Quandary 10

This is the tenth in a fictional series of posts that starts here.

I parked in my usual spot less than twelve hours since my previous arrival. Mason and I had a predetermined amount of cash that would prompt the phone call for my visit, and I was well over the line. There was nothing I could do to hide the bruising, and I hadn’t spent any time coming up with a story to explain it and there was no time left. I knocked on the door.

He opened it up and pulled me inside with brute force. He slammed the door shut and pushed me up against the wall, grabbing me by my throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you coming here like this!?” I replied with a lie, “I got into a fight man, it happens!” Quizzically he looked me up and down, “That’s it?” I nodded. I felt his grasp loosen and finally he let go of me. I wondered if I had made a stool in my pants. Mason said with tension in his voice, “Shit man you scared me, I thought you were gonna tell me you got robbed or something. I’m sorry, people are fuckin’ me over left and right lately, I should have known you were good.” More like amazing, I thought. “You look like shit though. You get in a fight with a girl again?” He beamed, I returned the gesture less proportionately and retorted, “Yup. You should see her, not a scratch.” I laughed at my shot at comedy.

I pulled a well-organized wad of folded money out of my pocket. He liked how I always faced my money, and how the number I gave him always matched what was actually there. He always counted it anyhow, it wasn’t a sign of disrespect, it was customary in the drug trade when dealing with any number over $100.

While he was counting the money, I was recounting the evening in my head. What the fuck was I going to do? I had been threatened, beaten, tossed around, and put in a trunk. Twice. My mind was full of half ideas, fractured thoughts, and vengeful plans. None of those would get me out of this mess. There was only one way out. Murder.

And just as my head rolled back in the same direction as my eyes, the burn phone in my pocket that Driver had given me vibrated. It scared me and my whole body jolted awake. Mason could hear the vibrating but it was expected that I wouldn’t answer the phone while I was there so I let it keep going. Silence. I really had to answer that phone, but I couldn’t. Why would they be calling already? I just wanted to sleep. I got up to use the bathroom and when I shut the door behind me I reached into my 5^th pocket and grabbed the last meth-filled capsule and washed it down with a handful of warm tap water. I stood and gazed at the man in the mirror. He was sweating and his eyes were a solar eclipse; two giant black marbles circumferenced by two bright white rings. I realized at that moment why sunglasses were really invented.  He had been through a rough twelve hours, and the pressure would not be relieved anytime soon. The only thing he could not do was fall asleep.

I went back out to the living room to find Mason weighing out a bag for somebody I had never seen before. It was a small bag so I assumed it was nobody of importance. We greeted each other with a simple bow of the head. I sat there patiently and I felt the phone begin to vibrate again. Shit. I looked at Mason and asked with a gesture of the thumb if I could leave and he gave me the thumbs up. I stood and exited his house and reached into my pocket for the phone.

It was Dumpy. “Why didn’t you answer yer fuckin’ phone?” I cringed at the sound of his voice. “I was busy, what do you want?” He spoke very clearly, “We're at your hotel room. We need to talk.” Fuck.

etc...

It's Thursday morning and I'm exhausted. Yesterday went very quickly, but it took a lot our of me.

I started work at 6, but I had been up since before 5 kicking nothing with restless legs. I was very busy at work. I don't sit while I work, and I worked straight through all of my breaks. My Fitbit says I walked over seven miles and took over 13,000 steps while I was at work.

I punched out at two and walked six blocks to catch the train to the University of Minnesota School of Dentistry, where I was due for a routine exam. I'm always so worried about being late for anything, that I arrived with 45 minutes to spare. I checked in, handed her some new insurance information, and slumped over in a chair. I will be as early next time, and I will wait nearly an hour as I did this time, but I will never be late.

Anyhow, I was greeted by a Dentist, not a student, and told that I would be in and out in under an hour. I liked the sound of that. I sat in the chair which began to recline as we went over the basics as is the standard for any medical visit. She looked over my information from my previous visits, and she went to town.

45 minutes later I was all cleaned up. She said I had been taking care of my teeth, which I was happy to hear from a professional, because I have. I had no cavities or even any areas of concern, so we parted ways.

I've been paying insurance for months and I hadn't used it. The original plan was to use it to see a Doctor about my RLS, but I don't know how to call  a Doctor so I just deal with it. Anyhow, my insurance covered the whole visit which was great because I have a lot of expenses coming up and I thought I'd be out $100.

Fast forward a bit, it's just before 6pm and I head out for the last session of my fourth step workshop. The last part of this "fearless and searching moral inventory" deals with sex. Well, I've got a few pages to write and I'll just leave it at that. (Right this moment I found out Prince died, RIP.)

Ten minutes after that lets out, I go upstairs to where I chair my home group. It's been my favorite part of every week for a long time now. As usual, it's a great meeting and I leave with a sense of happiness. I make the short drive to The Nook on Randolph and Hamline where we suffer through slow service and have a blast playing cards against humanity. It's been a long day and I'm somewhat relieved that I have to be home by 10:30 according to the law.

I sleep, fitfully at best.

I'm awake at 5am again. I toss. I turn. Fuck it. I watch a few episodes of Its Always  Sunny, and I get ready for the day. I drive to the Firestone shop by my work to get an oil change and to have them make sure nothing will fall off or explode on my road trip this Sunday. I get a call saying everything checks out except for the front brakes. Sweet, I can afford to have that done.

And here we are now at 12:50pm, Thursday afternoon. These days, weeks, and months have been flying by. I wish I could make the fun parts last longer but I can't, so I will just try to enjoy them even more.

I am really pumped for Sunday down in S.E.MN. Food. Fun. Friends. That's what it's all about.

I'm tired. I'm done writing. 

Jobs Part 1

A goal of mine in recovery is to never be fired again. Nearly every job I’ve had since I was 15 years old has resulted in my termination due to theft, noncompliance, general malfeasance, or sometimes I would simply never show up again. In this post, I am going to attempt to recall every job I’ve ever had, followed by a brief description of why I no longer work there. This could be interesting, and it could drum up some material for future posts. So, here we go!

15 years old, Miami Subs on the corner of Snelling and University in St. Paul. It was my first job, and I loved working there. I didn’t have a taste for theft yet, so I earned my money the hard way. It was Summer time and my friend Nathan and I were given the opportunity to work as many hours as possible, which we did. Suddenly, the owners came to us one night and asked us to work overnight closing down the restaurant and loading all of the equipment onto a van. It was over after a few short months, but we came back a few nights later, broke in and stole all of the cigarettes from the vending machine (they had those back in the 1900’s) and committed several acts of vandalism. Next!

Shortly after that, Nathan and I were offered jobs at Burger King on Fry and University, also in St. Paul. I would be there for a long time. I worked there through the trial phase of many drugs, including acid which I somehow managed to do during many shifts there. I recall that my job usually entailed being the order taker at the drive through which was expedited through a speaker box mounted on the wall. I can see the colours pouring out of it now along with the distorted voices expressing their thoughts on condiments and choice of beverage. More than a few times I couldn’t take it and burst out laughing. My coworker was clueless and I’m sure put it off in his mind as business ensued. The two main bosses both smoked pot and we got along just fine. Slowly but surely, all of the cool people left and I decided to quit. I stole a lot of money from them but was never questioned or caught.

Briefly after that I worked at a Taco Bell. Nothing exciting there. I quit.

I was now 16 years old, and getting sick of school. I joined the O.J.T. (On the Job Training) program at Central High in St. Paul, and was given a job at Liberty State Bank as a mail room clerk, and a security guard. I went in stoned every day after barely making it through half a day at school. But somehow I managed to hang on for a while. I sorted through mail, sent all outgoing envelopes through a cool postage machine, and then worked out in the guard shack where I smoked weed and cigarettes, and directed the occasional vehicle in and out of parking spots. It was a great job with great benefits. One of the benefits was knowing where and when the cameras were recording, and which doors had cool stuff behind them. I stole plenty of stuff off of camera. Never money of course because you just don’t fuck with a bank like that. But in the end, they found out I had recently dropped out of school and gave me a choice: Take termination with severance, or they would buy me a new laptop and I could finish my diploma online, at my own pace, and keep working there. I opted for the severance. Bad choice.

17 years old, out of work and kicked out of the house for the first time. I moved in with a friend and his parents, and shortly thereafter began my dealings with the various hardware stores in the St. Paul area fixing windows and screens, gaining their trust, and robbing them blind. More on that on the next post. I have 20 more years of job experience to write about, so this may take a few posts.

No Loss Of Suction

My mother on occasion eats immitation duck meat out of a can. It's true, I've seen her do it. So why is it such a crazy idea that I try to start a failing immitation cat meat business? Have you ever seen it in your local grocery store? I think not. Imagine all of the benefits of not having to buy real cat meat. The price must be insane because I've never even seen it anywhere, including the black market. I've also never been to a black market, not to say that I don't support African American businesses, I'm just too afraid to go to those parts of town.

I got the idea for this when I was writing a letter to a friend from prison. I was disappointed when he wrote back and there was no mention of the subject. Did he steal my idea? Not a bad move as I sit in Moose Lake and he takes in all of the profits. Or, maybe he just lacked the secret recipe which consists of only pureed squirrel which is not modified in any way, then shoved into a can and labeled simply, "Cat" Meat. I think the quotations make it obvious that we're dealing with faux feline. 

That's just a very brief tour through my brain and the things I come up with. I don't actually intend to start up such a business, but only because I have no start up capital. I'm willing to do the leg work if someone is willing to invest..... Could it be you?

Now, Grandma, if you're reading this, you may want to put your eyemuffs on for this next part.

Along a completely different train of thought, if I have sex with a vaccuum, and I like it, would the next logical step be to buy a Dyson? Or, would that be the end of me as a man because of their proclaimed "No loss of suction?" I can see the little clear dirt compartment filling up with red chunky bits. Ouch! Or is it love? People out there somewhere do fuck vaccuums, I'm not willing to do the research, but I'd bet there's vaccuum porn. I lied. And it didn't take long to find a video. Please don't click on this. You will regret it.

As crazy as I think my thoughts are, somebody, somewhere, at some point in time in this world has absolutely done everything there is to do. See. I'm not entirely certain that it's immitation, but I hope so. 

I promise I won't always write about such strange things, but I will be bringing some different ideas to the table. If you're offended by what I write, than you're really going to hate high school. And I cannot possibly be more offensive than half the shit that's in the news these days. Am I right? Yes.