A Normal Day

Editor’s Note: Though we firmly believe fiction is Stranger Than Truth, we never said there aren’t some pretty badass truths out there—like a day in the life of contributor Tim Dallimore, who lives and works in the Yukon.

I like to eat pop tarts in the morning. A few months ago I decided I was going to go all caveman on everyone’s ass, and part of that meant not ever making myself good meals. Also it included not shaving ever or cutting my hair. Anyway, I woke up and tossed a couple of pop tarts into the toaster. Then I ate a bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of fruit loops. Enough about breakfast. I eat a lot. Mostly garbage. Then me and Tom got into the burb (the Suburban truck). We drove it to the other dudes’ houses and picked them up. We all got coffee and juice from the Gas station. Then I went to Shannon’s house to get my Shan-wich.

We all went to the compound. I got my shit ready in the gear shed. That means I cut a bunch of pieces of wire and sharpened my axe. My axe needs to be sharp enough to skin a bear. I walked back into the office at the compound and got my map. It shows me where the mountains will be during my day. We drove out to the chopper pad, which happens to be pretty far away these days. So there are the five of us, driving down the Yukon highway listening to Rammstien. I usually like to listen to the Batman theme by Danny Elfman to get pumped, but I guess today was a day for Rammstien. Finally we reached the helipad. We had to roll a bunch of Jet “B” fuel out of the truck and get it ready for the chopper if he wanted to fuel up. I spent my time waiting for the chopper saying things in a British accent.

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