? “Too bad,” I told myself. I had shovel, pick-axe, water …
And, I had one clue: two (2) black ropes sticking out of the ground, approximately 18″. Legend has it that King Tut had placed those ropes deep in the ground to guard the precious secrets of the underground.
When I first heard about this sobering story, I said to myself:
“Seriously? What a bunch of NONSENSE! What … I was born yesterday?”
So, the dirt was stacked against me; or, maybe they were cards … I did not know. But, I am Indiana Wild Man, and this is what I do, when I am not eating chocolate chip cookies and drinking black coffee … very, very, black coffee. And, I also look like Indiana Jones. Then again, maybe not.
I had to dig down two feet of dirt to uncover the concrete caps of the septic tank. I knew a man in Kabul, who would provide me with more information about this archaelogical dig, and get me the supplies I needed: ropes, sherpas, food, water balloons, chocolate-chip cookies, and … most importantly … black coffee; very, black coffee. Unfortunately, he was a Kabul-in-a-china-closet, and he had just experienced an episode. The secret police were watching my friend. So, I never made it to Kabul. I’m not sure why I even mentioned it.
Once the tomb of insufferable stink was uncovered, I knew … as Indiana Wilder Man… that the septic of doom must stay sealed until the guys from the service showed up, otherwise the earth might rip off of it’s axis and hurl into the sun. Fire-breathing humming birds could possibly storm the Rocky Mountain Mountain Region. And I would have to live with such an agonizing guilt.
This was truly a hair-raising adventure, which was good, because my hair is quite thin, up on top. And, this dig … at the Septic of Doom … required super-human strength. But, I am Indiana Wilder Man, and a chartered member of a group called “Asmemeken Aguibeha”.