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Wednesday, October 29, 2003

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) 1C

A RUDE AWAKENING

I was talking to Jeannie. Her reserve had disappeared. Her tone was warm and seductive.

“We need someone to assist the cheerleaders today. Do you think you could analyze their routines for us? And maybe later you could stop by and tell me how it went. We could have a glass of wine and relax in my private office. Would you like that?”

I was trying to answer her, but my tongue couldn’t form the words. Far away I could hear a phone ringing.

“You’re sleeping right through your call. Quick, answer it before they get someone else.”

I shook myself awake and grabbed the phone. I was determined to sound both chipper and manly.

“Hello,” I said.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice asked. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” I answered. “Who’s calling?"

“This is Mr. Babbingbam, from the Board of Education. Are you available to substitute today?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you sure you're all right, sir? You're very hard to understand. Do you have a cold or a sore throat?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Well as long as you’re sure. We need a substitute for the shop teacher at the high school. Please be at the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”

Before I could respond the phone went dead.


OFF TO THE RACES

“The shop classes only meet in the morning. Most of the shop students go to their voc-ed jobs in the afternoon. So after lunch, please report back to hallway C in the main building. You’ll act as a hall monitor for the afternoon classes.”

“Main building?” I asked.

She looked at me as if I were beyond help. After taking a deep breath, she responded in the slow deliberate style that people affect when they want all within earshot to see how patient they can be when dealing with an imbecile.

“This is the main building. The shop students have their own building out back, at the end of the parking lot. It’s a prefab. Oh, and please report to Mr. Von Klausewitz, the shop department supervisor, before going to the classroom. His office is in the trailer next to the shop building.”

The parking lot went from asphalt to gravel, then petered out into weeds and loose rocks.
I followed a dirt path, strewn with broken glass, chains, and assorted detritus, to the front of the trailer. A bunch of old tires were piled up next to the door. There had to be a vicious, mangy, pariah dog, or maybe an angry pit bull, crouching somewhere close by.

I went in and found Von Klausewitz. His office was a dinged up desk in the middle of the trailer. I had to work my way through piles of machine tools, scrap metal, magazines, cardboard coffee cups, and fast food wrappers in order to approach.

Von Klausewitz was dressed in a grease stained green work suit. Sort of a combination mechanic/chain-gang escapee number. He looked as though he had once been a hard man. Now, though, he was fleshy and haggard, Karl Malden-nosed and beady eyed.

“You wanted to see me?” I said. I knew what was coming.

“Yeah. Before you do anything in there I gotta see your state insurance waiver.”

“I don’t have one.”

“The fuck. Why do they keep sending me all these fuckups? You, you can’t touch anything. Just take attendance and sit there. Got it?”

“Damn,” I said. “I was really hoping to get my hands on a grouter today. I mean a router.”

Von Clausewitz disappeared behind a copy of The Racing Form. I was dismissed.

After 1st period I went back to the trailer. Von Klausewitz was whispering into the phone while marking up the charts in The Form with his free hand. He looked disgusted to see me.

“What is it, wiseguy?”

“The students are pretty wild. There’s really nothing for them to do.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe I could take them to the library. Let them get something to read.”

He face reddened and he started to shake in fury. He leapt up and pointed his finger at me.

“The fuck you say! Those kids aren’t allowed into the main building without special passes. They pay me to keep them out here. You trying to get me in trouble?”

“Nope.”

“Just tell them to be quiet. If they get too out of line, tell them you’re going to go get Klaus. That’ll shut them up. They don’t want to see me coming in. Now, is that it? I’m pretty busy here.”


SUCCESS STORY

He was right. They didn’t want him to come in there. I marked time until lunch, then made my way to the cafeteria. I picked up some generic pre-made food and waited in a line that must have started while the freshmen were still in elementary school.

I finally got to the cashier. She didn't ring me up; she just stared at me. “Aren’t you?”

Then I recognized her. The mother of an old schoolmate of mine. “Yes, yes I am. How’s Ritchie?”

“Oh, he’s doing very well. He’s a doctor now; I’m sure you heard.”

No, I hadn’t heard. We’d lost touch over the years.

“Married, too. To a lovely girl. They have two wonderful children. A boy and a girl. Just beautiful they are. So sweet and so well spoken. And they love their Nana so much.”

I was beginning to realize why the line moved so slowly.

“Ritchie just bought a house, too. A big beautiful one up on the hill in that new community outside of town. I can’t for the life of me see why they would need such a big house, it’s practically a mansion.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am for him,” I said. “And how much for this?”

I decided to go home after lunch. Hallway C would be unmonitored, out of the reach of the law, at least for one afternoon.


HEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?

When I got home, I fell asleep on the couch but was soon awakened by a loud carrying-on. I rushed to the window and looked out upon a conga line of pregnant teens, singing some sort of bawdy song, laughing and pointing up at me. I felt a hand tapping on my shoulder and jumped back. It was Coach Shuckley. He was bouncing a basketball with the other hand and laughing hysterically.

“It’s your own fault,” he shouted above the racket. “I myself live in a sound-proof, vandal proof structure, personally designed for me by Albert Speer.”

“You’re insane,” I said. “Speer’s been dead for years and besides, he never did residential.”

“Speer, Jr. and The Speer Group, I mean. They helped me out, as a favor.”

I heard a horrible, screeching noise.

“That’s Klaus and a few of the boys, gone to work on your car. That way, when Donnie gets here, you’ll have to face the music. No running for your car and riding away. Get the picture?”

"No, it can't be," I tried to say, but the words wouldn't come out. Someone was shaking me again.

"It was FW. "Wake up, for God's sake. You're gibbering and drooling all over the couch. How long have you been sleeping there anyway?"

"This school thing, it's not working out," I said. “I feel like I'm coming down with a case of trichotillomania.”

"Don't tell me you bought pork from a high school cafeteria. What's wrong with you? What couldn't you just bring a sandwich and eat in the faculty lounge like a normal person?"

"Do you remember my friend Ritchie?" I asked. "He had real ruddy cheeks and a high forehead. Well anyway, I just heard he became a doctor. Maybe he can help me."

"You seem to know a lot of doctors," she said. "But I'd be surprised if any of them can help you."



Monday, October 27, 2003

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) 1B

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER


“Good morning, this is Jeannie. Are you available today?”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you have today?”

“We need a physical education sub at Junior High #1. Report to the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”

I still couldn’t get a read on Jeannie. The voice was neutral, uninflected, overly professional, almost robotic. No feeling at all. I bet she didn’t talk to Parker that way.

I was almost looking forward to the day. Getting paid for gym might not be so bad.


YOU CAN LOOK, BUT YOU MAY NOT TOUCH

A big square-jawed, square-headed brute approached me. A gym teacher right out of central casting. A grown man, working, in short pants and a tee shirt, a whistle around his neck.

“Chuck Shukley. We’ll be teamed together most of the day. Do you have a state insurance waiver?”

I was thinking of my high school gym teachers. A short stumpy balding man, the wrestling coach. His name was Gary, but everyone called him Fat Jack. God knows why. A thin nervous man, Mr. Lop. Another thin man, but with a mustache, Mr. Arming. Spent a lot of time in the locker room, making sure everyone took a shower. Shukley would have mopped the floor with the lot of them.

"A what?”

Shukley gave me a disgusted look. “An insurance waiver. Most of the long-term subs have them.”

“I just started subbing,” I said.

“If you want to sub for phys. ed. you have to get one. If you’re not certified, you can’t touch any of the equipment. And that includes the balls. Look, just take attendance for your group and I’ll handle both classes.”

I took out my attendance sheet, and wrote ALL PRESENT at the top. “Done,” I said.

Shukley glared at me, then blew his whistle. “Everyone take a lap. Then break up into groups and choose sides. Play shirts and skins. Now!”

He blew his whistle again and off they ran.

As they ran, Shukley got four basketballs from a bag and rolled them out. Soon there were four half court games in progress. Shukley sat down on the bleachers and began puzzling his way through a copy of Sports Illustrated. I stood in the corner of the gym.
A ball bounced my way and I instinctively moved to grab it.

The whistle blew. “Freeze!” Shukley yelled. “You! Don’t touch that ball!”

Everyone froze. I froze. The ball rolled by. Finally, one of the boys walked by me and picked it up. Some of them were looking at me curiously.

Shukley spent the rest of the period standing, arms folded, glaring at me. His Sports Illustrated lay untended at the bottom of the bleachers. After an eternity, a bell rang. The students ran to change. I checked my schedule. Four more classes in a row with this guy.

AND THOSE WHO CAN’T TEACH GYM

As the day progressed, I tried to work on getting out of the way of errant balls without being too obvious. But it wasn’t foolproof. Every now and then one would head directly for me. With Shukley on alert, I had no options. I ducked, I jumped, I ran away. It was noticeable. The students began to look at me as if I were some sort of freak. A man afraid of a basketball. Running away like a frightened animal.

After a while, (by the end of 3rd period, I think) I actually had become afraid of the ball. My personality had undergone a massive upheaval. I was now some sort of cringing, craven, hunted sub-human, lurking under the bleachers, terrified of what the crypto-fascist gym teacher had in store for me should I touch one of the official junior high basketballs.


WE CANNOT GO TO THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA BEHIND THE SCHOOL
FOR THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA WILL BRING US NO PEACE

I was still rattled at lunch. I flinched at every motion. I needed a break.
I knew there was a small wooded area behind the school. I thought if I could walk out there and sneak a smoke or two, there was a chance I could clear my head and get through the rest of the day without cracking. I followed a little path to a clearing, but I had been beaten to it. Two boys were there smoking.

They didn’t seemed worried about being caught smoking by an authority figure. In fact, they didn’t seem to see me as an authority figure at all. I recognized one of them from gym class. He recognized me.

“Hey,” he said to his friend. “Goddamn. That’s the guy I was just telling you about. Right there.”

They both burst into laughter.

I turned around and walked back into the school.


OUT OF THE FIREPLACE

For the last two periods of the day, I was to report to room 36, for ISS. I stopped by the office. “What’s ISS?” I asked

“It’s In-School Suspension. They usually have the gym teachers do them. The kids are pretty bad in there. The gym teachers are the only ones who can keep them in line.”

“What do I do if they get out of line?”

She was thinking. “Well,” she said. “There’s really not much you can do. To get to In-School Suspension, they’ve already been sent from classes, been given detentions, and most have been on suspension on and off all year. And, of course, we can’t expel them. They’re too young. The only important thing is to make sure none of them leave the room. They’ve got to stay in there until the last bell rings, no matter what.”

“Great,” I said. “No problem.”

I got to room 36 and hunkered down. Soon I was deluged with nonstop requests, pleadings, threats.

“Just let me go to my locker.”
“I’ve go to see my guidance counselor. I’m suicidal.”
“I left my stuff in the lunch room.”
“I left my stuff in homeroom.”
“My cousin’s waiting for me outside. It’s an emergency.”

On and on it went.

The room faced the parking lot. I could see the buses lining up. I’d just about made it. I only had to hang on for the last ten minutes. Then, with no warning, three girls picked up their stuff and headed for the door.

“Back to your seats,” I said. “We still have ten minutes.”

The students turned on me.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
“They’re allowed.”
“Can’t you see they’re pregnant, man?”
“If you’re pregnant, you get to leave early. Everybody knows that.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you have any respect when somebody’s pregnant?”
“If Ronnie finds out how you act, he’ll kick your ass. He ain’t afraid of no substitute teacher.”
“How about they get knocked down in the halls? Is that what you want?”
“Man’s ignorant. Doesn’t know how to act when someone’s pregnant.”
“Doesn’t know how to play no ball either, I hear.”
“I oughta call Ronnie.”

The girls has paused near they door. Now, vindicated, they held their heads high and marched out the door. One of them “harumphed” at me.

A minute or so later they reappeared on the parking lot. They were laughing and pointing at their classmates still at their desks. “Look at you suckers,” one of them said.

"They’re lucky,” someone in the back of the classroom said. “They’re pregnant. They get to leave early.”

The room quieted down as the remaining suspendees pondered their classmates’ good fortune. The bell rang.


JUST ON THE OFF-CHANCE

“Well, how was it today?”

“I’m getting a real education,” I said. “Oh, and by the way, if a guy named Ronnie comes around, tell him I moved."


Thursday, October 23, 2003

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) Part 1.


JIM LETS US GO

Hey guys. How was your weekend? Do anything good?”

“Nothing much. The usual,” CR said.

“I got married,” I said. “That was on Saturday. On Sunday I watched the playoffs.”

“Jeez,” said Jim. “I guess I’ve got some bad timing then.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’ve got to let the both of you go. Friday’s gonna be your last day."

“No problem,” I said. “If you got to, then you got to.”

“Yeah,” said Jim. “You know how it is then.”

I did know how it was. Over the past couple of months my job had consisted of trying to stretch out an hour’s worth of work into a full day of looking busy. In many ways, it was more tiring than actually working.

NEWS FLASH

“I got fired today. Well actually Jim let us go.” I said. “I’m through on Friday.”
“I’m shocked,” FW said. “As hard a worker as you are. What will you do now?”
“Right now, I’m gonna see what’s on. After that, I don’t know.”

A RED HERRING & AN EQUIVOCATION

“I talked to my father. He thinks you should substitute teach.”
“Since when did your father become an employment counselor? Last I looked he was putting up aluminum siding.”
“That’s vinyl siding. And he says come by Saturday morning. He’ll pay you $100 to unload the truck and then take some stuff to the dump.”
“Isn’t it a little cold to be working outside? On a weekend?”

EITHER/OR CHOICES & A BANDWAGON APPEAL

“Look, either you try this, or we’ll starve. Everyone has to work; all your friends have jobs. Why do you think you should be any different?”

“It’s not really feasible,” I said. “Even if I get all that paperwork done and fill out those forms, I don’t think I’d get any jobs. The school year’s half over; they must have a stable of reliable substitutes by now. Why would they call me?”

“They would call you,” FW said, “because one of the guys my father golfs with, that guy Parker, you remember him from last 4th of July. Big guy, smokes cigars. He’s the principal of the junior high. He’s having an affair with a woman in the Board of Education Office, and she’s the one in charge of calling the substitutes. She’ll put your name on the top, so you get called first. It’s all taken care of.”

“What a break,” I said. “I can’t believe how things work out.”

“I got all those forms finished,” I said. “And if it turns out I don’t have tuberculosis, I can start Monday. Oh, I checked the pay. If I work 30 days a month, we should just be able to make the rent. Food and other stuff, I don’t know about.”

“You know, it’s not supposed to be a career; it’s just something to tide us over.”

“Damn, I was already looking forward to summers off.”

MONDAY

“Hi. This is Jeannie. Are you available today?"

It sounded like an invitation, but an invitation to what I could not tell. It was very early and very dark. I stared at the phone for a long time. Who was Jeannie? What could she want? Then it clicked.

“Sure, I’m available. What do you have?”

“Junior High #2 needs a reading sub. Report to the office before 7:15 for your room assignments and instructions.”

While showering, I amused myself by trying to put a face and a body to the voice of Jeannie. I wanted to imagine what Parker was up to. I wondered if Jeannie was married as well. Was it a double cheating situation, or was Jeannie single, or more likely divorced, and pining for that arrogant cigar smoking fool Parker to leave his wife and make an honest woman of her?

I couldn’t come up with a plausible scenario. I resolved to listen more attentively if she called tomorrow.

HOMEROOM AND THE SLIPPERY SLOPE

I was sitting in a room in a Junior High #2. The kids were milling around. A couple of electronic bells rang. A few more kids strolled in. I was sitting on the desk, taking in the show. A kid appeared at my elbow.

“I need your attendance sheet.”

“My what?”

“You have to take attendance right after the first bell. Then you mark off the absences on your sheet and I take it to the office. And whoever comes in after the bell, you have to send them to the detention room."

The what?”

“The detention room. Then they can get a pass to come back in here, after they’re signed up for detention.”

I looked through the papers I had been given at the office. I found the attendance sheet,
wrote ALL PRESENT on the top and gave it to the little collaborator. As he left the room, I noticed a teacher in the room across the hall waving me over. I walked over.

“Those students who came in late, you have to send them to the detention room. They can’t be coming in late like that. Otherwise they'll think they can get away with anything.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. I tried to give him a nod and a wink, but all I could manage was a half squint that scrunched up the right side of my face as if I had a condition. I knew the effect was horrible and even though I hadn’t intended it, I realized it had done the job. He backed off.

INTO THE ABYSS

Another bell rang and everyone was off. The halls were a maelstrom of activity. I decided to wait rather then be carried off by the current. I wondered what would happen if I were late to class. Would the students demand that I be sent of to the detention room? Would some officious prick wag his finger at me for setting a bad example? Unlike college, where professors could wander into class at their leisure, junior high teachers were expected to have arrived at their desks, books open, chalk in hand, sporting malignant half smiles, well before the students arrived. I knew that much.

The reading teacher had left some basic instructions. Read page this to page that.

I wrote the instructions on the board and sat down. I was trying to read, but the students were loud and louder.

“Hey, quiet,” I said. “You’re supposed to be reading.”

They didn’t quiet. They got louder.

“If they don’t listen, you’re supposed to send them to the office.” This from a toady in the front row.

I pointed to the loudest lout. “Hey you, get out. Go to the office.”

He looked sort of nonplussed, but he got up and left. Still, the noise continued. I couldn’t concentrate on my reading. I decided to kick out some more.

“You, out. To the office. You, too. Go.”

The toady was waving his hand wildly, trying to get my attention. “When you kick them out, you have to call the office. Otherwise they won’t go.” He pointed to a phone on the wall.

I walked over to the phone. There was a sticker on the wall underneath it. Press #99 for main office. I picked up the receiver, punched a few numbers at random and mumbled loudly but incoherently. They quieted down. I went back to my reading.

As the day wore on, I fell into a rhythm. “Get out.” “You, get out.” "You get out too.” Walk over to phone. “Bla, bla, bla.” Continue reading.

I had 5 reading classes in a row, then lunch. After lunch I checked my schedule.
Periods 6 & 7: “No classes scheduled. Please report to library and be available to assist if necessary.”

I was at the liquor store by 1:15, home at 1:30.

A HASTY GENERALIZATION

“Well, how was it?" FW asked when she came in.

“More brutal than I could have imagined, but I'll try to stick it out .”

Friday, October 17, 2003

THE ENIGMATIC DR. F VISITS THE SUNSHINE STATE


ROAD TRIP

I got a late start and didn't get to F's until almost noon. He threw a bag into the back and scrunched himself down in the passenger seat, a baseball cap mashed down on his head, the bill obscuring his face.

"What took you?" he asked.

"I was busy," I replied in my best Luther voice. "And aren't you overplaying the fugitive act a little? I thought the police just wanted to talk to you."

"It's not the police I'm worried about. It's that ape Tony. He's out. He's pissed. And I hear he's asking around about me. I already saw him cruising by here once."

"So, I guess we should get going, then," I said.

"That would be a good idea."

"Try to stay smooshed down like that, at least until dark," I said. "If you get hungry, I'll throw you a peanut."

RIGHT ON THE INNERCOASTAL

"So, where do we stay?" I asked.

"Pompano"

"Where's that?"

"South.” Pretty far south."

"Why Pompano?"

"My cousin's there. He lives all alone in a big house right on the inneracoastal. Says we can stay as long as we want."

"Sounds like a great guy."

A CAVEAT

"Actually," F said, "My cousin, he's pretty straight. Actually, he's really straight."

"I guess you don't mean straight as in not gay," I said.

"I mean straight, like no drinking, no smoking, no drugs, no nothing. Real clean-cut.
Gets up and runs every morning. Goes to church. That kind of straight," F said.

"He's so straight, he sounds a little gay to me," I said.

"That son a bitch, I bet he is gay," F said. "I never really thought about it. Well, as long as we have a place to stay, I don't care what kind of perverted shit he's up to. Let the gay bastard do what he wants. Live and let live. That's what I always say."

"I don't think I ever did hear you say that," I said.

"Say what?"

"I need some money for the bridge toll," I said.


WE WERE SOMEWHERE AROUND BARSTOW ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT WHEN THE DRUGS BEGAN TO TAKE HOLD.

Sorry, scratch that. What I meant was...


WE WERE SOMEWHERE AROUND ROCKY MOUNT ON THE EDGE OF THE PIEDMONT WHEN THE ALTERNATOR WENT.

"You know," I said, "I'm on a pretty tight leash. An alternator, a battery, a tow, a jump, it's adding up."

We were in a diner, having a late breakfast, while my car was being revitalized.

"It’s not my fault," said F. "You must be nuts trying to drive a piece of shit like that to Florida. Why would you even try something like that? Driving with no headlights. I could have been killed."

I was tempted to reply.

"Look," said F. You go get the car and I'll take care of the check. How's that? You can't whine about a free breakfast."

I walked next door to the garage, ransomed my car and pulled back into the diner lot, looking for F. He appeared from nowhere, jumped in the car and scrunched himself down once again.

"Hit it," he said.

I hit it.

When we got back on the highway I ventured a guess. "I guess you bolted the check.”

"I bolted the check," said F. "That meal sucked. I didn't even eat that white shit next to my eggs."

"They’re called grits," I said. "They like them down here. I hope you at least left a tip."

“Of course I did,” said F. “The service was outstanding.”


GEOGRAPHY

“I don’t know what you’re worrying about. We should do all right. The people down south, they’re ignorant,” F said. “Bunch of backwards morons, almost all of them. People like us are the governors and senators down here.”

“You may be right, in principle,” I said. “But Florida, that’s not really the south. The backwards bastards, they’re mostly in Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, not in Florida. Florida’s totally different.”

F was thinking this over. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Pretty sure,” I said. My impression of Florida is that it’s full of a lot of two bit criminals, hustlers, drug killers, people like that. They come from all over.”

F brightened up. “That could be good too,” he concluded.


LIVE!! ALL NUDE GIRLS!! XXX

“This looks like a good place,” F said. “We should stop here.”

A white cinder block building. Windows painted black. Bars on the door.

“This looks like a clip joint,” I said.

“A what?” F asked.

I explained. “The girls come over to your table. They’re all over you. They ask you to buy them drinks. It’s a bunch of nothing – watered down drinks, club soda in champagne bottles. Then they disappear and you get a tab for a couple hundred dollars – if you’re lucky.”

“Get out,” F laughed. “This I gotta see.”

We worked our way over to a table almost at the foot of the stage. Next to us was a larger table where an impromptu party appeared to have broken out. There four fresh-faced college age young men were having the time of their life. An equal number of almost all-nude dancers had taken a liking to them. They girls were in constant motion, sitting, drinking, laughing, smoking, bending over, having a merry old time. There were at least eight empty champagne bottles on the table, as well as highball glasses and beer bottles.

“So, if you’re right, these guys are fucked,” said F.

“Don’t blink.”

Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the girls had vanished. In their place stood a very large bouncer, brandishing an even larger drink check.

HI GUYS

We ordered some beers and sat down to enjoy the show. The two all nude dancers on stage paid a lot of attention to us. After their set, they joined us at out table.

“Hi guys. Like our dancing?”

“Sure. It was very nice.”

“Want to buy us some drinks? We can stay a while and get acquainted. Like my tits?”

“Sorry, ladies.” F said. “No drinks tonight.”

The girls got up and went to another table. The very large bouncer came over to our table.

“Hi guys. How’s it going?’

“Great. Just great.”

I noticed he was wearing a name tag. A long name, a last name, not a fake name, like Mr. Robert, but a real name...

“Don’t you like our girls?’

“Sure, we like them just fine,” I said

“Usually, if people like our girls, they like to buy them drinks. Get it fellas?”

I did get it. “Got it,” I said.

“Good,” said the bouncer.

Two more dancers arrived at our table.

“Hi guys.”

“No drinks for you,” F said. He was laughing. “Move along please.”

The bouncer returned. He seemed more puzzled than angry.

“Guys, don’t you get it? The girls, you have to buy them drinks. That’s how it works. You can’t just sit there. Got it?"

“Got it,” I said.

As the bouncer started to leave again, F called him over.

“Actually, there is a problem. The girls, we don’t like them. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them. But the thing is, we’re a couple of fags. We don’t like girls at all. Tell you what. You get your naked ass up there and dance; we’ll buy you all the drinks you want. Got it.?”

The bouncer seemed a little confused. He didn’t get it. He retreated to confer with a few more monsters on the other side of the room. I knew if the put their heads together, they would get it. I figured we had about thirty seconds.

“Let’s hit it,” I said.

HIT IT, BOLT IT.

I got up and headed toward the exit. I snuck one quick look behind me and saw F sitting calmly at the table. I saw two of the bouncers peeling off and moving toward me. I was going at a full speed when I got to the parking lot. The steroid cases knew they couldn’t catch me, so they tried to outsmart me.

“Yo, buddy. We just want to talk. Just come here a minute. Let’s work this out.”

I really didn’t think we had much to talk about. I was walking down the street as they were yelling. I knew they wouldn’t follow me far off the property. Like big bad bully dogs, they were afraid to leave their master’s lawn. Still, I had to get back to the car, and quick.

When I got to the edge off the lot, I made a dash to the car. By the time they realized what was happening I was in and moving. They came at me from the long end of the lot; they didn’t realize I was heading back toward the club.

I heard a fire alarm go off. At the rear off the club I saw F. He was backing out of an emergency exit, holding a chair in front of him like a lion tamer. Three bouncers were lunging at him; F parried their thrusts with the chair. I floored it right at them, and then braked hard, raising a spray of gravel. The bouncers headed for cover, diving back into the bar. F carefully set down the chair and got in the front seat.

“Now. Hit it," he said.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN


I kept thinking of the first bouncer, the dim one who kept trying to explain the rules to us. How did they fit that monster name on one of those name tags? And why bother? Bolenciecwcz. Not a common name. Had to be a relative. Maybe a grandson.

“I told you they’re morons down here,” said F. “We’re hardly in Florida and already free nude girls, free beer, the works.”

“Maybe,” I said. "But that first guy, he’s not from the south, he's from Ohio. Or at least his family was.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Thursday, October 09, 2003

TENDENCIES (A process poem)

You know they’ve never lost. Never lost.
Well, never lost at home. At night.
In a playoff game. In December
At night in December. In a second round game.

When it was over 50.
Over 50.
Kelvin.

Kelvin. Kelvin. Kelvin. Kelvin Smith
Wasn’t he a wide-out for the Cowboys?

They didn’t call them that then.
They were all wide receivers. Or maybe wide ends.

The one who got into trouble.
Legal trouble. Nasty stuff it was.
Bad for the league.

Wasn’t he married to a showgirl?
One of those M ones. Marilyn. Monique. Mamie it was.
Or maybe Mansfield.

Anyway that wasn’t him. It was the other guy.
The guy with the blonde hair who wrote a book.

That’s right - it was Mamie. Mamie Van Doren.
She was a hot number in those days.

You’re thinking of the baseball player. The baseball player Belinsky.
Bo Belinsky.

I do remember him. A pool hustler from Tarrytown.
He threw a no hitter in L.A. Everyone loved him for a little while.

I always thought of that name. Bo Belinsky.
Bobo Linsky. It sounded like a fake name, like Bob White, or Bob O. Link
He was quite a character though. Quite a character.

He’s dead now.
They’re all dead. All those characters. Most of them anyway.
The ones that aren’t, they’re all down in Florida playing golf.
Playing golf and….


(to be continued)







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