The Great American Novel and Such Nonsense

Chapter 2, Section 1

1-09-08

So then there’s this.

I posted this on my stupid Social Network blog; true story:

The uncensored version / pardon my French.

So an old friend / former work acquaintance, Whitney, called out of nowhere to ask me to hang out. We've hung out before with mutual friends, but never just us 2. I was just praying it wouldn’t be awkward and she wouldn’t spend the whole night talking about god damn fascists.

She invited me to the Dancin' Bare (I would much rather see actual bears dancing). She wasn't there yet but called a couple of times to tell me to hurry up; she would be there real soon. So, I hurry up and get to this strip club, which it is always awkward to be at a strip club by yourself.

The only thing less awkward is being there with friends.

By the way, anyone who makes fun of you for that is a creeper and only has sex with disgusting people. I’ve honestly never been to a strip club by myself, but the few times I have been to one, with friends, it was awkward enough.

Now, in the club by myself, I watched sports on TV. I hate sports almost as much as I hate being at a strip club by myself. While I was there I was next to these two extremely drunk guys who were basically just cursing. I heard some other words too but it was mostly just cursing. One was talking crap to someone on his cell phone (I'm surprised they didn't get kicked out). I heard a bunch of “cunts” and thought how lucky his woman must be.

All cunts aside, I’ve never seen anyone as annoying as them anywhere; and I’ve seen a lot of annoying people. I dare say I have met more annoying people than anyone I know. My life revolves around avoiding annoying people. I’m like a magnet too them. “See that guy over there? He hates being annoyed, let’s annoy the shit out of him.”

I was planning to tell my female friend once she arrived all of the things these guys were saying. It was that good. Whoever this guy was, he was the most pissed anyone has ever been at their partner. (This is not a fact but an opinion.)

After I had been there half an hour they left and I still hadn’t heard from Whitney. Good thing I hurried up and got here. Thank you for that Whitney. Cunt. (Just kidding, I’m just a sponge. I can’t help it.)

When she finally calls, she tells me that she’s going to skip the Dancin’ Bare and instead go to the Kenton Club, right near by. So I head over there and leave the boobs. It was hard but I did it.

She is with her roommate, Lindsey, and both appear to be high and or drunk as hell. But thankfully I got away from the two douche bags, so I was feeling okay.

But we then sit down at a table with two guys and guess who they were?
Yeah, the two guys from the strip club, and apparently the most annoying one, John, is Whitney's ex (as my roommate Jody said, "That's just like a movie, talk about foreshadowing."). Apparently they hadn't seen each other since he beat her 4 months ago. I’m not sure about you, but I feel like I should get some kind of warning when I’m invited to come hang out with a god damn wife-beater.

Awesome. Irritating as can be and a wife-beater. This is what I rushed out for? To wait to meet this guy?

Now, normally I would never hang out with a wife-beater. Not that there’s anything wrong with beating your wife or anything, but wife-beaters have the worst taste in movies. Yuck.

But they were married for years and prior to 4 months ago he had never touched her ever. (At least not besides hard-core butt sex. I’m just guessing.)

Not to condone it, but maybe it was just a one time thing? I didn’t have time to think about that then, but I was wandering why was I invited out of the blue? (Not to stereotype cunts but why do they not care about putting me in situations that would get me beaten the hell up?)

And why now? She hasn’t talked to me in forever and she hasn’t seen her ex in forever. Was I here to make him jealous or something? That’s kind of a cunt thing to do right? Was I being used? Surely she didn’t want to hang out with me as I’m boring. In all seriousness it’s not that I think Whitney is a cunt, because I really don’t think she is a cunt, I just have a temporary addiction to saying “cunt,” that’s all.

Awesome. Either way though, I was with two obviously effed up women and two undeniably obnoxious men. We were destined to get kicked out. So after I bought a couple of drinks and handed out cigarettes and gave money to the jukebox fund, I was comfortable enough to suggest we leave before they make us. I knew the looks the bartenders were giving us. “You suck, hurry up and leave,” they said with their eyeballs.”

Awesome. As much as I hate being a bad patron, I hate being around this John guy worse. So it actually was a lead in for my genius suggestion to blow this popsicle stand. Everyone was too messed up though, and just scoffed. We stayed.

Awesome. John began calling the girls "cunts" and other similar adjectives. He was very well verse in offensive slang.

Awesome. He appears to be really angry too, and not just normal-pissed; psycho pissed. I don’t know if you know a lot about being pissed but this is a horrible combination. Then, to top it off, he then talked about the fact that right before he came out tonight he was ready to kill his dope dealer.

Awesome. He’s a killer. Now we’ve all thought about killing our dope dealer, but seriously why would you then hang out with you’re cunt ex-partner.

He was, however, very nice to me, but that doesn’t make the situation any easier. If anything, that makes it worse. I have no problem being a dick to a dick, or a ding dong to a ding dong, but it’s a little different when that ding dong dick is being nice to you.

He liked my glasses and then said that even though he "fucking" hated these two girls, he liked me. “So you’re not going beat me?” I refrained from saying, but really wanted to know.

Awesome. Thank you? Then I go to the bathroom. When I come back Whitney’s friend Lindsey is still wearing her jacket unzipped, but her shirt is missing, just her huge fitting bra visible. Who knows what the hell happened while I was in the bathroom as I’m sure that’s fuzzy for everyone. But somehow the jacket came off, and then the shirt and then the jacket back on. Or maybe there was never a shirt to begin with. Who the fuck knows. So I tell her to cover herself up, but she doesn't ,so I do it myself. But her jacket keeps coming open. So finally I go over to zip her jacket up, but it's stuck. Her gigantic boobs in my face as I try to do this. My night was filled with way more breasts than I had planned.

Finally I get it closed, and she gives me a hug. As she does she knocks my full beer all over my jacket. I’d never been so mad at breasts.

Awesome. Fuck you, boobs. So thankfully they get cut off (not the boobs, the “cunts”) and it seems that we're going to all leave and I can go home, or to my friends house to "watch a movie." (In retrospect I don’t believe she even wanted to watch a movie, I think she just wanted to tick off John. I don‘t even believe that she owns a television.) Lindsay then leaves, probably drives home wasted, and kills lots of people with her car (I actually don‘t even know if she has a car.).

Awesome. John says he's going home at least three times, but keeps coming back. It was like cleaning your whole damn house and thinking you got the lice out of all of the linens and clothes, but the second you relax the bitch is back. That was John.

Awesome. Finally Whitney, the wife-beater, and I are walking home. I had two drinks that night but wasn't even tipsy, probably because I ate a bunch of food earlier, as I eat to much.

I was just planning to walk her home and then go home myself. As we were walking he asked to speak to Whitney alone. I just kept walking, a ways behind them, for her safety. My friend Johanna then calls me on my cell phone but I don't answer. Then randomly John started calling me all kind of names, like for example: "Shit-stain."

Awesome. I had never been called that before. Or even heard anyone called that before. Is shit-stain worse than shit? And why did he suddenly start calling me names when he’d been nice up to this point? What about my glasses? He loved the glasses. We’ll always have my glasses I wanted to tell him. But I didn’t because he is crazy, and getting crazier by the minute.

Awesome. A lose-lose situation. Of course I want to leave, but I couldn't leave a 90 pound female with a psychotic because I'd never forgive myself if something happened, more importantly other dudes would look down on me for that shit. So I tag behind about a hundred feet or so behind, just in case. I call Johanna back, so it seems like I'm distracted and all. Which was kind of pointless as the wife-beater didn’t even notice. I quietly tell Johanna the situation but continue to follow them for probably half a mile. John, meanwhile, is yelling the whole time, mostly at her, about her, saying things like, "You fucking piece of shit-cunt!!!" (There was a point when I was probably 200 feet behind them and Johanna could hear them on the phone. Yeah, some job I did of tailing them.)

Awesome. Looking back now I should have called the cops, but all I really wanted to do was just make sure she was safe and otherwise not interfere. I’ve found unless someone is being physically attacked that it’s best practice to just get out of the way of domestic spats. The lovebirds then lose me for a second as they round the corner, but I soon find them kind of wrestling near a sidewalk; but not in a fun let‘s wrestle and then get naked consentingly kind of way. I hang up on Johanna and I run over and by the time I get there he's holding her, and not really for any apparent reason.

Awesome. I didn't see him hurt her, but I politely suggested to them they should just sleep it off and talk about it tomorrow, which I thought was very mature of me to bring up; and that we should all go to our respective homes (reassuring him that I wasn't staying over at her place, since he was obviously a jealous guy/total a-hole). They move apart for a second and I turn to leave them alone again, proud of breaking up another unnecessary fight. Then, as soon as my head is turned, my life begins to change, forever. John then sucker punches me.

Awesome. He totally fucks up my lip, but I still snicker, probably because I‘m in shock. Then blood begins to gush everywhere. My glasses had been knocked off so now I can barely see. I didn’t even have time to say my usual, “You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses would you?” That always gets a laugh, especially from drunks. The adrenaline then starts rushing a little, making it a little hard to continue laughing. I’m becoming a little short breathed. My lip was fucked, but he got out his aggression.

Awesome. “Now can we all go home?” Then he jumps on me.

Awesome. And starts hitting me.

Awesome. This night was totally not how I planned it. I really had no plans to almost die. Numerous times he slugs me, most not connecting well, as we all know that fights in real life are much less organized and cool than they are in the movies. Either way it definitely was not a pleasant feeling. Nothing that I would plan to do on my day off or anything. I didn’t ask him to keep up the good work or anything. I finally barely get out the words, “You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses would you?” That’s funny because he already did. He didn’t appear to hear me though. He is obviously on something because as he has a stupid amount of energy. I've truthfully never seen someone (in person) act so dangerously psychotic. In a matter of probably few seconds, I roll over and punch him a couple of times in the side, put him in a weak head lock and lay on him. I push him away, thinking that’s it over. Stupidly I think it’s over. Oh, he’s had enough. Bullshit. As I'm getting up he kicks me in the back.

Awesome. My adrenaline is rushing so much now that I don’t feel much pain. Which is good because I’m a damaged asshole by now At this point I'm down and he grabs my ear. Awesome. Later I would briefly feel a lot of pain because of all of this, but also a lot of comfort from the drugs you can get for this kind of stuff. Was it worth it? Maybe. He then tries to kick me in the groin.

Awesome. “That’s below the belt!” I wanted to say, but didn’t because I wanted to make my father proud. We really need a ref I’m thinking, and not a professional wrestling ref. Someone that will actually pay attention. I then gather my thoughts briefly enough to ask him what he wants from me. "I want my daughter back!" he yells like a monster. I have never seen his stupid ass daughter, not even in a picture. I don’t even know her name. I don’t ever want to know her John, no offense. He then kicks me half a dozen or more times in the back.

Awesome. I lost count after 5. And once in the ribs.

Awesome. Are you counting all of the body parts that are going to be in pain tomorrow and the next day? At least he wasn't doing this to her though, right? At this point I could’ve care less about whose life I wouldn’t have been saving if I just stayed the fuck home. Which by the way Whitney, obviously, should've called the mother effing cops but didn't because she's an "anarchist.” Cops suck, she’s right, everyone knows that; but if you’re innocent friend, or even acquaintance, is almost being killed, you call those bastards. I’m not that lucky though.

Awesome. He keeps trying to stick his fingers in my mouth and do I don't know what, which is fucking gross by the way, if you were wondering.
Awesome. I kept moving away but he kept doing this (while he was on top of me) so I bit the shit out of finger. He didn't even feel it, right down to the bone. He was so high it didn't faze him.

Awesome. He then said he was going to "poke" my eyes out. He actually said that (or yelled that rather), "I'm gonna poke your fucking eyes out!" So he kept trying to put his finger in my eyes.
Double awesome. So that almost made me have a panic attack, seriously.

Awesome. Not even because of the chance of going blind or dying or accidentally swallowing his bloody finger or getting AIDS; even though those are all very justifiably good reasons. I (like my dad) hate things going in, or even close to, my eyeball (or anyone‘s for that matter). I could never wear contacts or anything like that. It's even hard to put eye drops in. In any case, I kick him off, and have even more trouble seeing.

Awesome. Maybe that helped save my life. The things one does once someone tries to poke their eyes out. I begin to realize that my face is full of blood. I didn’t really ponder on it for more than a split second, but I did notice it.

Awesome. Because of all his annoying yelling the whole time the neighbors hear him and crack their door open to hear what’s going on. I never thought I would say this but thank God you were so loud and annoying John. That quite possibly also saved my life. I then tell him I'm sorry, not because I was, but to try and calm him down. I was really just sorry I didn’t have a gun to blow his head off. “I’m sorry…” If I was able to then suddenly hop in a get-a-way car I would’ve then yelled, “Psyche!” But alas there was no car so I say, “Let's call a truce.” He doesn’t answer. He surprisingly starts to leave. I start to get up to look for my female friend, and he comes back, once again. What is with this fake leaving bullshit?! Then lots of awesome things happen. Before I get up he pushes me to the ground and starts wailing on my neck. And my head. "I'm going to kill you!" he says.

Awesome. (I’m thinking, “As long as you don't do it through my eye sockets, go right ahead.”) And what happened to this truce bullshit, John? That’s some bullshit. Then somehow, even though disoriented, I push him off. I wanted to hit him, but I knew that was pointless. I'm right near this family’s apartment complex (the one with the door open) and I limp over hoping that she will just let me in. So not surprisingly she closes the door.

Awesome. I assume it was because I looked like the living dead. I knocked and when I did I got blood all over her white door. She had her couch blocking the door. She was not only scared of him, she was also scared of me.

Awesome. It was funny to me though. “Heh.” I didn‘t think that I would appear to be anything but a victim or good guy at this point. I then whispered so John wouldn’t hear, "I'm sorry to bother you, but can you call the cops, this guys going to probably kill his ex wife." Even when I’m almost dying I know how to be polite. I have that going for me. I then go to call 911 on my own phone, I can barely push the buttons. My voice begins to shake, I’m breathing heavily and I can’t see straight. Once I’m able to dial the number I actually get an answering machine, just like in the movies. I figured it no point at the time to leave a stuttering message.

Awesome. But apparently the lady (in the house) had called the cops before I even asked her. Her husband came out with a shovel and told the John to leave everyone alone. But John, of course, kept yelling. The cops show up; 5 cars, and 1 fire truck. I was going to be pissed if it was 3 or less (the amount of cars that pulled me over on my bike one time.) Immediately John is a dick to the pigs. He tells them that the guy hit him with the shovel (which he should’ve but didn‘t) and he told them that I attacked him (which I didn‘t). John says he wants a lawyer, he needs his spine checked, he wants a MRI and he lets the cops know they can go have sex with themselves, typical John stuff. He was, as my roommate Jody stated later, "a professional asshole." Johanna then calls me back, it was only a few minutes later, but it felt like longer. I tell her what happened, and of course she freaks out. I tell her that I'm going to call her back because I have to talk to the cops, like I‘m all important and stuff. When I go to hang up my phone it's covered in blood; the entire screen. Jesus.

Awesome. The cops talk to me and are surprisingly cool. I think they’re just glad that I'm not a psycho like that guy. Whitney is unnecessarily yelling at the cops, who came to serve and protect her, and more importantly her friend. She began chanting some stupid anarchist songs to them. Songs I might have liked if Bob Dylan or a punk band sang them.

Awesome. Now I wanted to punch her. The lady neighbor came out, and, sensing the frustration in the air, said, "At least you look sexy," (presumably referring to the dried blood on my face). I smiled but said that I didn’t feel sexy. I especially don‘t feel sexy now as I‘m writing this. I couldn’t tell you what the lady neighbor looked like, not because of my poor memory but because there was blood in my damn eyes. (I unfortunately didn't press charges that night; but after gaining back my senses a little the day after and talking with Whitney, I realized that I needed to do it at least for her kid’s sake; even though she hates cops). The cops help me find my glasses and tell me that they'll give me a ride home. I make sure Whitney is okay, and give her hug. She really looks dreadful, although I’m sure I look worse, and lets me know that she feels horrible for what happened. I believe her, at least a little bit. The paramedics said I didn't have to go to the hospital, as I found at later that the blood on my lip had apparently glued the huge gaping hole shut and they couldn‘t see it. After cleaning myself in front of the mirror at home, however, I began to see a cut. It was a half circle and huge; quite an impressive puncture.

Awesome. So I start cleaning up and just wanted to go to bed, when Johanna, who I was talking to on the phone, begins to do a little research. She started looking online about what to do for huge gaping perforations and told me I had to go to the E.R.

Awesome. I had clearly already had a long night and just wanted to sleep and maybe go in the morning. Not even that, I wanted to wake up and this all be a bad dream. The thing about Johanna, she isn’t pushy and emotional and she‘s never been bossy. She has always respected my opinion, and thus I couldn’t, no matter how tired I was, not respect hers. I have no car so that means I’d have to wake up my roommates, which I really did not want to do.

Awesome. So I tell her that I will wake up my roommates and let them look at it and if they think I should go then I'll go. I want them to say it’s nothing so I can go to sleep, but then I would feel bad for waking them up. If it is hospital worthy then I don’t feel bad for waking them up, but will feel bad that they have to hang out with me at the hospital all night. So my roommate Jody takes me to the E.R. because it really is a huge gaping hole (at least 5 stitches worth).

Awesome. They put a neck brace on me and roll me in to get an MRI. I can walk I say, but no they reply, how can we make 800 more dollars doing absolutely nothing? So unfortunately I, or my bed rather, get banged all the way to the MRI room.
Awesome. I almost fall asleep there. It was like Flight of the Navigator or something, like they were testing my super brain. I then get stitches in my ear.

Awesome. And my lip.

Awesome. The MRI turned out alright, no problems there, even though according to the grapevine there is a knot on my head the size of half a baseball.

Awesome. In the report they wrote - "Laceration to ear and face. Abrasion to the face. Contusion with soft tissue hematoma to the scalp and face. Alleged assault. Naturally over-sized genitals." Not that last part. The worst thing though is that now every time I go to sleep, or start to wake up, I have these nightmares of someone trying to poke my eyes out. And it makes me twitch and shake for a second, like I’m crazy.

Awesome. For an hour or so I was put up in a room, getting cleaned up, answering questions, signing things etc. Then I spent another hour or so waiting for them to look at the results of my brain scan. As I did I watched a little television. They gave me a remote and some drugs and I flipped through a million channels or so. I found this show about geomagnetic reversal or something like that; reversal of the poles basically. I had no idea what it was. I was a little out of it but they did a great job of scaring the hell out of me. It probably wouldn’t happen in my lifetime, but it might. Our magnetic field would be screwed, the north and south pole would switch, Santa would explode. The sun would blast us with radiation. All of that seems kind of unreal and like a bad (ass) science fiction movie. The part that freaked me out was that our fleet of military and communication satellites would fall from it‘s course; eventually causing economic disorder, starvation, no more gourmet meals and most likely world war. Realistically if we don’t destroy ourselves first, all it would take would be for the world to lose electricity and chaos would ensue. As dependent as we are on the internet alone people would jump off a building and or rape someone if they couldn’t check their social network page. Anyway, the show, more so than anything I had ever seen, actually hit home. For the first time in my life, at almost 30, my mortality was a reality. These two very separate events (the attempted murder tonight and geomagnetic reversal) both led to that, and coincidentally only in the span of a few hours.

Awesome. So two hours later at almost 4am I go home. I took some Vicodin and went to bed, where I slept all day. I woke up and had a ton of missed phone calls but they were mostly unknown or wrong numbers. Probably John reminding me how he was going to poke my freaking eyeballs out.

Yeah... awesome. I guess now I press charges, although I fear for my life, because he is psychotic and may butt rape me if I do. If he had a knife or some other object he really would have killed me that night. And if he can get in a fight and try to kill a total stranger that did nothing to him, then it's only a matter of time before he takes someone out.

Did I consider running? 1. I’m not smart enough to think of that and 2. I’m not very fast. 3. I don't run anymore.

Chapter 2, Section 2

1-10-08

I sent the above email (with worse grammar) to a lot of close friends and relatives, and almost everyone told me I should leave Portland, and come back to Georgia or some other place I'm not too affectionate with. But really, there isn't one reason you could get me to move back there. Short of me avenging a loved one's death. Not a girl, and not even money, not even the world‘s greatest hand job.

I heard that Whitney was considered missing last night, but now it appears that she is okay. We have both filed a report. I have to call back next week for some reason to make sure everything is filed.

She got a “restraining order,” and I got a “stalking order.” Rumor has it that John was/is on probation for assaulting an officer. The cop said at the most he'll get two months in jail, if that; probably not even that. In fact I'll put money on it. Even those working in the system have no faith in the system.

I asked the officer if they could just shock him real good, like REAL good. The cop didn’t think that was funny.

By the way, The man's name is Jake B Roach (that‘s his real name), born October 6, 1970. He's about 6 feet, a little buffer than normal build, glasses, no facial hair, shaved head, lives on Wilbur St., in the same zip code as myself, and says “cunt” a lot. If you see him please kill him, for the safety of good people all over the world, and mediocre people like myself.

Since the incident, many have questioned my manhood. Only guys of course. Most girls surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly) get turned on by it. I of course never bring it up but people can see the dents in my face. "You got beat up?" they say. "Why didn't you do this (insert some move here)?" They actually show me some move that they would have done, and then they say, "I would have just left her ass," they say. I’m still not convinced that is a bad idea. Next week I will regret thinking that.

The cops told me that when someone is on an upper like coke (not the soda) or meth (methamphetamines) or whatever, that it takes 5 normal men (or 3 rednecks to hold them down.

In fact of all the males I’ve talked to, I know they would have been killed, except for my relatives and friends from back in Georgia, like my brother Kyle. Most all of my peers back in the South are enormous for some reason. The older folks jokingly say it’s because there is something in the water.

There's something in the water alright.

“Do you feed them Miracle Grow?” older folks ask, and then they always laugh, for some reason. Must have been a funny joke in the 70’s, before I was born.

“Nope, that would be illegal,” I say. “Can’t feed babies a bunch of chemicals.”

That however, is not funny.

Some people were calling me a hero and a life saver, which is, of course, flattering and all, but I wasn't a hero. I was a punching bag, a fat and juicy punching bag that is capable of growing an amazing beard.

Chapter 2, Section 3

1-17-08

I called the police station back to check on things. I was on the phone for almost 2 hours before I gave up. I had literally been transferred almost a dozen times; 4 of which were back to a person I had already spoken with.

“No wonder people keep committing crimes,” I told one of the nimrods.

The last person I chatted with gave me a number and told me to call them back next week. I think it was inmate there who had gotten a hold of a phone, he was the nicest person I spoke to all day.

I called back the next week and the number I dialed turned out to be someone’s personal phone, not the police station. I left a message anyway like a dumb ass, and never heard back.

“Hey I know you’re probably not the police and all… but if you are… Christ, never mind.”

Chapter 2, Section 4

1-24-08

One former party animal relative waited more than a week to reply to my letter:

“Please refrain from these type situations … nothing good happens after midnight, no matter where you are … I was the king of partying. There isn't anything that has/does happen in the party scene that I haven't already seen … If you are interested just call me and I can save you the time, money, and hospital visits.”

I’m pretty sure I’m not in any kind of “scene“, much less a party scene; and in fact I don’t really know what that means. I researched it online and one of the first things that came up was something about “kid’s themed parties,” and I’m definitely not into that.

(I take that back. I guess it depends on what the theme is.)

I sent him a letter in return that I probably I shouldn’t have, calling him out on it and all. It was pretty harsh, I admit, and I don’t think he’ll talk to me for half a decade. I think he deserved it but I regret doing it. I forgot to ask him about when he was in the “kid’s themed party scene” though.

I do that about once a year. I send a letter to someone giving them a piece of my effing mind. Like this one, and I usually regret doing it. I personally like a good honest critique myself (as I am tremendous); I guess not all of the time, but usually. In spite of this, I decided my new years resolution for 2009 would be not to send letters like that to people I don’t hate. It’s too late to add it to the list for 2008, as I’ve already done it.

Not too soon after all of that drama occurred I turned 30. Yesterday in fact. Time flies. I’m sure people feel that way, no matter how old they are, or what they are doing (except, of course, when they are in boring lectures). I bet if you found the oldest person in the world, and they were around 130 or so; they would still tell you that time had flown. “I remember when I used to have to walk 46 miles to just take a piss... One time I didn‘t piss for 8 years…”

Some older people have great stories.

And some people live too long. I would say most in fact. Me personally, I have no intention of living to be past 75 (when my grandfather “Pop” died). Ideally I would go out when I’m 69, like my childhood hero Evil Knievel. The day I turn 69 I will begin smoking like a chimney, eating red meat, and maybe I’ll jump a bike, even if it’s just a bicycle and not a motorcycle. I’ll do it all at the same time and maybe, just maybe I will enroll in a stunt school.

My birthday was actually pretty splendid thanks to my Mom and Dad. My family paid for me to fly out and my mom and relatives on her side of the family joined my dad, step mom, and (half) brother Pace, for dinner. When I suggested it to my step mom first and she told my dad (my dad doesn’t really answer his emails anymore for some reason), he at first didn’t want to, but my brother Pace convinced him otherwise. Not only that, but he had to buy me a stripper. (That last part didn’t actually happen.)

It was the first time in almost 2 decades my parents had been in the same room together and ate a meal without awkwardness and or without arguing. Except, well, I guess there was a little awkwardness at first. Before the meal, my family decided to pray, and my mom did this thing while the person was praying where she would say things like “yes lord” and “amen” and stuff like that, virtually orgasmic like.

Now, she’s done it before and all but in the last few years she had calmed down from all of that stuff; so I wasn’t expecting that. It felt like she was trying to showoff and act more religious. It definitely embarrassed me, but I didn’t say anything. I know my dad thought it was dumb, but of course he didn’t say anything either. I’m sure he’s just glad he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore.

(Speaking of prayers and my parents, one time when my parents were going through a divorce my mom was in a prayer circle with my brother and I and other people. During the prayer she passed gas, on accident of course. It was subtle but my brother and I heard it. Now every single one of us has dones something like this. I don’t exactly remember or not if it smelt, but I think it did. Anyway, my little brother told my dad when we went to visit him. My dad laughed. Then when we got back, my little brother told my mom that he had told my dad. My mom was not happy about that. But we all fart, so what‘s the big deal?)

I spent most of my time that vacation with Pace and my dad. My brother Pace was about to turn 14. He had grown so much since I last saw him about 4 years ago or so. I can’t remember exactly as I have “junior Alzheimer’s” (as Anis Mojgani would say). It made me sad kind of. I tried to play one of his video games with him but he got politely impatient since I was so horrible at it. He was nice and all, but he was like, “Let’s do something else.” There were so many damn buttons! It’s nothing like a Nintendo or Atari! I’m so old.

My dad was a little more absent minded than usual. Someone called him while we were hanging out wondering why he didn’t show up for an appointment. Another time we went out to eat and my step mom dropped him off at the door to see how busy it was inside. He was supposed to come back and let us know but he never did, so we all had to go in ourselves. But then again, my brother Pace went in to do the same thing and he didn’t come out either. Another time, before a home cooked meal, he asked me three times in a matter of ten minutes what I wanted drink. Sweet-tea of course, not easy to find that in Portland!

It was kind of cute and all that he was becoming an absent minded old man, but it was frightening to me. When do I get worse? I’m my father’s son, and if he’s getting that bad, then so will I! But then I had some sweet tea and a home cooked meal and I forgot all of that for a minute.

Randomly the last day I was there I was almost wandering if I should move nearer home, for the first time since I had left. “The KKK has calmed down a lot in the last decade,” I thought.

As I was thinking about all this my brother said jokingly to my dad, “Dad, I got a new girlfriend. Her name is LaShanda.”

My dad got all serious and said, “No you don’t. You know better than that.” He didn’t think that was funny at all.

My brother laughed and so did I, but I presume for slightly different reasons.

“Portland still sounds perfectly fine to me,” I thought.

My twenties were my best decade yet, even though I pretty much worked every single effing weekend. In my 30’s I will have real weekend’s I proclaimed in my brain. Which is perfect as I plan to go to a different church, every Sunday, in Portland. I will make a documentary of the whole thing. Or maybe I’ll wait until I’m in my 40’s.

Coincidently, I found out randomly in the last week in I think a Men’s Health magazine, or something of the sorts, a list of things not to do once you turn 30. Things that aren’t appropriate.

For example: Don’t fall asleep on public transportation, and don’t live paycheck to paycheck, and don’t get a tattoo and don’t skip and don’t talk to people using a Godfather accent and don’t say “cool” and don’t use nick names and don’t go on blind dates and don’t not know the most important news-related stories of the week and so on. I, however, do all of those things, and very well I might add.

I remember reading other places that mostly mentioned things that frat boys do. I, for example, don’t usually pop my collar, get wasted every night, sleep with anyone, or call my girlfriend’s breast’s “the twins” etc.; basically things that you should never do no matter what age you are.

I didn’t think it would affect me, or maybe it’s just a coincidence; but after turning 30, almost dying, learning that Santa and my social network page may explode (and all of the funny things I posted would be lost forever), I began to see the world differently.

Almost dying was good for me. Thank God I almost died. It sounds sadistic and all, and it partly is, but it’s one of those things that afterwards makes you even happier and more thankful to just be alive and still have eyeballs and stuff like that. I’ve always been a goal-setter, and laid up in bed with my Vicadin and my laptop I added even more silly goals: write more and grow up a little bit, to just name a few. The latter of which will definitely be the hardest.

I even decided to run a freaking marathon. I liked having survived a pretty painful experience. I enjoyed the venture. Well, not really the venture I guess, more like the arrival.

To a warm bed and Vicadin.

I mean, I didn’t want to die or anything and I still have nightmares of getting my eyes poked out and gushing all over my face; but intensely stupid challenges are what help us become better I guess? I guess that’s why I’m running 26.2 miles.

I had an epiphany also while on Vicodin, besides the fact that I would love to have this available to me more often.

It’s not going to get any better here at my job. I mean, I kind of knew that, but the other day I faced it head on. It’s only going to get worse. My life wasn't spared to be here. The bosses seem to get stupider, because I know I’m not getting any smarter. What is the point? It’s not like they are going to pay me in Vicodin.

I’m trying to work in a different section of the store as a job coach for people with disabilities. All I have to do is wait it out, as quite a few people there have secretly told me that there is an incredibly high turnover rate (especially in that section of the company). Did I mention that this Vicodin feels really good? I had no idea God created something this amazing.

Chapter 2, Section 5

1-29-08

My time in Georgia was running out, I was about to head back to Portland. The time had come for me to have the “talk” with my dad. I was kind of hoping I would just forget about the whole thing and then get back home (to Oregon) and decide that since I forgot that it just wasn’t meant to be.

He hadn’t even mentioned my injury or me almost dying at all. Not even before I got here. Not in an email, and he didn’t even call.

As angry as I was, I was more hurt, but not for long, as my step mom told me that something had been wrong with my dad.

Before she even said it I knew what she was going to say. His memory had been fading fast. 15 years ago I felt like he totally forgotten about me, and it really hurt. Today I know he will forget about me, and it hurt in a different way. It hurt to think what he was going through.

Immediately I presumed Alzheimer’s and even implied that later, but I think she wasn’t ready to accept that yet. Or maybe just didn't want to say anything until it was official. It made me sad to hear that about my dad, but even if he had Alzheimer's, he was young yet; barely 54. He would have many years and memories ahead of them. I would have many chances to prove to him that I am the most amazing son that has ever lived.

Unfortunately I selfishly felt more worried about myself getting Alzheimer’s when I got older; as I am already absent-minded. I had already worried about it before this even happened, but now it seemed inevitable.

Then I forgot about it, appropriately.

My new years resolution now seemed pointless. A surreal feeling, to at once feel like your desire for resolution is completely impossible; and yet feel that never having the chance to be resolved is, in fact, the resolution.

It’s too late to fix it. It’s been on my mind for almost 2 decades and now I’m ready and brave enough to bring it up, only to have just missed the chance. And now, only I would suffer from this. I then felt selfish, for thinking of anyone except my father.

Chapter 2, Section 6

So I’m just another production worker at the “highest grossing” thrift store in the world, or country, or something like that. You won’t see nicer cars parked at a second hand store any where else in the world; or more disgruntled employees.

“Highest grossing,” they tell us all the time here, as if the pride alone compensates for the paycheck. Speaking of getting paid, twice while I worked there I found a phallic something, held it up and said, “What the hell is this?” When I found out what it really was I immediately threw my gloves away and got new ones. Always assume that’s it’s used. That’s what grandpa used to say (Someone's probably).

Not too soon after a new employee did the same thing. I gave them an evil laugh. “You don’t know what that is? Bwahaha!” I would then shake my head disapprovingly. “Rookies.”

In all seriousness though, I actually really like it, working there and all (not because of the butt plugs or anything). (As I mentioned before I have taken interest in trying to become a “Job Coach.”) About 6 months ago or so I applied to work in the Participant Training Center (PTC) section of the company, working with the mentally challenged and coaching them on jobs. It’s still basically at the same locale just a totally different job; higher paying (barely) and, presumably, more rewarding. Lots of pats on the back and such. Occasional hand job I’ve heard.

I had always wanted a job like that, something in Social Services, but didn't think I would have the qualifications. Until I dated one of the Job Coaches. Not only was she awkward socially, she was young (just out of highschool) and had no college degree. Just like me but more attractive and not as old. I can do this.

She was so awkward socially that she would practically never go out and do anything. She liked to stay at home but she didn't like her roommate most of the time, so when we sporadically hung out, it was at my place. I knew she was okay going to get fast food (presumably through the drive through) and I think twice or more we went to see a movie. She was a moody recluse, that loved Elvis, fastfood and not going out and having fun. We went from seeming to have a bunch in common to having pretty much nothing, pretty fast, but we still stayed kind of close. Hooking up here and there. Mostly very rarely. I knew if she could get the job, then I could too.

Whenever I told my friends that I had applied, they all said, “You’ll fit right in.” Not just a couple of people, probably a dozen. These are my friends, and that's what they think of me. And now you’re reading some shit that I wrote. No one likes to find out that the book in their hand was written by an idiot.

Honestly though, the job looks fun as hell. The only thing slightly discomforting to me, are the literally seven thousand complaints that I‘ve heard. Most of which are not even from Elsie, the girl I dated. And the complaints are not about the participants or anything, it's other things that are too boring to talk about; like the staff and what the participants get paid and the meetings etc. I could ignore that kind of stuff as I don’t need money. It’s not like I got a family or a kid or anything.

One person told me they didn’t like working with the staff as they were tired of working with “a bunch of old obese women that just needed to get laid.”

“Maybe I could help out,” I thought. We’ve all had to pretend someone wasn’t overweight at least once in our life, right? Or maybe the opposite. Or both? I know I could probably have a chance with a desperately unattractive woman.

In any case, I applied and of course I didn’t get hired. Which looking back was for the best as I could only handle Elsie in small doses.

Apparently some astoundingly over qualified woman named Meredith got the position instead. Apparently she had a billion years of experience (or maybe it was closer to 30). I would assume she is really mind-bogglingly talented, as I know I am at least mind-bogglingly talented myself, not really.

During all this nonsense with not getting hired I met a nice old man there in the offices named Ted A. He’s probably real close to retirement age, if not past it. I didn’t want him to have a heart attack or anything. Ted works as an employment specialist in the company, still in the same location / building as where I work. I’m at headquarters so we have our giant non-profit of useful junk to sell, plus Human Resources, plus Operations, plus Marketing, lots Fat White People and so on, etc. Boring.

It basically looks like any other successful company full of hundreds of people but where only a dozen or so make bank. It’s clean and big and has pastel colors and middle-aged unhappy folks. Us lower class folk in the store are not as cool as the upper-middle class folks in the offices. We want to be, but can‘t succeed. Thankfully, I’m not black, so there is more of a chance I could get in if I ever really wanted to; slim, but more likely.

Anyhow, from what I understand Ted goes to jails and helps people with their résumés and he helps with preparing the prisoners for getting work after they get out of the slammer. It sounds really virtuous and all, what he does. I almost saluted him once I found out. I asked him how much money someone would have to pay him to sneak a sharp file in to a prisoner. He laughed like Santa Claus but wouldn’t give me an answer. I would do it for a million I told him. I can be bought, for the right amount of money. (See I would be a perfect board member at this place. That’s a lie. I’m too fragile. It's mostly a lie really, but it could have happened; with both of our personalities this is very similar to a few conversations we've had.)

I think the worst part of going to jail would be the cavity search. Hello cliché. But seriously, that alone keeps me from going to jail.

“Wanna rob a bank?”

“No.”

“What are you scared of going to jail.”

“Yes I'm very scared of going to jail. If you can guarantee my butt immunity then I’m in.”

Soon after, when there was an opening in Ted‘s section, I applied. But first I brought in a ghastly résumé to Ted (as opposed to my good one) and let him fix it; to in turn, admire his work. Not that I had to really try to make it bad. I just didn't try to make it good.

Normally I wouldn’t do something like that, but he suggested I bring one in, and I figured it wouldn‘t hurt. I decided that I wanted to play hardball and then I decided to get him on my side. I don’t think I could have done this had I not liked him so much. So Ted looked it over, and admired it himself, not the organization of it of course, but my previous work and education history. I wanted him to do like they do in movies and say, “Very impressive,” but he didn’t. He just implied it with a couple of “wow’s.” Okay, it was just one, but it was a big one. I told him that I wanted to put about my experience changing diapers. (My brother’s. (Bro I told you I would mention you in my book!) People don’t care and all, but that isn’t easy or fun. One of the hardest jobs I’ve ever done. He laughed but declined. He then made a brand new résumé. It was nothing like I would make, but I thought it was good, and I told him that it was great. I then turned it in to his boss. And then I got a call from the boss, Garrett V., but wasn‘t able to get to it before it went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message so I emailed him and asked if he called. Then at the end of my annoyingly polite letter I asked why he didn’t leave a message. He very politely responded back to my email and told me that my voice mail message was inappropriate. Even if you thought that then just lie about it Garret, ya freakin’ nerd. I’m so embarrassed for you. It wasn’t inappropriate, by the way. I admit it was a silly message that I put on there, but it wasn‘t offensive. I usually change my voicemail every single month; literally every month, all OCD like. My family call like twice a year, so I try to keep it at least relatively fitting for them. If it’s appropriate for them then it’s appropriate for everyone. (My mom actually calls more than that, as she might ignore the sarcasm.) My buddy Eric hates calling my phone. Every time he calls he spends more than half the message telling me it was the worst dumbest thing he’s ever heard. I’ve kind of come to enjoy it. Although a couple of times, when I was feeling extra courteous, I ran to pick up phone when he was calling; so he didn’t have to hear it. One time though I noticed he was calling and didn’t pick it up because I knew he would hear the new message and get real ticked, and I would just love the crap out of listening to it. Eric’s real opinionated and amusing sometimes. Anyhow, the message was rated G, at least in my opinion. But Garrett’s one of the biggest squares you’ll ever meet, nice as all get out, but perfectly square. He looks like one of my dad’s colleagues from the 80’s. My dad was an accountant in a small town in South Georgia. They wear cheap dress pants and a cheap tie with usually a cheap white, beige, or baby blue long sleeve dress shirt, even when it’s warmer. I’ve never seen Garrett with a matching suit jacket, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he just wore it to work in the morning and then hung it up the rest of the day, even on the hottest day of the summer. He’s seems like the type of person that would do that. Nevertheless, I got an interview with him and he told me what the job was like. His office was just another tiny little office in a room full of mostly cubicles. The kind of place where people hate their job and commit suicide, or worse, they don’t commit suicide and stay there their whole lives and drive everyone else around them nuts. He had a door and all, but not a wall that went all of the way to the ceiling. It was basically a fancy cubicle. It was disgusting in there. Disgusting sterile and reeking of boredom. Disgusting in the sense that I could feel my soul being sucked out of my body during the short time that I was in there. Like a Sci-Fi movie. Disgusting in that I’d rather shovel poop. Into my mouth. He was actually really nice though, and even slightly more interesting than he looked (which really isn’t saying much, but I felt I should mention that to be fair and all). When I started talking my voice cracked. I wasn’t nervous or anything, at least not until then. I then began wondering if I should add to my résumé, “has begun puberty, hormone signals have started heading from the brain to the gonads…” That was a sentence full of offensive terms that would make him have a brain hemorrhage. (That’s a hard word to spell, I had to spell check that; and I bet you that Garrett wouldn’t have to.) So Garrett explained to me that Ted’s job is more of a one of a kind job there, the rest are a little more boring, but still doing God’s work, if you will. He didn’t actually say “boring,” of course. I could tell Garrett didn’t think it was boring. It may, as a fact, be boring, but he would never admit, even to himself. He was a devoted man. He was a lifer here. He had lost his soul long ago. To him this was the most GD fun job in the world. GD standing for “gosh darn.” He literally masturbated to pictures of squares. I swea I’d put my life on it. Plus, what would be boring to the most boring man alive? Something really exciting? “Very good question,” I told myself. This is why I am not worth hiring. This is how I pass my time in an interview; daydreaming. The story of my life. Folks lower their expectations if you don’t focus. You don’t have to be a great actor to fake ADHD To make my self feel more comfortable I learned to ask a bunch of questions in an interview; do an old “switcheroo,” which by the way that word is evidently in the mother effing dictionary, as I just looked it up out of curiosity. Take notes kids. That shit works. I had some pen and paper and got ready to write. I wanted to know what a day in the life was for the most dull man in the history of humankind. And when he told me, I knew it was not for me, even for a few months, or seconds. I wrote though, only out of boredom. It sounded real mind-numbing, extra mind-numbing in fact. I wanted Ted’s job as he made it sound like he traveled around town a lot, although I found out later that that was more of an exaggeration (or maybe I assumed too much). Either way, I wasn’t applying for Ted’s job. I then wanted to ask if he tucked his t-shirts into his pants when he was home alone. He seemed like that type of guy. To this day I regret that I didn’t ask him that. I can’t sleep at night anymore, just wandering about that! Or worse, did he tuck his pajama top into his pajama bottom. People should be arrested for such. Ted came by for a second, by the way, to ask Garrett a question. As he did I watched out the door as about 10 feet from me an older man checked out a younger co-worker, front and back. She didn’t have a clue. I stopped taking notes at that point. I’ll be damned if I’m going work in a place where people are always checking out my butt. Ted finished his question and left. I buttoned the top button on my shirt and thanked God I didn’t pull a Ted and unzip my pants. The real reason I couldn’t handle that job? That damn office, that‘s basically my worst nightmare. It was a square room that was, I assume, 45 feet by 45 feet (or so) and full of cubicles of squares. That alone should make one a little freaked, but I guess really that the people, they were the deciding factor. I mean, cubicles are usually horrid anyway, although I have done it a few times and enjoyed it. I thought for a moment, though. If I had the choice of working here for a week or going to jail for a week (and getting paid and not getting butt raped) which one would I chose. The answer was simple. As long as my rear end was touched by no one or no thing. “I chose butt rape!” I yelled out loud. Not really. Suddenly I heard an annoying laugh, and it was loud. Garrett even seemed a little embarrassed, and I was embarrassed for him. “You need to take control of these nut jobs,” I told him. Actually I didn’t say that. I just dreamed of going to jail, with folks I with parts I was attracted too. See, it has to be balanced. If you’re going to put me behind a crappy cubicle then surround me with people that aren’t crappy. I made a chart of this on a napkin during one of my breaks (there is even a formula I added to the drawing). Go ahead and take this great idea teenager. Make a science project out of it. This is THE one idea that isn’t copyrighted yet. Garrett probably didn’t even want to hire me in the first place but I still told him that I wasn’t interested, and I said it very politely. I felt bad and all, but I’m usually honest like that. Plus, I like to get things over with. I then had a sudden urge to ask him if he was a Republican. Idiot move, so I skipped it. The job would’ve been a pay raise for me (in this “poor economy”) so you could tell he was a little surprised that I had passed. I’ve been working in the “dumb” section of the store, so maybe he assumes I’m not too bright. Or not, I’ve seen the people that work in his office, not too bright either, most of them. Maybe I’d fit right in. Nevertheless, Garrett suggested that I take some time to think about it. I said, “Nahhh, I don‘t think so.” I told him thanks for his time, all polite like, but that it wasn’t for me. I asked him to let me know when Ted retired as it sounded like I would be interested in his job. Not too soon after all that Ted left the Employment Specialist section of the company and got a job as Program Director in the PTC. That meant his job was available! By the time I found out, it was already taken. Thanks Ted. Thanks Garrett. I actually knew though that they wouldn’t hire me for Ted’s job, even if I got an interview. And even if I got Ted’s job, I wouldn’t be able to do it like Ted. The store was out of orange cream soda today. So I went somewhere else and bought a lottery ticket. I didn’t scratch it off though. I gave it to a homeless person instead. In Portland, though, that person might not have been with out a home. They may have had a home nicer than my own, which wasn’t hard to do. 　Not too soon after a new employee did the same thing. I gave them an evil laugh. “You don’t know what that is? Bwahaha!” I would then shake my head disapprovingly. “Rookies.” 　

Chapter 2, Section 2 Summer 2008 Another job coach finally left in the PTC, as apparently happens often there. So I applied again. I turned in the résumé that Ted helped me with to guess who? My man Ted (the new program manager of the PTC). It was fate. I loved it and he loved it too. “Impressive resume,” he said jokingly. Ted was the kind of person you wanted to be your granddad; just a nice, patient, sincere kind of guy, that could be gosh darn nerdy at times. “Whoever helped you on this did a great job,“ he continued. I smiled. “Milk it Ted,” I thought. It’s your game now, you are in charge. Do whatever you want. Go ahead and crack as many silly jokes as you want. So it doesn’t get more perfect than that. I was so in! Fate is rarely on my side. But I love when it is. Sad thing is that so is bad luck. Fate could hook me up and then bad luck would just ruin it and Fate would be like, “What the fuck dude? I did all of that hard work for you.” I had to go for an interview, of course, which I hate almost as much as I assume I would hate butt rape. But after that I would be in! Probably. I was so excited that one time, during the interview when I laughed, I kind of choked on my gum and couldn’t breathe for a second; but Ted didn’t notice. I asked Ted if I could volunteer once a week for about an hour to get to know the participants better. Ted wasn’t brave enough to say yes but he said I could ask his boss about it. Ted’s in charge but that doesn’t seem to mean much except that he’s a puppet. They said yes, although appearing somewhat reluctant, while at the same time seeming impressed. Then it was interview time. The interview was funny, every one sat around this conference table and acted like they were real pros. It was amusing. I felt like I was in an interview for a real good paying job, like I was important and all. I almost forgot where I was for a minute. So, I’ll skip to the part where I eff everything up, as that‘s much more fun to read about. I saw myself doing it but for some reason couldn’t stop myself. Story of my life, “visions of failure.” “What do you think this job entails?” someone asked, I don’t remember who it was. I really had to pee but I tried not to think about that. My legs were shaking and bouncing, but no one saw them. Thank god for tables that aren’t made of glass. “Well it seems like a lot of baby sitting,” I said. I started off a with a homerun. The most important time to be P.C. is during a GD interview. I should really be punched in the face for messing that one up. And then I went on to say great things that no one heard because they were all distracted by how incredibly stupid I am. I could see in their eyes that they were going to run not walk to the big boss (the real boss, not Ted, the fake boss). Ted wasn’t there, but even if he was he wouldn’t have caught it. He’s kind of oblivious like that. Maybe hard of hearing? Maybe too many years of being yelled at by his wife? I really should have said I had to pee first. Normally I would, I don’t know why I didn’t. I think it was because I felt vulnerable a little bit. When you are in a position where you will practically do anything to get a job it makes you feel naked and nervous. The latter is what I hate the most. Goddamn it I hate interviews. I knew it was wrong to say, but to be fair, though, the seed was actually planted in my head by some of the other people that worked there. I heard them, or overheard them, say it quite a few times. Okay, okay. I’ll take the blame. It’s my own damn fault. Why do I always have to drink lots of water? And even if it is tactless and all, it is true, in a way (in my humble opinion); except, they are, of course, adults, they aren’t babies. Even if they may have the IQ of a baby, you can’t call them a baby, duhhh. Mark my words though, if I get a head injury and have to wear diapers and can’t speak then you are welcome to “baby sit” me. I thought about incorporating into the rest of my interview how I acted like a “baby” in certain situations. I was a baby once, you know. Maybe a reminder would make it look less offensive. Thankfully some part of my brain vetoed that. Probably the side of the brain that knows how to talk in interviews. “Babysitting.” Jesus Christ. If you are curious, which too bad if you’re not, but I think “mentally challenged” and “disabled” are offensive terms as well, and for that matter, most all of the other damn descriptions; but if you asked me what they should be called I couldn’t give you a flipping answer. I think some are better than others, of course. “Handicapped” and “mentally retarded” are equally pretty bad, at this point, but they weren’t originally. but they are better than just saying the “R” word. Although, I’m getting kind of used to saying the “R” word at this point. I actually kind of like the idea of “Trainable,” as it has a positive twist; however I don’t think it rings true for many. Some are not trainable. Some are completely un-trainable. Really they should just come up with a word based on some Latin word or something, and then every decade change it. Announce it on American Idol so that everyone knows it. So, anyway, I thought I was in. I thought I had the job, but days were passing and I was hearing nothing back from them. I sent them a message thanking them for their time and all that jazz. But time was going by so fast without a reply that I was beginning to look elsewhere for work. I posted an ad on the world wide web looking for a “sugar mama.” I was scared one someone I knew would reply so I didn‘t post a picture. Needless to say, it never worked out. I then got called back for 2 more interviews at the PTC (Participant Training Center in case you forgot). The second one I went to this very old guy named Harris came in and spoke to me. Harris was the “seasoned” job coach. And by “seasoned,“ I mean that he had lived through many seasons, all four, many, many times. Not the boss per say, but the leader of the bunch. Harris had been here longer than any of the other 3 job coaches and he has the thickest glasses you’ve ever seen. He was about 800 years old. I actually used to think he was one of the participants. You know how some people are passing normal? He didn’t pass. Harris was Mr. Magoo meets Clint Eastwood. He didn’t look like Clint Eastwood, but he came in and interviewed me like he was “Dirty Harris,” and I was some rookie cop. Like I was being scoped out to see if I could handle working on the toughest, most dangerous, case that has ever existed. Lots of bullets and death and blood and feces. He was no where near as smooth as Eastwood. In fact, he was more the opposite. He walked in, all cool like, except he ran into the table and chairs and shelf three times before he got around to his seat. Which isn’t funny because he is blind, but is VERY funny because he was trying to be tough. Had I known how blind and deaf he really was I would have laughed (not because he was blind and deaf, of course, but because he wouldn‘t know). All of the other interviews had 2 or 3 people or more in them, but this meeting with Harris was different. It was one on one. Even though I came to find out later that he was all talk, I felt like he was sent in to try and crack me. He gave me scenario after scenario, all of which I answered quick and succinctly like a professional job coach. Bring on the feces Harris. He didn’t show that he was impressed by anything that I said the entire interview. I said some good stuff too. I swore to myself if I got the job that I would work on him until he loved me. Apparently, crazy or not, this guy’s respect meant something. I was far more prepared this time. My voice didn’t crack and I didn’t say anything offensive. My fly was up, my smile was out and I was ready baby! I didn’t drink too much water and still peed beforehand. . But realist that I am, I began to think I wasn’t going to get the job. Ted liked me, he really did, even if Harris didn‘t appear to. I liked Ted too, but I definitely would like him more if he hired me. It wasn’t totally up to him though, he was the program manager of the PTC, but above him was the “program director” Christy (she was also Garret‘s boss), and you could tell she was watching her new underling like a hawk or any other kind of bird that watches things closely. Ted really didn’t have much say. Fate wasn’t really helping like I had originally thought. Someone told me that, along with sending a “thank you email and or call,” that I also should send a physical thank you card as 25% of companies expect that before hiring you. Well I don’t want to work in any place like that anyway. So I didn’t send a GD card. If they didn’t hire me because of that then it wasn’t meant to be. How about hire me because I’m frackin’ awesome. I continued to come in to spend time with the participants. They all knew my name, and I was beginning to remember theirs. They would ask if I was going to work with them and I would, “Maybe,” and then I’d whisper, “Tell all of your staff that I’m really awesome and that they should hire me.” They laughed and said they would. I smiled back. Lucy said, “Hey, knock it off!” And then laughed hysterically. Meredith gave me a look of approval. She was always giving me a scary flirty smile. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional of anything, but it was weird. I then headed to my other job. The one where I get paid. Not too soon after I came into work, the one where I get paid, and my gray-haired manager, Earl, told me that I got the job in the PTC! I was promoted, kind of. I was ecstatic. (Earl kind of reminded me of a shorter and older Peter Sellers, maybe it was just the mustache and the beady eyes, but if Peter Sellers was alive and I made a movie about Earl, it would star Mr. Sellers.) Damn it. I had to pee again. I told Earl that and ran off towards the restroom. “I’m going to miss my star employee,” Earl must have been thinking. You could tell that Earl was proud of me (for getting the job, not for going to the restroom), but he was still a tiny bit sad to see me go. Not real sad or anything, as he fires his good friends all of the gosh darn time. But despite our differences (a vast understatement) we had a good rapport. I think it helped that I would ask him about to tell stories about being in Vietnam (there isn’t a single person that went to Vietnam and didn’t enjoy you asking them about it). I really enjoyed the stories too. Anyhow, I was excited. This new job was the kind I could stay at forever. I rewarded myself that night by spending some extra time organizing my CD collection instead of paying my bills. I had been thinking about doing it for a while. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 3 All in the matter of one week these 7 things changed. First, I got a new job. A new type of job, working with new people. Second, I just ran out of L-Glutamine. I’ve been taking it for about 6 months now for my lifetime addiction to carbohydrates. It made me fall in love with protein. I love protein! So long carbs! Nice try, but you’re not going to control my entire life. Third, I’ve begun to be slightly constipated. Never felt like this in my whole life. Instead of having a bowel movement once maybe twice a day, I have one maybe once every day or so (and it’s tiny rabbit turds). I’m not used to this. (Fast forward to the future: My “slight” constipation ended up lasting almost a year. Surprisingly, there wasn’t really too much pain, more or less a “slight” uneasiness. Annoying as hell, but I can‘t complain.) Fourth, for the first time in my life I realized that I have a vitamin D deficiency. Here in Oregon we don’t get the sun almost 9 months of the year. I grew up in a place where it was opposite of that. A place where it was so GD sunny and hot and so frequent that you could get a tan without laying out or going to a tanning bed. I rarely if ever opened my blinds. The heat, the sweating, the sun-burning, the dehydration and the head-aches were too much for me. I remember one time, when I was younger, when it was still mother effing winter, it was warm enough to lay out in the sun. A few girls I knew were excited to be able to, not swim mind you, but lay by the pool. (They need the pool to lay by, but they don’t actually swim in it. Their parents spent thousands of dollars for this.) As they were talking I drew a sun inside of a no symbol (a circle around it and a line through it). One of the girls saw it and looked at me disapprovingly. I use to, more or less, despise the sun. Now, I need it. My previous hate (and unappreciative attitude) for the sun has caught up to me. I am sorry sun. I do need you. (Cue crying.) Fifth, as soon as I realized I needed the sun? It came out and I went to get some. And I got really sick. Apparently I have grass allergies here in Portland. Never before in my whole life. The one time of year that I need to go outside, I can’t. When I inhale I sound like a dinosaur. I went to the doctor as I was having a lot of trouble breathing. They said that my lungs were working at less than half capacity. Sixth, they gave me steroids at the doctor’s office to help me not die. When I was weaning myself off of them I started to lose my mind; coincidentally while I was starting my new job; working with folks that some have described as “losing their mind.” One morning I woke up with the most painful horrible butterflies that anyone that wasn‘t a drug addict has ever had. I seriously forgot why I enjoyed living. I couldn’t think of a single thing good in my life, ever. I was all of a sudden suicidal. You could have told me that Paris Hilton died and I wouldn’t have cared. That’s how bad I was. I don’t know what it’s like to come off of cocaine or heroin or anything, but if it’s anything like what I went through, then it must god awful. My first day of work in the PTC was that day too so I couldn’t miss it. Originally I was excited but now I was the opposite. I woke up an hour before I was supposed to and decided I needed to fix this, stat. The only thing I could think of was to do 500 sit-ups. I hate working out but the idea was that I would create a new pain in my body to distract from the other one. After half an hour I got to 500. I felt a little better, but not good enough; so I kept it up for another hour or so until I got to 1000. Seventh, I decided that by 12-21-2012, that if the world does not end, I would move away from Portland. It’s the best place in the world except there is no sunshine almost all year long; and when there finally is, I can’t go out in it, because I won’t be able to breathe. Eighth, I began to open my blinds first thing every morning; for the small chance that we might get a couple minutes of sun. Before this I only lived in caves. The shades were almost always drawn. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 4 “I don’t have s-e-x anymore,” one of the participants Kasey B. said somewhat randomly. Welcome to the adventure. Not too randomly, as there was a bunch of words before and after that all about as random, thus making it all not so random. I told her that she probably shouldn’t say that kind of stuff at work. She told me that she was sorry and that she liked me. “I like you,” she said, tilting her head to the side and smiling creepily. “Well, I feel more comfortable with that knowing that you don’t have s-e-x anymore,” I would have said if I wouldn’t have gotten fired for it. I don’t consider her creepy by any means, at least not in the sense that I’m scared of he. But she can look at you like she’s a witch and the only way to survive is to push her in the oven. A lot of staff here seem to be annoyed by her but I think that makes me like her even more. Within the first few weeks I decided I must write all of this down. Not that I get paid for writing and not even because anyone reads it; and not even because of anything else really except that I just have a terrible memory and want to remember as much as possible. “Can you take me to go to a bar?” Jack N. asked. “I would if I could brother. What‘s your favorite drink?” I asked. “Beer,” he replied. I laughed. “You’re funny Jack.” “Thanks,” he laughed back. There are so many moments in a single day here that are priceless, and it seems like I’m surrounded by a staff full of folks that don’t get that. They do, maybe some of them, but not really like I do. Enter me, the protagonist! I then decided to devote at least 15 minutes a day to writing about them. (And I haven’t in 4 years ran out of something to write about.) “How are you doing big guy?” Sissy D. asked. “Very well, my dear, and you?” I replied. “You’re a cutie,” she told me and meowed. “Oh, stop it,” I said, smiling. She laughed. Other folks aren’t allowed to say cutie but everyone lets her for some reason. So I go along with it. One of the few good qualities I have is that if I love a job I really give %100. I’m very loyal that way. I try to befriend all of the staff and treat them like family and if I’m not dating and someone needs a foot massage then I’ll do it, probably, if I can put gloves on. Here though, my co-workers (not the participants), are kind of… weird. Like the weirdest mother fuckers I’ve ever worked with. Which made my new job twice the adventure I ever expected. Maybe it was even more intriguing that “normal” people were the real “weirdoes.” So maybe it wasn’t so odd that once I finally sat down that very first time with pen and paper in hand, or pen and napkin in hand, I found myself beginning to write about the staff instead. I didn’t want to forget them either (at least not yet). Speaking of napkins, I caught Harris’s wife (who also works there) glance at my crotch region twice. It made me real paranoid, like there was a stain or something. As I’m writing it now, I think it was just all in my head. No, she totally checked me out, but I’m over it. Totally flattered. Everyone here my first few weeks was very nice, especially Meredith. To put it bluntly she has been eerily nice, almost to the point it freaks me out. In fact, she feeds me all three breaks! (The participants have 2 breaks and a lunch break, in the span of about 6 hours, or less.) She had plenty of food in the fridge, even that first morning we met. It was as if she had planned ahead to feed me, the new guy, on all of my breaks. Like I just put out for anyone. I’m very picky about food. I took it, of course, as I love free food and I am poor. The other Job Coach, Harris, I found out is actually legally blind; which is incredibly obvious if you pay attention more than 2 seconds. I mean, I always thought that he was, but assumed that he wouldn’t have the kind of job he has if he was blind. The people that are close to him here joke about it, and he laughs along. He looks to be in his early 60’s like Meredith, but hell, I’m horrible at telling ages. Maybe he really is 800 years old. Before I worked in this section he never acknowledged me when I walked right in front of him. Now I know why. Before I just thought he was a pretentious bastard like all of the other folks that ignored me in the hall. He would even be the crossing guard sometimes when we crossed the street for break (there was a cafeteria in the main store with a huge break room so we always crossed the street, back and forth, 3 times a day for our 3 breaks). I don’t know how that was legal and unfortunately there was a great shortage of the blind leading the blind jokes. And I don’t know if watching him do his paperwork on the computer was more amusing or sad. One key at a time he typed because it took a while for him to find each letter, every single time. He would place his head 2 inches from the keyboard to find each letter, one letter at a time; and then he would slowly move his head up and place it 2 inches from the screen, to check and make sure he had typed the right letter. It was sad when he took 20 seconds or so trying to type one letter but then typed the wrong one. Then he had to spend 20 seconds or so trying to find the backspace button. I did the math as I watched him. Which was fine, one, because he couldn’t even see me watching him and two, I finished all of my work usually just as he was getting started. I’m all for employing the blind, but maybe don’t have them type? I timed him for a minute to see how much he could type; 4 words. I think average is around 30 maybe and slow is considered 20 something. Seems like for 4 words a minute they would have to create a new category. The other job coach, Maggie, told me that I was a very fast “typer.” I didn’t tell her that I thought the correct grammar to be “typist,” especially as that was probably the first compliment she had ever given anyone in her entire life. Also, I hate when people correct me when I speak, so I kept my fat mouth shut. Anyhow, I said thanks and smiled, embarrassed to say how I actually became so good at typing (chatting online - Don‘t judge me, it wasn‘t in my free time, it was at work). I then began to notice that although not as slow as Harris, the other two, especially Meredith, were pretty damn slow at typing too. I go to the library all of the time to write stupid stories and all, and no one types this slow. I think what they did is they had a typing contest in all of Portland. The 3 losers, the 3 worst in the entire city were then hired here. I think there are really only a handful of requirements one should have for this job and typing faster than a third grader should probably be one of those, but what do I know? I’m the new guy. I then timed myself at my work as apparently this month I have a low self-esteem. Almost 70 words in a minute, 69 to be exact, but I new I could do better. I’m lying, I don’t know if it was 69 exactly. I did, however, finally get 70 which is, I think, the industry standard to be considered a qualified typist (who cares?). My goal then became 80 (the amount of words a dispatcher has to be able to type). After practicing (but with actual work) for almost an hour, I then had a realization. According to my calculations I had done more work in that amount of time, than all of them combined in two weeks. And I even had enough time to figure that out. I think I subconsciously pressed harder as I typed so you could hear how fast I was going, like an asshole. I decided I wouldn’t do it anymore as I didn‘t want to be that aggravating new boy that is the world‘s faster “typer.” I then started drawing pictures of the sun, my new love. Speaking of slow working, and typing aside, this was the dream team of co-workers. I couldn’t have rounded up a better group of people not to be stranded on an island with. Harris was quite absent-minded. (People even often asked me if he was a participant. “Not technically,” I would reply.) Meredith was bat-shit crazy, and Maggie was the young curmudgeon of the bunch, but kind of old to young folks I guess. Maybe I could learn to like them, like that relative that you hug every time you see them, and you say you love them. Even though they had your favorite climbing tree cut down because it was rotting; and would fall down many years from now when your grandchildren tried to climb it. So back to me bragging about myself for a second, I was very quick and efficient with my work and by 2:30 (we got off at 4), I had done all of my paperwork. Meanwhile everyone else was still going. Harris and his wife lucked out though. They got off early. They worked like 6 hours a day or something. I was so freaking bored all of the time. So I went to the bathroom, a lot. I would sit there but nothing would come out. Even my bowels were bored. It sure was different after the participants left around 2:00. Those last 2 hours were a killer. I wanted Harris’s schedule. Meredith was always saying how nice the last couple of hours were because there were no clients. Is craving boredom an official trait of the elderly? Since Harris was presented to me as a leader of sorts, I latched on to him. I always asked Harris what I could do; as I seem to always have plenty of free time. He loved it. There seemed to be an endless amount of unfinished busy work. The reason, I found out much later. He would then, always, give me HIS paperwork to do, without fail. Clint Eastwood my ass. I, of course, didn’t know this at the time. I thought I was helping the team. Team my ass. (So the plot thickens. Later I found out that not only was he passing work off to me, he had already done the paperwork. He had done his work, albeit poorly, lost that shit, (and or forgot about), and then had me do it again. The first weeks I was there, I was always doing this (for about an hour or so a day). Once I realized it I never asked his advice, on anything, ever again! Except a couple of times.) Speaking of trash, I found a piece of paper in the trash and I took it out and wrote this: “Maggie is nice to me and she and Harris are buddies. They appear to not like Meredith though. I think even Harris has a crush on the boring but younger Maggie, and I think his wife knows it. If there is anything more awkward then I would like to know, or maybe definitely not know. She (his wife) works with us as well, but we hardly ever see her as she only does paperwork and is chained to a chair and locked in an office all day. That’s how one person described her job. I never saw any chains though. Twice I noticed her get jealous at Maggie’s relationship with Harris; even though he definitely was not a “looker,” and the mere thought of them, having some kind of a physical relationship, would send any relatively normal person into a tale spin, whatever that means. Ah! Spinning tales! Harris was suspicious of me at first but came around quickly. He began to be very nice to me, (since I did his goddamn work) and even told others how “talented” I was. Thank you Harris, I appreciate that. I can’t brag too much though, this job is super simple. Maggie was heavy set and wore very unflattering oversized clothing. She didn’t hate me, but she seemed to hate everything and everyone else, except her daughter, and Harris, of course. It was actually draining to be around her, but it wasn’t near as bad as being around Meredith, who I‘ll get to later. Maggie even didn’t like a lot of the participants, she had a short temper, and she sat at her desk a lot pretending to work but not actually working. I began to realize she wasn’t a fan of Meredith, and because of this she implied that in the next year she would like to move on. “Move on” in that she wanted to “Move on up” to any side that wasn’t near Meredith. Meredith, where to begin with her? Jesus. She has been nice to me as if later on she was going to try and get something from me, like my soul and or my privates. I don’t know yet what’s going on, but it’s weird, to say the least. She still gives me food at least three times a day, and like an a-hole, I take it. And I’m getting to the point where I don’t want it anymore. For once in my life, I don’t want free food and for once in my life I don’t know how to say no. I’ve been looking for a challenge and here it is. Maggie has also given me food. I kind of love it and kind of hate it. It’s like they are fighting for my love like two divorced parents. (Why can’t I love (or hate) both of them?) Maggie gave up long ago as she has a kid. Meredith is a lonely old woman, probably with a garden and nothing else but her dog. Maggie get‘s incredibly annoyed with her, sometimes Harris does too, but along with being blind, he‘s luckily almost deaf too. He misses most of the crazy things Meredith does, although Maggie always makes sure to inform him. Every chance they get, usually when Meredith is on her break, they huddle and Maggie updates Harris on the newest crazy Meredith story. I usually just hear the first sentence from Maggie and then I distance myself: “Oh my god. She is so annoying…” She then goes on to tell how Meredith undermined her or yelled at a participant, or simply wouldn’t get to work. All true, but I just try and ignore it. I’m not used to working with drama like this. (Although I hear it’s worse in the area Christi works in. People tell me this nonsense like I care. Stop whispering that shit to me. ) I am actually beginning to be jealous of Harris though. If only I could tune Meredith out almost all day long. I’ve never before desired to be partially blind and deaf. It’s just everything she says is passive and or annoying. I‘ve only been here a little bit though, and I‘m sure we will bond soon, how could we not, we work with remarkable participants, and it‘s the most fun, and most exciting work ever. We are co-workers, we are teammates; it will all be fine. How could it not be?” (I mention Meredith here, probably more than makes sense, because eventually she becomes a bigger part of the story. Spoiler alert!) 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 5 I don’t know how to write this without sounding pretentious, but don’t know enough big words. I study their innocence. I enjoy their mannerisms. I am impressed by their general lack of concern for things that most shouldn’t be concerned with in the first place. I am jealous of their imagination and curiosity. I wrote in my journal after being in the PTC a couple of weeks: “Where do I start? There is so much to write about. There is cursing and laughing and farting and puking and all of the other things that make for an interesting job. I have already I became very close with many of the participants. Good or bad, loud or quiet, smelly or not, big or small, frustrating or enjoyable, talkative or quiet, hateful or loving. There are numerous people here that have, good or bad, already made a big imprint on my life. These are hopefully the characters of my future: (Kasey B., Sissy D., Donovan F., Natalie H., Gordon N., Kingsley P., Marley S., Janine S., Garrett W., Breanna W., and Dale Y. among others) And then there were those that were quite a test to deal with (Percy, Smith B., Gwendolyn C., and Summer S., among others). Well, actually Summer was a little different. I liked her alright, but no one else did, and rightfully so. She was purposely a jerk not only to the staff but to practically every single person she came in contact with; especially the staff that didn’t have immense patience for her, which was almost everyone… but me. But the worst of all is how she acted to the other participants. Boy did she like to rile them. She could be just plain evil sometimes. She’s said her share of “fuck you’s” not to mention throwing “bitch” into a conservation almost once a week. She would purposely irk everyone and make my job 3 times harder. Really though I blame Meredith for a big part of it as she would rile Summer; so in turn Summer would rile everyone else, and chaos would ensue. Meredith does this ingenious thing where she basically stresses out and goes temporarily insane (more than normal); and, I presume, subconsciously tries to force the rest of us to go with her. It can make for an intense day if you’re not ready for it. Summer had a brain injury when she was in her late teens I think. It was from a car crash in the snow, or something like that. She is still quite intelligent, and she knows it. She likes to remind me all of the time. Physically, she talks a little slower (painfully slow actually) and walks a little slower, but she is probably smarter than half of the non-participant employees in the store (I’m not referring to my old friends, but my old enemies.) She gets along with me, because more than anyone else, I actually listen to her. I gave her the respect I wish to receive in return, as I‘m kind of like Jesus. I don’t usually get it back, but that’s okay. I’m the new guy racking up points.” 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 6 I had seen Natalie H. (PTC participant) many times before in passing but she had never talked to me until I worked with her as a job coach. I thought she was kind of snob, but really she was just shy and oblivious. I’m usually damn good about reading people, not this time though. I had always seen her “read” books and always wondered if she actually was reading them. The first day I met her she shook my hand, looked me in the eye and said, “I like you,” quietly but sincerely. I told her the same, replied with a horrible Humphrey Bogart imitation and we talked briefly. The whole time she had a great big almost crooked grin on her face that would make your heart melt. I cracked a joke and she laughed, one of the greatest laughs I have ever heard. I have a feeling that when I get older I will forget my silly co-workers but there’s a good chance I won’t forget moments like hearing Natalie laugh. Natalie was very short, probably around 4 and half feet tall, one leg a tad shorter than the other, and she used a walker. It was one of those that had a little seat that opened and had a little storage bag. She was about 50 years old, with a slight limp, had a slight lisp, short brown and very thin hair and the greatest smile you have ever seen. She has about ten dark hairs that grow on and around her chin, which often aren’t trimmed until they are about a centimeter long. She walks very slowly with her walker; so slowly in fact that she needed to leave early to get ready for break on time. She was the absolute sweetest person I have ever met. By the end of the week she was hugging me every time she entered in the morning, first thing, and right before leaving, last thing. She also has down syndrome. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 7 “If a girl walks up With her arms spread wide And she's front hug bound with that look in her eye You better turn to the side And pat her on her back Cause Jesus never hugged nobody like that (Scream it) Gimme dat Christian side hug Dat Christian side hug Gimme dat Christian side hug Dat Christian side hug I'm a ruff rider Filled up with Christ love” (and so on) - Christian Rapper, Ryan Pann Now hugging is a big deal here, in that you can’t do that shit, and I didn’t know so much about this until I worked there, as most other places are a tad more lenient. Either way, I don’t disagree with the rule as I don’t really want to hug anyone, unless I attempt the hug first. Or they are very hot, with out fake boobs. Here you have to do the “Christian Side Hug.” That’s a fun thing to research online by the way. Now, I am no newcomer to the Christian Side Hug (and they don’t call it that here of course). When I was forced to go to youth group I remember shooting hoops with these guys, mostly closet homosexuals (that were horrible at basketball btw, which is surprising because most of the great jocks of all time are secretly gay). Sometime in between shooting hoops, one of the guys gave this girl a long hug. They hadn’t seen in each other in like a day or something. He was undeniably queer. He was even open about the fact that girls were still gross. “He’s still young people would say.” He was effing 15 when they said that. If they are still gross at that point, then most likely you are always going to think that they are (gross). I got a boner just watching them hug. The youth group leader immediately had this serious talk with all of us boys, he acted slightly gay himself. We‘ll call him Charlie, because that’s his real name. I wish I had videotaped this as it would be the best video that you have ever seen. Charlie told us that it wasn’t appropriate to hug a girl straight on where the male private parts were touching the female private parts. And the man’s chest could not touch the woman’s. He showed us as he hugged a boy front to front, I presume one of them was to be “the girl,” in the deal, but really I couldn’t tell you which one. The point was to refrain from sin, but one couldn’t help wonder if Charlie prayed for repentance that night for touching pee pees with a little kid. So basically no private-part-on-private-part action, even if the girl was short (or the boy too tall) the woman’s boobs might be too close enough to the penis to cause arousal. Or if the girl is too tall (or the boy too short) then the boobs might be near another hole, like the mouth. When you’re a teenage boy, this is actually true, you actually do live with an eternal boner until the day you turn 20. However, I didn’t really get many, if any, hugs in my teen years. I can tell you that after I stopped being 19 that I never got an erection from full frontal (hugs), except from people that I ended up dating. Ohhh yeah. Who’s got the eternal erection now? I would like to hear how the narration of how the non-side hug would go in a Christian graphic novel; written by me and read by Kevin Bacon, I think it would go something like this: “A Christian man and woman, married, but not to each other, give each other a frontal hug; the one they have been dreaming about since they met months ago. They both knew it was not proper to give a hug so soon, but soon enough time passes and it becomes okay to attempt a hug. Usually the first time you hug someone (not always though, some people will attack the crap out of you) they go with a side hug. “I’m not trying to feel your chest with my own” they show you. This gives the giver of the hug the chance to see if in fact it is awkward. If it’s not then next time or soon there after, there will be full frontal. The man day dreams of this hug for hours, days, and even weeks, as he represses himself as masturbation is wrong. Days or weeks pass. The time has now come to go for the full frontal hug…” and that’s where I end the story because I’m starting to get disgusted, but slightly turned on? Although I’m glad many Christian males have stopped non-side hugging younger Christian females, maybe it’s not such a big deal for non-pervs. But do pervs know they are pervs? Am I perv? So, I don’t think that staff, except maybe Meredith, would ever get aroused by, you know, a hug, but a few participants might. I don’t even mean like 25%, if even one did then that would mean it would be smart not to full frontal at all ever. Surprisingly, or maybe not, I have been told in the past here that a staff member was interested in dating a participant, and ended up getting fired. Who hires these people? I could pretty much guarantee that I would be smart enough to not hire someone like that, and I’m pretty stupid. Anyway, the hugging thing; I learned right off the bat, before even getting hugged that if someone tries to hug you, don’t do full frontal. If you want to shake hands instead of hug them back, then that‘s okay. Natalie likes to hug at the beginning and end of the day, so most of those times I’m sitting at my desk. If this does happen and she attacks me, head on, then I have to quickly turn to the side so it’s a side hug. You learn real quick how to make a non-side hug a side hug. Other folks aren’t allowed to hug as they have boundary issues and don’t know how to stop after the hug, which for them can quickly turn into going to second base, or to the outfields mitt. What? I’m okay with the Christian Side Hug, even though I’m not a Christian, as I don’t feel comfortable hugging about 95% of the people that attack me with hugs. Even though we are allowed to side hug, in moderation, of course, Meredith randomly will say, “No, we’re not allowed to hug at all.” (It’s a confusing thing, as I’ve even heard Christi state in front of Meredith that a side hug is okay, and she is the big boss, literally. One acquaintance stated that maybe it just boils down to Meredith being paranoid about her back fat.) Certain people Meredith will hug certain days, certain people she will not hug some days; it’s all arbitrary. It’s as unpredictable as the weather. Some days I side hug someone, and she will be fine. The next day I can side hug the same person and she will correct them for hugging me. The day after that it will be okay again. Usually though Meredith doesn’t hug, and maybe that’s part of her problem. If it confuses me, then it must confuse the hell out of participants. (I say this all of the time when Meredith does something, and I’ve tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t get it.) And if you try and talk with her you won’t get an answer, as she sounds just as confused about what she just said, if not more so, than the rest of us. What you will get is Meredith rambling for 10 minutes about something not related. If that is what you are looking for I can easily show you how to get that. This is the “really mind-bogglingly talented person” that got my job before me. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 8 Natalie has a boyfriend, a participant named Gordon N. They are one of 3 couples here in the PTC. He and I have talked many a time from when I worked in the store, usually in passing while we were in the bathroom; I learned later the reason we saw each other so much was because he often spends about an hour and a half a day in the bathroom, but at that time he didn’t know me by name. Gordon is about 15 years, or so, younger than Natalie. I guess, I don’t know. They both come to work 5 days a week, but 2 of those Gordon is in the Adult Day Program (ADP). (This changed later. He soon began to spend the full week with Natalie.) There is no work done in there, just activities. When Gordon is there he apparently rarely does anything, except “think” about Natalie. On those days they see each other on breaks and the bus rides to and from work. I learned that about twice a month or so, Gordon will convince the bus driver, usually a new one, that he is supposed to be in the PTC instead of the ADP site; that’s, of course, a lie. Gordon is trying to squeeze in a few extra moments with his woman. Gordon makes me laugh a lot but also makes me want to punch him, which would never happen, because I love him. Honestly, he reminds me of a drunk southern gentleman, that you would meet in a bar, but not always a gentleman. Some might even call that person a redneck. But not redneck in a bad way, if that makes any sense, which I know is hard to explain, or even for myself to maybe understand. He is, at least for the most part, delightful as hell. He slurs his words, has poor balance, loses his train of thought but soon gets it back and yells when he does, tries to act tough, wears black (usually a black vest), talks about cars and fighting, and is more than passionate about what he loves (or hates) -more than anyone you’ll ever meet. He loves The Dukes of Hazard, Knight Rider, Magnum P.I., and NASCAR (in alphabetical order Dale Earnhardt Sr., Dale Earnhardt Jr., Jeff Gordon and Richard Petty). He loves Johnny Cash, Glen Campbell, Neil Diamond, Michael Jackson, Willie Nelson, Chuck Norris, Burt Reynolds, Tina Turner, and Tom Selleck among many others. But possibly the most charming thing about Gordon is his love for babies and baby animals. He will go from “Mr. Tough,” to saying, “Awwwwwwww, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!!” He also loves the hell out of pink. When Gordon is in the PTC he doesn’t usually do work, he is only in there to hang out with his girlfriend. In fact, in his contract written by his funding agency it specifically says that his goal, his main goal, while he’s here, is to spend time with his girl friend Natalie. It even mentions her name. What kind of world do we live in where I can’t work at a place where my goal would be to spend time with my girlfriend. Gordon also uses a walker, like his girlfriend. It’s a very similar kind of walker but a different color, which is usually full of movies and CDs. Meredith gets very upset about Gordon bringing stuff in although everyone I’ve asked says that it’s okay for him to do so. Gordon and Natalie do sign language back and forth sometimes. I think they are saying “I love you,” although presumably not always done correctly. Either way, it’s the international language of love that they are speaking. Cliché! Gordon also has a great, albeit loud, laugh. He loves to look at picture books of dinosaurs and trucks, and “man” stuff: cars and women. He freaks out when he sees a picture of a man and woman kissing and or dressed as a bride and groom. He spends most of his time doing all that while Natalie works. She’s going to be the bread winner in the house. When Gordon gets a new movie for example, he will come in first thing yelling about it, and everyone loves it, or at least loves to hate it; except of course Meredith, she always flips out when Gordon comes in. She will instantly let him know that it’s time for the Job Coaches to do their work. But she obviously does it out of anger, which makes it one of those awkward-avert-your-eyes moments. You can be sure that if some folks knew what was really going on they would not like it. Meredith is pretty great about not yelling in front of people that would be pissed about. She is very brilliant that way, it’s one of her super powers. The rest of us staff know that Gordon should keep his voice at an appropriate level. “We tell him that, like we are supposed to, in a calm but gentle manner. We are there to work on his job skills, not to mention that the biggest part of our job is to be examples and not yell about yelling. We should give him the same respect that we wish to receive as well.” This is the kind of thing that is often said in meetings, but less rarely done. Yes, thank you, I’ll take the Nobel Peace prize now. Thing is, Gordon doesn’t annoy or interrupt my work or anyone’s, we all enjoy it when he enters like that once every two weeks or so. He CAN get too loud, but we tell him. I haven’t worked here long but I’ve come to realize that if you yell at him then he just get’s louder and more stubborn. What is really distracting and annoying to the rest of us is when Meredith goes into a pointless five minute discussion with him. Gordon of course hates it as much as the rest of us, and rightfully so. He rolls his eyes, gets frustrated, and it’s obvious that he’s definitely not listening to her. Sometimes this can put him in a bad mood for hours. And conveniently Meredith is always off to her break after she pisses him off. Thanks Meredith. Like the other staff there, I’m beginning to worry about her behaviors. However, it is, at least for now, fun to watch the other job coaches when Meredith has one of her “freak-out“ moments, which happens ridiculously often. Someone usually is startled, because Meredith gets so unnecessarily loud, and someone always rolls their eyes. As a new person I try to just assume that maybe there is a method to her madness and maybe it takes more than just 3 months to understand it. Gordon doesn’t always talk a lot, so when he does, I try and make sure to listen. I know how it is to not always be talkative and then when you do talk people don’t want to hear you. Another excellent example of me following the Golden Rule. I’ve never once seen Meredith talk politely to Gordon, except in front of the big bosses. . What I started doing, was when Meredith wasn’t looking, I’d go in the back (that’s where they hang out for the first hour, until it’s time to work at 8:30am) and I spend some time with him. Half the time he would sprint to the restroom before I could get to him (yes even though Gordon uses a walker he will often walk very fast). If he didn’t go to the bathroom however, I would go up to him, make sure Meredith isn’t watching, and ask him what movie or whatever he brought in. He would smile and reach into the storage bag on his walker and pull out a DVD or CD that he liked. He wouldn’t let me hold it, but he would point to the pictures on the front or back of the case; meanwhile his disgusting breath almost making me faint. I would tell him that one of those people looks like him, if it was a girl I would tell him that one of them looks like “Smalls” (that’s what he calls Natalie). He would always laugh really loud. Meredith would usually then overhear that and head in there to check on us. Even if she knew that another staff member or I was already back there. “Gordon isn’t perfectly quiet?” She would then run in with a spear and try to kill us. That last part isn’t true, but I am partly scared that it could be. That’s another odd thing about her. She was nosy as hell. She’d follow me and the other staff members all of the time. We’d turn around and she’d be right there pretending she was going somewhere. I’d be in a private conversation with a participant or a staff member and she’d just walk up to us. One of them would usually kind of look at her as if to say, “Do you need something nosy?” and then she would leave or make up a question real quick. Thing is, I can’t be mean to someone that gives me food all of the dang time. Not only is that a lot of food, that is saving me like 50 dollars a week probably. It’s not the best food, damn it, but it’s free. And (so far) I haven’t had to give a single sexual favor. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 9 Before I first started here it seemed to me that the technical PC term was “mentally challenged.” This may be disputed among my colleagues, but that’s what I feel I heard my peers say most. Of course, as mentioned before, almost everyone has a different term they use. Soon after that I began to hear “M.R.” used most. That obviously, or maybe not so obviously for some, stands for “mental retardation”, not “mentally retarded”. One would never even whisper the word here. Both bad, but the latter worse. (Soon after that I began to hear “developmentally disabled” as the term to use; and soon after that it was “intellectually disabled.”) There is a lot of confusion on both ends of the spectrum. There is the appearance that there is a total lack of sensitivity on the one side, and then too much sensitivity on the other side. To those somewhere in the middle there appears to be so many different names, and them all changing so quickly, that most likely your outdated if you dare speak of a person with disabilities (wait, was that incorrect?). One person will tell you one thing and another person another thing. Other English speaking countries (outside of the U.S.) may use the same word that we use here in the U.S., but it may have a slightly different meaning there. Even within the States here, the terms can have different meanings. One agency will say this, the law will refer to them as that and so on. I’m more confused now than when I started working here. Where do I stand on this issue? I don’t know, yet. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 10 Before I had ever been a job coach I had heard of the infamous weekly staff meetings (staff members only). This was long before I stupidly yapped of “babysitting” adults in my interview. I knew of the silliness long before I had ever even thought of working there. I heard about the ass kissing, and I had seen many an eye role at the mention of the two simple words “weekly meeting.” I was privy to all of this, and long before my first experience. I’m sure I will grow to dislike them but this is a new chapter in my life, and I like to think of myself as stronger than the average person. Really, how bad can it be. Just one hour a week. I’m just looking forward to learning and growing and all of that other BS. I want to be rich too, which won’t be happening here. First thing when I walked in the meeting room Betti, the second in command behind Christi, limped in with a cane. Betti reminded me of Kathy Bates. These two make the big bucks by the way, at least compared to the rest of us. Ted is my boss, but really Christi and Betti are the only ones that matter. Ted just does what they tell him to do, and apparently not that well. As Betti was saying hello and walking like she had just been injured, I almost said, “Well what happened to you?” but luckily I didn‘t. In the interview where I met her she was sitting down. I found out later the cane was apparently not a new addition. I knew, or knew of, everyone else before this transfer, except her. I had never seen her except that one time when she was sitting. Come to find out though, Betty had been there for years, and after I thought about it made a little more sense. She rarely left her office while on the clock and must’ve never used the cafeteria (where I met almost everyone else from the offices. She also mustn’t have used the bathrooms near the cafeteria.) So everyone was very excited for me to be there. I was flattered but felt very awkward in that I already was starting to not like the meeting. Betty and Christy sat at the head of the table with mostly other middle-aged women. Otherwise besides the maybe 8 or so of them there were maybe 2 or 3 other men. The meeting immediately started off like the worst local morning television show you had ever seen. And by worst, I mean most entertaining. I smiled out of pure amusement. I was worried I would have to fake a smile. Luckily that would come later. (that would come later). The bad jokes were flying at me so fast I couldn’t get them all. I kind of think they shouldn’t even be called a “joke“; even with the word “bad“ placed before it. Even jokes, good or bad, must follow some kind of format right? There must be some rule somewhere. My first question to myself was, did I perhaps lose my sense of humor? If everyone else in the room thinks that something is funny and I don‘t does that mean I‘m wrong? Or am I the only one that isn’t goddamn crazy? If people laugh at something that isn’t funny in the woods, am I allowed to laugh if a tree falls on them? I was probably startled by laughter a half a dozen times, and not necessarily because it was unusually loud. Mostly, if not always, it was because it wasn’t funny. It was a total surprise. I even would go home later and talk to older friends and acquaintances and ask them how these things could be funny. I would repeat it exactly the way it was said, tone and all. “Do you think that is funny?” I asked. “Well, no… but you probably just have to be there to get it,” was a frequent reply. “I was there!” I yelled. “No, I meant that I would have to be there.“ “Yeah, but you are here now when I said it.” “It’s not the same, maybe you are saying it differently.” “Why are you defending them just because you are the same age?” Now I was annoyed. “Maybe it’s just because you are younger.” “It’s not like I’m a kid and I don’t understand the definition of the words, or the concepts, or anything like that.” Now I had just officially given up on anyone who was born before 1969. Seemed like a good year. Wink. “I mean that you are younger in that, you are from a different generation.” “I‘m not from the generation of unfunny people?” “Heh. No.” “But I’m old enough, and although dumb, smart enough to understand, or at least appreciate good, bad, or even mediocre humor. Humor, however, this is not. The things that have been said are not funny; interesting maybe, informative possibly, to someone; damn near anything but humor. The 3 Stooges are funny because saying “nyuk nyuk nyuk,” and slapping your best friend is funny. Bathroom humor is funny because privates and things that come out of them are funny. Porn is funny for the same reason. Charlie Chaplin is funny because he walks like a penguin. Marlon Brando is funny as the Godfather because he‘s got cotton or something is his mouth. There‘s always a mother effing reason!” “You watch porn?” At any rate, you could obviously tell Betti and Christi actually really loved this weekly meeting. (I came to find out later they were practically best friends. And you could definitely tell. Christi is Betti‘s boss, but never once would you have thought they were anything but partners.) I began to realize that everyone else, except maybe 1 or 2 people, obviously were faking it. I didn’t really pay attention to that kind of stuff at first as I’m not really used to that kind of abnormal, wack-ass behavior. I definitely didn’t feel comfortable there myself, but I was entertained for sure. I had been out of practice in settings like this as I had done manual labor type work the last few years or so. Us dumb young folks don’t know nothing about meetings. None the less, I personally enjoy a good meeting. Before going into my first meeting I thought about bringing a pad and pen but thought that would be a waste of time. I also noticed that the other two job coaches didn’t bring anything. I compromised and at least brought a pen. Since I was near the front (trying to get points) where the big bosses were, I was called out by Christi for not taking notes. I knew she didn’t mean to but she said it kind of condescendingly, I think it’s just the way she talks. I felt like I was viewed as the “big stupid manual labor worker” that didn’t know about anything, except lifting boxes all day long. I then got some paper and took a bunch of notes after that. I filled pages, all of which later I tossed as it was nothing that pertained to me anyway. (When I later returned to the PTC, Maggie, who was covering while we were in the meeting, laughed hysterically once she found out (Christi would not be happy about that for sure). Maggie told me that 99.9% of those meetings had nothing to do with us. (This is almost accurate. Probably one of the most true things she did tell me.)) The PTC boss, Ted, was positively endearing in the meetings and he got in trouble a lot; an amusing combination. I’d never seen someone so old be treated so poorly by their boss. He was so friendly so there was this awkwardness of him always being corrected and then him apologizing and or asking a not so smart question. Christy would always tell a story how when she was in his shoes she had this genius idea. She would then imply that as a boss he should get some genius ideas himself, and basically stop sucking. Ted always gave the polite reply, not always the best or smartest, but gosh darn polite. That’s another one of my nightmares; being Ted’s age and being crappy at your job, and having your boss treat you like that, and on top of it all have heart problems. Ted is almost never here, at work, by the way; due to his having heart problems. When he is here they have a lot of complaints for him. The more time passes the more you can tell how they are losing patience with him as he isn’t catching on quick and he is always gone because of his “heart problems.” Sorry excuse if you ask Christi and Betti. I feel bad for him. I really do. Something that apparently happens here a lot is when someone is leaving they don’t replace the person quickly enough. That would be the smart thing yes, but it’d also be the more expensive thing; so it doesn’t happen. So not only are you replacing someone who is most likely incompetent, you have to fix their mistakes, catch up on all of the work that is behind and get trained. (This is an endless cycle that I came to find out has been happening for years.) I have a lot to learn about my job, but the things I actually end up learning most are unfortunate. The job coaches are now getting in trouble for stuff that is in Ted’s job description and Ted’s job description only. I didn’t realize this at first. I thought Harris and Meredith and Maggie were doing something wrong, but for once they weren’t. I have heard around the grapevine that they plan to move him back to his old position as an employment specialist. Speaking of getting rid of old folks, right after I started Harris and his wife left. I still don’t know her name (his wife that is), and I didn‘t really know what her title was until much later: “PTC Case Manager“. They eventually replaced her, but not too soon after. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 11 I recently got sent to Christi‘s office and beforehand I had no idea why I was sent there. Here you can apparently get in trouble for damn near anything, or nothing at all; so it’s common to have a guilty conscience, and I did. Not because I felt I did something wrong, but because I was scared they thought I did something wrong. People keep freaking me out telling me I’m could get fired for this and that. I’ve never been in a place like this, so I don’t know what to believe. Christi was nice and all to me, but she kind of made me feel uncomfortable with her unnecessarily long meeting. Like don’t you have a big business to run? She started off asking me a bunch of questions, which all seemed pretty random to me. I had no idea where she was going with it. She started talking about stealing and different views on right and wrong; how different people have different morals, etc. What I want to know is how can someone talk for so long without really saying something that the listener obviously doesn’t already know. Come to find out though, in one of Maggie’s many trainings with me, she apparently had said something that she wasn’t supposed to. Christi later told me that Maggie had said something to the effect of, “They’ll never know.” By “they” she was referring to Christi. That seemed to be what bugged Christi the most, that Maggie was basically lying to her. Or so Christi presumed. Let me try and explain this better. Yes, Maggie may have appeared like she was trying to hide something from her bosses when really there was more evidence proving that it was just a misunderstanding. Maggie was training me and said I could fill out a form this certain way and “they’ll never know.” Which in reality Maggie was probably just avoiding micro-managing; something I didn’t know about until I started working here. Looking at the big picture of things, it was all just a silly mix-up. It was stupid, but it became the beginning of the end for Maggie. Christi didn’t get mad at me for not snitching on Maggie, which is good because I didn’t even hear Maggie say that. (Shows how great I am at paying attention.) Apparently, Meredith had snitched on her. (This would be the first of many millions of times that Meredith would snitch about absolutely nothing.) We then all had an awkward meeting with Christi, Meredith, Maggie and I. And not a short one. A very long one. What could have been resolved in less than a minute took almost an hour. I’m the new guy but I’m beginning to think my boss is nuts sometimes. Meredith nodded along to everything that Christy said like she was trying to get a raise or imitate a bird or something. You could see Maggie just fuming. I kind of wanted Maggie to release her anger on Meredith, you know, just so she would feel better. Unfortunately Maggie didn’t. Once again Meredith, instead of just talking about it with Maggie, had to grab some brownie points. Maggie tried to politely explain all of this to me before, but now I can see where she’s coming from. When the meeting was over and we were all sitting at our desk’s I could tell Maggie was still fuming; and she did so for about half an hour. It was awkward, but understandable. I wanted to tell her that I had nothing to do with it, but I was kind of ticked at both of them; Maggie for getting me into this, and Meredith for being, well Meredith. Finally Maggie spoke up, “I would appreciate next time if instead of going directly to the boss that we discuss it first. We’re a team and I’m disappointed in how all of this turned out. My intention was not to hide anything from my boss.” Awkward, but fair enough I thought, and I nodded in agreement. Meredith didn’t say anything. She pretended to acknowledge, but you could tell what she was thinking. I knew Maggie could tell too. (A bold move by Maggie I came to find out later. Maggie could have even gotten in trouble for confronting Meredith. And who knows, maybe she did.) Soon after, Meredith left on her break and I turned to speak to Maggie, “I had no idea-” Maggie interrupted, “I know,” she sighed. “It was all Meredith.” Then under her breath she said, “That’s why I need to find a new job.” She didn’t have to tell me but I could see that without Harris here, she had no one else to complain to about Meredith and all of the other dumb stuff there was to complain about. I was too new to complain to, she couldn’t trust me yet; and I was okay with that. I didn’t really want to hear any more complaining from her anyway. I don’t like complainers. Maggie would be gone soon and honestly, I wasn’t too sad that she wanted to leave. Speaking of coming and going, this summer they finally replaced Harris’s wife, whatever her name was. The new PTC Case Manager was a girl around my age I think. Her name was Sally. She had a daughter and a husband and that’s about all I know about her personal life. She’s been here a while but she never really talks to me except to complain. She tells me about all of the messed up files she has to fix and all of the stupid trainings and how she doesn‘t think Betti and Christi like her, stuff like that. It sounded ridiculous, but she wasn’t the first one to tell me that Christi and Betti really keep an eye on the younger ones. They don’t trust kids for some reason. My reply was, “I’m 30.“ Sally was fixing mistakes from years ago, working her butt off, and come to find out later - apparently doing a good job. There was didn‘t seem to be much gratitude for it tho. I was thankful I didn’t have her job. My job was sweet. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 12 Sharon G., participant, apparently has this infatuation with Maggie; which surprises everyone, as how could anyone, except maybe a blind or deaf person. Maggie appeared to love complaining about Sharon by the way. Sharon is the shortest person in the group, has short blonde hair, is slightly cross-eyed, and walks with an accidental swagger. She doesn’t talk but she makes noises and uses some sign language, apparently often her own made up signs. It’s hard to communicate with her as she says yes to pretty much any question you ask her. “Do you want to work now Sharon?” and she will say yes. “Do you want to go to a training Sharon?” and she will say yes. “Do you think that I am the greatest person to ever live Sharon?” and she will say yes. This is when you know she is lying, but I still promise her that she is getting promoted. That isn’t rude because she doesn’t understand it. Sharon apparently will at times become obsessed with someone and be unhappy if she does not get her way with them; be it the chance to sit next to them or be near them or whatever. It’s usually towards people in her life that take on the role of a parent or boss or a grumpy goose When she is upset she will point and shake her head and make noises. Her face will get red. When this happens Maggie leaves the room if she can, and if she can’t she’s gets out of view of her. This is what Sharon’s doctor told the house to do, and it’s what the house has told us to do. Generally, it works. It’s a little weird, but so is the behavior. My first day here Sharon was having one of her “episodes” while we were in the cafeteria. I was sitting at the table right next to Maggie’s. Maggie told her to please sit down and eat, in a very stern voice. Sharon took her sandwich and threw it on the ground. Maggie asked her to pick it up and then she did, after a quite a few tries. Now normally Sharon is great; follows directions, is no trouble. Seeing this was typical, but rare. I remember other workers from the store in there on their break and they obviously did not approve of Maggie not interceding and tossing Sharon’s sandwich. I asked Maggie if we should throw it away since it was on the mother effing dirty ass floor and all. She said, “Nah. Sharon’s an adult. It’s her decision whether or not to eat it.” I was new so I didn’t say anything. I usually wait at least 3 months if not more before I start making suggestions and giving my opinion and all. Maggie was wrong though, and I should‘ve said something. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 13 Fall 2008 I have only been here a few months or so now, but I have made another close friend, JC.; and I don’t mean Jesus Christ, but I am speaking of my savior, if not the savior of humankind. John is a participant about my age and has down syndrome. He is shorter and very round with absolutely no neck. He grows hair on only certain parts of his face. He wears glasses and has a camouflage back pack. It has a wheels and a little handle. He usually just brings his lunchbox inside of the bag. He unnecessarily takes both across the street with him for lunches. When he get’s to work he enters quietly, always; as John doesn’t really talk. He can kind of say a few words and a few signs. Everyone is nice to him and he is nice to everyone, though he doesn’t smile much. He doesn’t really seem sad or depressed, just quieter than most, like myself. He pulls his backpack behind him and when he gets to the refrigerator he takes his lunch box out and put it in the fridge. He then takes his basically empty backpack to his locker and slams the locker door. Slams it hard too. Not surprisingly Meredith gets very upset about this. Newsflash Meredith, that won’t make him stop. Newsflash me, asking him politely won’t get him to stop either. At every break, not just lunch, he goes to his locker, takes out his basically empty backpack, slams the locker, and goes to the fridge; usually while others are pushing their way in front of him. He gives them a brief glare but they never notice. He takes out his lunch from the fridge, puts it in his basically empty bag and gets in line. He occasionally wears t-shirts with Marvel Comics Superheroes (Spiderman, Wolverine, The Incredible Hulk and Captain America, among others) and when I first started I would try and make conservation about whatever superhero was on his shirt, usually to no avail. (I liked him, but it was a while before I loved him. You‘re technically not supposed to have favorites, but what most people don‘t realize is that everyone has favorites. It gets bad when you start playing that‘s when things get effed up.) After I first started I made a personal goal to work with him, Sharon and another participant named Smith as they didn’t speak much. After a few months with Smith and Sharon I honestly felt I was wasting my time. They liked the attention and all but I didn’t feel like I doing anything to better their lives. John however was different. Usually John is a forgettable character, and by “usually,” I mean to everyone else. (I brought up recently to a few former staff how awesome John was and his improvements in the last few weeks alone, and all of them all said “John who?”) Even current staff outside of the PTC usually don’t know who John is. A couple of times he was brought up in the weekly meetings and people didn’t know who he was. “John?” As his father says, “He don’t hurt nobody, he’s a good kid.” Not that I want John to hurt anyone, of course I don’t, but life is more than just about being that guy that “don’t hurt nobody.” I could tell from talking with his dad and watching he and his dad interact that he was special. Special in that he had many more layers than the quiet John we saw in the PTC everyday. All summer I made sure to have one on one time with him everyday. A simple smile or gesture or mannerism that I had never seen before was all that I needed to keep on. After the first few weeks I almost gave up on him as well, but luckily I didn’t. It took a while but I finally got to the point where I could occasionally make him smile. Not just half smile, a real genuine smile. Staff was saying to me that they had never seen him smile or act like that. That gave me even more fuel to keep going. He couldn’t talk, like I said before, but he was much smarter than most people, including myself, gave him credit for. He got my stupid jokes, even almost chuckled occasionally. We really began to bond. I’ll bond with damn near anybody that thinks I’m funny. It’s very rare. No one else would spend time with him, Meredith especially hated him, like an evil parent in a Roald Dahl book. I started working on teaching him a few words, like “yes” and “no” and my name and greetings and such. He already did know “yes” and “no” but no one ever encouraged him to use them. A nod would suffice for them, not for me because I’m job coach extraordinaire. He didn’t crave attention by any means, but I could definitely feel that he appreciated it. Every month or so he would open up a little more. I began to realize he knew a little sign language, but apparently not the officially sign language. John combined ASL with his own. As a trade I tried to learn a few of his words. He was a smooth talker, quite inventive with the signing. John became my personal therapist. I would tell him my problems and ask for suggestions. How do I deal with “so and so,” I would ask him. He would usually say that he didn’t know, but it didn’t stop me from asking his advice. “What do you think of Meredith?” I would ask him. He would put his hand out and push it away, which I assume meant he disapproved. “A lot of folks have told me that Meredith literally smells. Do you agree?” I asked him. “Poop,” he would reply. “Good, that’s a word I haven’t heard yet.” What surprises me about a lot of these guys, John in particular, is how their sense of humor could be even more developed than some of the other staff or even other acquaintances of mine; people I’ve even almost dated. Advanced in that, he could not only catch sarcasm, he could also appreciate it. He could sense even when Meredith was being especially crazy, yelling at someone or freaking out about absolutely nothing (2 of Meredith‘s specialties). I could look over on occasion and see him laughing, in that silent way that John laughs. It always made me smile, but I didn‘t smile too big. Meredith doesn’t like smiling. I would motion for him to stop if I saw Meredith come his way. If it was too late for me to get him to stop I would ask him a random question like, “What did you do last night?” He would then hold up his hands with his thumb and trigger finger up, like a gun. Sometimes we would even pretend to shoot Meredith, but only with a water gun of course. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 14 “An autobiography is a book a person writes about his own life and it is usually full of all sorts of boring details.” - Roald Dahl Brace yourself as I‘m going to use the “R“ word for a bit. Or if you like the “R” word then get ready. From my notes: “Retarded” began being used as a description beginning in the late 1900’s. The word started as an alternative to the other names use at the time, which were considered offensive. Half a century later or so “retarded” began to be offensive as well. Somewhere along the line people began to say “mentally retarded”, then “mental retardation”, then just “MR,” and then “intellectually disabled” (a broader term). In fact, in 2007 the American Association on Mental Retardation changed its name to the American Association on Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities. I don‘t know exactly when “intellectually disabled” and “developmentally disabled” first began to be used, I think the latter in the early 70‘s; but they have both been used in place of “mental retardation.” Under “developmentally disabled” you have: 1. Physical disabilities 2. Intellectual disabilities 3. Persons with both physical and intellectual disabilities Under “physically disabilities” (physically disabled) you have: Hearing, Sensory, and Visual Impairments to name a few. Under “intellectually disabilities” (intellectually disabled) you have anyone with limitations in these 2 areas (which according to some must have developed before the person became an adult ): 1. Adaptive functioning (communication, social, and other everyday skills) 2. Intellectual functioning (problem solving and reasoning) That would include mental retardation/republicans. Under “persons with intellectual and physical disabilities” you have: autism, Down syndrome, fetal alcohol syndrome, and Fragile X syndrome (my personal favorite name) among others. 　　　 Chapter 2, Section 15 “I’m playing as well as I’ve ever played, except for the years I played better.” - Golfer Fred Couples I’m beginning to not only notice the turnover rate, but see the effects. Almost everyone else in the department suffers. The CEO, the board of directors and the bottom line do not however. Ted got sent back to his old job and then weeks later another guy here in the company, Clint, took his place. Eek. Another new case manager started as well (not in the PTC but for the stores). Christ, I can’t keep up with it all. I think she replaced another Case Manager named Dee and her name is Elsie. I don’t know anything about Dee, except that she is obese and Mormon and Christi and Betti love her, like really love her. They are a combined weight of a ton. I have only seen Elsie briefly and she looked like she was in her 30’s; but I probably shouldn’t say, as I didn’t really take a close look. Maggie quit as well. Dropping like flies. She told me that if Meredith ever left that she would happily come back. I, however, knew Christi would never allow her to come back after that one fiasco. No one is sad at this point. I think Ted was one part embarrassed and one part relieved to go back to his old job, as I‘m sure it wasn‘t good for his heart. We all liked Ted, but no one really missed him as it felt like he was never here anyway. He came and went faster than… things that happen that are really fast. I think it was fate, though, as I don’t think I would have gotten the job if he wasn’t here. I’m basically forever indebted to Ted, at least while he’s alive. Thankfully he’s old. Clint is now my boss. I know him from when we worked in the store together briefly. He was one of my least favorite there as he always acted so fake. He moved on to work in the offices in IT or something, doing computer stuff.

The Great American Novel and Such Nonsense

Friday, January 11, 2013

Chapter 1 (Updated) 7-31-13

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Table of Contents (Updated 6-21-13)

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Chapter 2, 1-13-13