Another day, another dollar...Playing a Double Agent Is Hard When You Have To Piss

I stopped to buy cigarettes the other night. It had been a long week, and a long day, and an even longer drive home down the highway to my house. I had been in a day of training, taken a tour of a city site, was wearing a suit, had on my big fake diamond ring that everyone thought was real.

I can't even recall what was playing on my car stereo. I can recall that I was so tired that my head was spinning with trying to organize my thoughts about all the things that I had learned that day and seen that day, and what was left to do...and how to put all of this in time with my home life, etc.

I was mulling over how much the lot guys we had met had made faces and jokes about the "suits" that were touring the city site. One of them was a large man, with massive shoulders, and a giant beer gut. He looked rather menacing in his overalls. I behaved myself, so as not to get tackled by him. But, that was hard for me to do. It would have made for a better story if I'd caused a scene and been tackled by the overalled, redneck, lot guy. However, I've done that before, already. I did find it funny that this man considered me a "suit". Yes, I was wearing one. But, I only have a limited supply of these, as I do not wear them everyday. And if he had looked closely, he would have noticed the slight ill-fit of it, the slight off-color of it. That certain something that says that I do not actually belong in the "suit" family. I was in disguise. And he and I probably would have more in common that the people I was on the tour with. He would never know of the struggle it took for me to put the outfit together, since I hate them, and don't really knows what goes with what. He would never know how hard it was for me to try to speak their language, and keep my own language out of any conversation.

The thought crossed my mind of my hard hat falling, and my hand dropping the plastic safety goggles falling from my hand, shedding my suit, letting my tattoos and piercings out, my hair flowing in the wind that came from something related to watching a scene from a movie about a Phoenix rising, rays of strong light, and some angels singing....very dramatic. And everyone would be in awe of the real me. I would be respected and appreciated, and we all could be just who we are without overalls and high heels. I could fulfill my destiny as the being who sparked that change.

Yeah, right. I just tried to keep my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets safely away from all the shiny big buttons that I totally wanted to push, that would start some sort of alarm and giant disaster, and get me tackled and probably jailed.

Right now, though, I was in the car and had to piss so bad. I hadn't wanted to go to another public bathroom. I don't like them. They generally smell of other people and their shit. People are quite filthy. They pee on the seat and can't wipe it up. They crap and don't courtesy flush. I don't want to smell the fish fry and taco hell they ate all week...Fuck No!

I'd actually rather piss outside. The fresh air, and the lack of concrete and tile with poop germs on it, much nicer when you think about it. In our world now, well, you just can't piss outside, their are big laws against that...such a shame.

I was also out of cigarettes. And it was time for the end of the day smoke. The end of the day is a relaxing, reflective smoke. And if you're an addict, such as I am...it's ever so hard to resist. Starting to de-stress and jones.

I was arriving shortly to my exit for the last convenience store before home. My only thoughts at this point where gauging how much I had to piss and could I stop, get the smokes without having to use their bathroom. Or, how many favors did I have left with my man? Could I make it home, piss in the safety zone of my own precious bathroom, and con my guy into making the trip back out into the rain, after his day of labor, just to buy my smokes. He had quit smoking...so, I couldn't use the You Fly and I'll Buy gig anymore. And he had already bought his favorite ice cream at the grocery store yesterday. I concluded that I had no strategy on the front, and would probably fail. I also knew that we had cleaned the house, and the ashtrays would be empty, so I would find any salvageable butts either. It was do or die time, the exit had arrived. I really had to piss. I was not going to go to the store's bathroom. I had made my decision. I was resolved to make it.

I pulled off the highway, over three lanes, and into the parking lot. I thought that I stood a good chance of not peeing myself. And if it did get that bad, I'd probably be close to home that time, so if I did piss myself, I'd be around family who already knew how weird I am. I got my wallet, got out of the car. As I neared the door, I saw one of the homeless people sitting to the steps. I knew he was going to ask me for some change. My wallet was so empty. He had no idea, but I knew he was going to try. I wasn't completely sure that I wasn't going to bounce something at the bank by giving them my bank card for my cigarettes. It had been a hard month, and the paychecks were small, due to the calender days. I would be back on track the next paycheck, but for now, I was super broke. I had already started digging into my change pile...that's really my man's change pile...as long as you don't take all the quarters, it's unlikely that your theft will get noticed...always take the small stuff....skimming is an art form.

I was stepping closer to the door. I could feel the homeless man's eyes on me...looking for the moment. He did ask if I had any change. He was completely soaked from the rain, and he was smeared with dirt...only his bright red hair seemed untouched by dirt. He was soaked so much that his t-shirt stuck to his body like a wet t-shirt contestant, but his older man boobs probably wouldn't win him any money. I told him that I didn't have any change. Most homeless people just looked at you like you are lying. Not this guy. He nodded at me like he understood. And then he just slumped and looked down. It was a bit uncharacteristic of most of the homeless people that I dealt with...the slump. It wasn't just his shoulders and his head. The slump was like his whole body slumped...so tired and wet and dirty. The door swung open and I felt the cool air of the air-conditioning against my humidity soaked, suity skin. Normally, I would think about that, I wouldn't take notice.

Jesus, I had to piss.

I jumped in the nearest line in the store. I wasn't quite at shifting from one let to the other yet, but it would be soon, it would happen, I would have to hurry. I asked for my smokes. I didn't really want the kind that I asked for, but I didn't have time to check to see if they had the kind that I really wanted. Is my card, debit or credit? Oh, I didn't care....please, just hurry. Well, did I want cash back? What?!? I have no cash...I'm hoping the damn thing just works for the purchase. Then the words fell out of my mouth...Can I get any amount? Yes. Okay, then it's debit and I want five dollars back please. It's a longer process to run debit...the entering of the code, the signing....blah, blah, blah. I don't know why I didn't think about the bank charge that was huge and I might get stuck up my banking ass. Maybe I thought I could pay it, even though I hated it, and I was doing better than some people. I got the cash, I signed, I got the money, I said thank you and have a nice day, and I walked fast outside.

The man was still there. He was in the same slumped position. He hadn't asked anyone else for change. I went over and said excuse me. He looked up and I gave him the five dollars. He said thank you, and just looked very relieved. He put out his dirty, sticky hand to shake mine. I took it and shook his hand. He told me that he didn't do drugs or drink much. He was drunk. He corrected himself, and told me that he did drink, but did not do drugs. I told him that I didn't care about that. He could drink and do drugs, I didn't care. I told him that I was homeless once, too. I knew how hard it was, and I knew about the decisions and/or circumstances that might lead a person to be homeless. He said it wasn't so bad sometimes. He had a tent in the woods and a small T.V. that was hooked up to a car battery, and a blanket or two that covered his cardboard box bed. Yeah, it wasn't too bad sometimes.

I told him how once I slept on top of an apartment building roof. It wasn't too bad up there either...high up, near the breeze and the stars...much better than a lot of places I could have been. I sat down. I still had to piss, so I had to sit down.

I opened my pack of smokes and gave the man one to have with me, and a few to have later, I gave him my extra lighter. We smoke together, on the dirty steps, looking at the traffic.

He said that he had worked hard labor most of his life. He had started work early for his family/his parents, and didn't finish school. Now, he was getting old and he couldn't work hard labor so much. And most lots hired younger and stronger guys, and they were cheaper, too, since they didn't know any better. He didn't feel like there was a job for him using his brain since he didn't read and write so good. He asked me if I thought his life could turn around. I told him yes, that mine had, and I was not that special. He asked if I was going to tell him that he just had to stop drinking and clean himself up and that's what would do it, how easy it would be, since that's what he heard all day from lots of other people. No, I told him that I wasn't going to lie to him, and tell him that shit. It wasn't easy. It would be hard. It could take a long time. I told him that he would have to make the choice if he even wanted to do that. Maybe, I said, you'll find that you like living in your tent more. I don't know. Some people do like I did, and some people don't....and either way was hard...just living is hard. It just is. I also thought to tell him not to be so down on himself. That no matter what decision he made about his life, to at least be proud of himself, try to like himself. That's the important thing over having stuff...and that's the point that took me the longest to get, and was the hardest to get. I also told him that I had to go. I had to get home, and I had to piss. I laughed, too, and then made the face that I really might piss myself and maybe him, too. We laughed some more.

I stood up and shook his hand again. Then I got in my car, waved at him and turned the car, drove home. It was nice to just sit with someone, chat and have a smoke. The simple conversation refreshed my mind a bit. I'm not sure he would know that he had done that for me, this dirty, wet man with bright, fire-red hair.

His name is Henry.

BC's gonna' take you out!!! I loves me the old BC.

It's morning. I'm thinking that my period is fixing to start...maybe...or it's the drugs that the doctor's have me on for the flare up of the MS, that I'm having now. Hard to say. Sometimes emotions are a tricky thing. One has to wonder if we're ever truly supposed to master them. I have to wonder, since we are a terribly ignorant species, if my dog runs the gambit of emotions that I do, and what he would say about them, to me, if he could. I wonder what if I tried not to box them in, not to file them, not to control them...where would I be. I do say more than most people, I'm comfortable with that. And still sometimes I hold it in, I say nothing. I say nothing because of the social constraints.....the expected, controlled constraints. I have to wonder if those really do any of us any good.



This week are our reviews at work. We have two, one mid-year, one end-year...the sum of both are added, and tied to our money. I've watched people who do not deserve money, get money. And I've watch people who did deserve money, not get enough. It's all opinions, not based in any fact. I'm actually beginning to really in my heart of hearts believe there are no true facts anyway...only opinions. Take history and science as examples....completely changing and evolving as we discover new things. We just made the word fact up, to solidify our opinions....bolster our own egos. We are good about that.



Last year, my first review was complete shit. Then just a few months later my review went up, way up. And everyone noted how much change they had seen in me. I can honestly say, I never changed one bit, not what iota. Could it be that people took a bit of time to discover that I wasn't this complete waste of time? Well, I couldn't say that to them, could I? I just took the money and ran. Good for me that I changed so much....good for me.



I don't want to do this one, this year either. Not unless they're planning on a big monetary surprise for me. Otherwise, I think that I'd just rather be left alone to work. I do my work, when there isn't work, I often find work to do. All signs of a good employee. Just pay me fairly, let me do my time, and then retire. It's hard for me to get excited about this.



I work with a group that are all about twenty years old than I am. Completely different work culture that they come from. And their desire to learn anything else is pretty limited. Sometimes it strangles me.



On occasion they will all sit around and talk about the good old days. Okay, not on occasion, must of the fucking time. It was so bad at last year's holiday season, I wondered if I should get them all shotguns, so that they could just end it all in the breakroom or something like that. Maybe the handi-capped stall of the bathroom...it's big enough. I mean, they really talk about the good old days. Not just a quip or two, but really like old biddies sitting on a porch, rocking and fanning themselves, waiting to die. It's awful. And it sucks moments off of my life, as well. I don't learn anything from it....well, except that maybe I don't ever want to do that to anyone else.



Last time it was about the old neighborhood in Houston, and Green Stamps. I don't have anything to relate about Houston, I don't like the town. And the only thing that I can relate about Green Stamps was that yes, I used to lick and stick them in the books for my Granny and my Stepmother. I got a book for my own for every five books that I completed. And when I had saved enough of my own stupid books, I went to the free stuff center. I turned them all in for a Dungeons and Dragons game set. This game set that was Satanic in the eyes of my small town, and I just wanted to see what it was, and couldn't believe my eyes that it was there on the shelf. I took it home, sat in the closet, opened it up, waited for Satan himself to jump out of the box and tempt me....and then.....NOTHING HAPPENED. It was so boring and stupid. The game is boring and stupid. I don't want to play like I'm a wizard. I would really want to be one...not play one. I was sooooo disappointed. And now I live on occasion by making fun for the D&D cult.



That's what I had to relate. The others stood there looking at me as though I had just farted. Needless to say, I dropped out of the conversation. I am not old. And I know others their age who aren't old. It really is a mind set.



Later in the week, we had a business lunch. They were all discussing something. I made a reference from Thunder Cats. Nothing....the table went dark and quiet. Again, I farted. They had never heard of Thunder Cats...nothing. Okay, I thought, maybe Thunder Cats was a tiny bit off the beaten path...so, I brought up He-Man. Still nothing. Skeletor? Completely blank. I brought up one other example. And then my eyes completely widened, and I let out a laugh. It wasn't on purpose...it escaped me. I had a jailbreak laugh. Maybe I was just surprised that in this office, I was completely alone. Completely and utterly alone, in anything remotely humorous. There was a part of me that was saddened by this revelation. Humor is a big part of what I am. I find humor in everything. And these three must just think that I babble like a crazy person all of the fucking time. I occurred to me, that this really may be the case, they may never get any humorous remark that I make. I am the office babbling idiot.



The third and most horrific example of the old biddies this week, was the Aloha themed business lunch that we had to Pot Luck something to. Jesus, it sucked. I brought ham and Ambrosia Salad. One of the old biddies started telling me that this was not Ambrosia Salad, that it was, in fact, Heavenly Hash. BECAUSE, that was how her mother made it. I noted that I got this recipe out of the Betty Crocker's cookbook, an old Biddie favorite, with tried and true, traditional recipes. She wouldn't let up. I also noted that I looked it up online to see if there was any variations on the recipe that I might like to try. Yep, it was Ambrosia Salad, and definitely not Heavenly Hash, as per the THOUSANDS OF ONLINE RECIPES. She STILL would not let up on me about this, and noted it loudly in the fucking Aloha themed, joke of a business meeting, in order to somehow make herself and her crazy, fucking recipes up, mother, look like the be all and end all of recipes for Ambrosia Salad....as though, this was some delicacy that took some sort of sacred knowledge about to make. It's a fast, easy, white trash short cut to cooking anything of merit, and I took it, only because I wasn't really in the mood to cook for an Aloha themed business meeting. What- are you kidding me?!?!???!!!!



Now, I could have taken the high road. I could have not let it bother me. But, true to my nature, I didn't. The fact that I had to make something, show up, decorate, and all of this had nothing to do with anything business, deeply bothered me. I was not getting paid extra for the effort, I didn't like these people.....there was nothing redeeming about it. I wanted to by this giant, blown-up monkey that I had seen on sale. But was told that this would be inappropriate, and there aren't any monkeys on the islands, anyways. WHAT?!? It's true, I was told that. I was hard not to buy it, and just put it in my passenger seat and drive it to and from work every day. I am still considering this. I digress.



I noted where I got the recipe, that in fact, in Betty's Cookbook, there was no such thing has Heavenly Hash. And the thousands of recipes out there....that all said AMBROSIA SALAD....this was just like them, the crap that I made. AND perhaps, just perhaps, her mother was either a bit off, didn't actually know how to cook, or maybe, just maybe, called it Heavenly Hash to confuse her daughter about food for the rest of her life so much that she would be doomed to bring it up and to the attention of everyone at every time, she felt that there had been a food injustice done. But, whatever. The room went silent for a moment. Then we ate, and the salad was eaten, and the woman only brought up her point about fifty million more times, but it didn't matter, everyone would see her for the sad, pathetic salad lady after that. I had won. Don't mess with me and Betty. Betty will fuckin' take you out!!!! You and your crazy ass mother!



See, that there was the other part of me, that part of me that makes fun of the D&D people and obsessed salad people. The part of me that maybe wants to take back part of the office that should be rightfully mine. I do get tired of the high and mighty thumbing their noses at me, sometimes treating this grown up like a baby...boo-hoo....it's really not me. It's them, they do not understand any reference I make. Can you imagine? Going completely through your entire life never having any reference to anything past your own "glory" time, one's heyday, that only lasted maybe ten or twenty years? Shit, that's less that a person's entire lifespan. Why would one do that to themselves and them pick on someone else for not doing that? Mother fuckers.



So, I started my day off by hitting the office and saying: "What's up, Plisken?!" Oh yes, it's on now. My reference to Snake Plisken from the lovely cult classic, Escape from New York, and its' counterpart, Escape from L.A., fell on deaf ears. Once I explained where this one came from....this was followed by the conversation about how completely crappie these movies were. In which I asked if they like the Terminator series. Oh yes, very much, they said. I noted that those movies had completely ripped off some of the sythenized, dark music, and stunning effects from the Escape from series. And how surprised I was that they hadn't noticed that themselves...what a pitty.



This followed up by a few quips like: "That's a negative Ghost Rider.", and "What you lookin' at Willis", and finally, "DYNOMITE". I ended the day with a "One time at band camp....." All of which, I did not explain. I would be the office idiot and enjoy myself.



After all, my review is this week, and I wouldn't want to disappoint. And I can't die a small death in an office with toner, and files, and staples.....that just can't be the end for me. Holla' if you know what I'm saying....can I get an "AMEN".