Lost In Harlem: Or Where'd All The Other White Folk Go?

"I don't like this area."

"Really? I love it. Guess I'm just used to it."

"You come here a lot?"

"Oh yeah, Me, Pookie, and Ray-Ray used to come down here to shoot hoops and get our dicks sucked."

This is going to be one of the oddest normal entries ever.

My dreams of the past three nights have put me in something of a wicked mood. Coupled with a million random instances of serendipidity countered by numerous bouts of depression and nausea thrown together with a bit of insomnia and you end up with a man on his very last not quite normal nerve.

It started with walking out of the radio station last night, and ended with me sitting on my couch right now. In between I was almost killed twice, had an old man ask me if I've ever had blue balls, had to find something comforting to say to a guy whose two year old just died, had a conversation about tax surveyors with a complete stranger, met with my insurance agent, got sued on my lunch break, argued with a school about breaking federal bidding laws that they wanted to break, had a deaf kid sent home from school because he forgot his medication (have they come up with a pill that cures deafness?), had a group of kids abandoned in NYC, lost a bus, argued with the NYPD, discussed drugs with a hobo, and finally stole one of my own buses off a street corner in the depths of Harlem. How's that for a fucking Wednesday?

"It's not peace kid, it's just the other monster." - T.O. Hob

Last night Matt reminded me of how much of an ass I made out of myself that one time in my life that I got drunk and despite the fact that even I enjoy laughing at myself I still went home feeling really bad about the fact that I ruined that night for everyone. I never really think about it anymore, but when it comes up I don't feel embarassed, I just feel bad that I fucked up everyone's last real night together...

Anyway...

I knew my day was going to go down hill quick when the first person I talked to this morning was my stepfather. Never a good sign when that man calls me. First thing this morning I had to deal with a school that is angry we were awarded their transportation contract because we pulled out of a previous contract with them leaving them without transportation. The problem is...that never happened. We did a full year of transportation and they were pleased with it at the time, but the company that covered them in the interim is upset and has convinced them that we default on contracts regularly. Which of course...has never happened.

Then one of the old guys who works from me comes in to tell us about his hernia surgery. He's a great guy and all, but I've never had a more awkward conversation about someone else's testicles in my life. Come to think of it I'm not sure I've ever had a real conversation about someone else's testicles in my entire life.

A whole bunch of other awkward/boring/depressing/pointless bullshit led up to my lunch "break." On my way to the deli I stopped at my old man's house to pick up the mail. There was a certified mail receipt which meant I had to head over to the post office. The woman wouldn't give me the mail because my driver's license doesn't have my father's home address on it. After a short argument one of the other postal workers convinced her it was ok and she allowed me to sign for the letter...which it turns out was a lawsuit. I'm being sued for something that happened before I was even with the company. So not only did I get sued on my lunch break, but I had to go to the post office to pick the paperwork up and I had to argue to get them to give it to me.

Another bout of boring but necessary shit was punctuated by the revelation that one of the three buses I had in NYC today was missing, meaning I had to send another bus to pick up the abandoned kids. We couldn't get a hold of the missing driver on the radio or on his cellphone, the bus was nowhere to be found, and NYPD hadn't heard a thing. Of course it took me hours to find out if NYPD knew anything because they kept bouncing me around the non-emergency extensions. I almost lied and said there were kids on the missing bus, but I wasn't sure that would do any good. So with my bus and driver missing, and NYPD less than helpful I embarked on another fabulous bus retrieval adventure.

The amazing Benny-O and I headed for Manhattan to check where the bus was supposed to be, and of course it wasn't there. Which we sort of expected. But New York is a big place and we had a tip that the bus might be somewhere in Harlem so off we went . Now when you're as large and white as I am, and you find yourself standing out front of one of Magic Johnson's theaters you have to figure you're going to stick out like a sore thumb. But at this point nothing mattered but retrieving the bus. so we slogged through some of the worst parts of Harlem looking for this damn thing. At one point we're stopped at a light and I see a little old black man leaning against a fence. On the fence there is a sign that says, "No Drugs." He looks at me, steps away from the fence, then reaches back and taps the sign. "No Drugs Allowed?" I say, he grins so wide I can see his tonsils and grunts, "Shit, I'm just out." Then he starts cackling. Despite myself I laugh too.

Now we have an address where my driver might be and as we pull onto the the street in question Benny-O starts searching for building numbers. But the numbers are small and often missing, it's really dark out, and Benny's eyes aren't that great. So when he keeps saying, "Which building, which building?" I finally break down and say, "I'm guessing it's that one there. You know the only one that has one of my buses parked out front of it." Because lo and behold after searching half of what is paradoxically both the greatest and shittiest city on the face of the Earth we have stumbled across my missing bus.

And then comes the final challenge. Figuring out how I'm going to steal the bus back...until I realize we're in Harlem. I simply walk across the street, bust into the bus, and fire the fucker up. I trade places with Benny and five minutes later we're on our way home.

By 11:30 I'm letting the dogs out and locking up, 13 minutes later I'm typing this. But as I do a certain melancholy falls over me, and I begin to wonder if the rest of my life is going to be as odd an agitating as today was. And then I'm floored by the realization that I just don't care, because either way, I know I'll get by.

"Doc says I'm sad. Doc says I'm depressed. Doc says life's got me down. Yeah... Doc says I need a pill to make me happy. Says I need to go on Once Daily Wellbutrin XL With a Low Risk of Sexual Side Affects. I said, Shit Doc, if I was getting laid I wouldn't need the fucking pill." - Lazarus Jones