From Pathetic Life #19
Saturday, Dec. 16, 1995
Jesus H, is it ever Christmas. Business today was five times the total of our busiest day ever, ten times as many sales as a typical Saturday. Before I could even get the stand unpacked and the table unfolded, there was an almost constant line of people waiting to buy fish.
Not much past noon, it was clear we’d be running out of all our best-selling fish, so I made several customers wait while I jogged over to a phone booth and called Jay for emergency replenishment. “Jay! I’m almost out of Darwin, Gefilte, Bob, Beer, Jerry Garcia, Gay Pride, and Anti-Christ fish, and quarters for change!” She said she’d be there as soon as she could.
This is the true meaning of Xmas: cheap presents at a cheap price. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but mostly gold. Ring ’em up and praise the Lord.
Jay was beside me at the table pretty damned soon — barely more than half an hour after I’d called — and she brought plenty of merch and a spare chair. We worked side-by-side for the rest of the afternoon, with about five minutes without a customer.
For an hour or so, Wavy Gravy walked through the very crowded sidewalks and street, asking for contributions to buy toys for homeless kids. I of course had nothing to give, but Jay gave me ten bucks and covered the table alone while I blitzed across the street and gave him the money and a long hug.
I am a cynical bastard and try real hard not to admire anyone, but Mr Gravy is someone I admire.
Then, when business finally began slowing, Jay bought me a pair of warm, wooly socks from a vendor a block away, as a bonus for our record-setting day. Thanks, boss!
♦ ♦ ♦
As we were folding up the table, day done at last, Josh came by and said “Merry Christmas,” just as Judith waved at me from across Telegraph, where she was doing her Christmas shopping.
Introductions all around: Judith, this is Josh. Josh, this is Jay. Jay, this is Judith. And vice versa. Then it got weird, because someone suggested dinner, and quicker than diarrhea we were all at Norikonoko, a family-run Japanese restaurant a few blocks down Telegraph, where Judith paid my way, thanks.
I had some sort of noodle and vegetable soup, and nibbled off everyone else’s plates. It was a very good meal, but holy crap — nothing on the menu was less than $7.50, and I could feed myself for a week on that.
It was as nice a time as realistically possible, but I am not a social animal. With one other person, on a good day I can carry half a conversation, but with three other people, even three friends, I was in the silent era without intertitles.
Introvert here. I need advance warning before hanging out with people, and also I was exhausted from interacting with a thousand customers all day. Everyone else handled the talking though, and I handled the eating, and laughed at people’s jokes, and said next to nothing after ordering.
When I got home I barfed up dinner. There was nothing wrong with it, really, and I do sincerely recommend Norikonoko if you can afford it. It was just nerves and exhaustion screwing with my digestion.
Washed the taste of puke out of my mouth with a few peanut butter sandwiches and a glass of milk, and then, what a day, glad it’s over, and good night.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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