Dreamed of Sarah-Katherine again, which is a habit I need to break.
Wide awake at 1:00 in the morning, I couldn't get back to sleep, so I put on some pants and shoes for a pleasant but shivery walk around the block a dozen times, just for some clearheaded thinking time.
♦ ♦ ♦
After the walk, I never got back to sleep, so I needed plenty of caffeine to make it through the day on Telegraph.
I worked next to the medical marijuana table, and Buzz asked me to watch his stand while he went to the john. I sold two pot-infused rice crispie treats while he was gone, so arrest me, I'm a drug dealer.
♦ ♦ ♦
Someone left a sack of semi-stale donuts on top of a trash can and walked away, and I was there quicker than the flies.
Gave the donuts a closer examination at my table. There were half a dozen, and they looked good to me. "Day-old" is the term, or maybe two or three days old, but still perfectly edible.
I gave one to Hate Man cuz I love that guy, but ate the other five myself. That was lunch — three chocolate, two glazed, plus the sandwiches I'd packed.
♦ ♦ ♦
Two true believers frowned at me and the table, and here we go again. They asked if I understood the meaning of the Jesus fish, which is a conversation I've had a thousand times on the Ave.
Instead of arguing, this time I heard them out, and gave them what they wanted. I pretended to listen earnestly, as they prattled on about Jesus and shared a quote from Revelations.
When they asked why I was selling sacrilege on the sidewalk, I wanted to give a ridiculous answer, so with a straight face I said, "I was desperate. It was either sell these awful fish, or sell myself in prostitution."
That's ludicrous, of course — nobody'd pay 79¢ for a blow job from me — but apparently, one you believe in Jesus you'll believe anything. They believed me, and lying was more fun than arguing.
One of them suggested a word of prayer, and we used my fish stand as an altar. Three men kneeled, two men prayed, one man struggled not to laugh.
They invited me to a prayer meeting at their church, and I promised I'd be there. We shook hands, they insisted on a group hug, and then they walked away and I returned to the business of blasphemy.
♦ ♦ ♦
There was a weird almost-argument later, though.
On fish duty, I sit at the table and say "Fish" once or twice every minute, all day. That's my sales pitch. Today, one of the hundreds of times I said "Fish," a middle-aged white woman happened to be passing by, and she stopped and scowled.
"What did you call me?" she said.
"What?" I said.
"You called me a bitch." Her eyes were blazing, but you could've driven a truck through my mouth. Anyone reading this zine knows I'm an asshole, but I'm not the kind of asshole who'd sit at a table and call strangers names.
"I didn't call you anything, lady. I said 'fish'. I say 'fish' all day."
"Oh," she said, but she still seemed skeptical so I performed an extended 'fish' chant for her: "Fish. Fish. We got fish here."
I think she was mostly convinced, and she semi-apologized and walked away.
What a bitch.
♦ ♦ ♦
Maybe the donuts were a mistake. I felt queasy by quitting time, and rolling my cart away I started puking a pungent mix of donuts and coffee and sandwiches.
It was minor pukage, though. N violent heaves, only a series of liquid belches. Every half block or so, a few more ounces came up, and after the first few times I didn't even break stride, just faced sideways and spit it out like a lumpy loogie. No dribbles on my shirt, even.
Must've been quite the sight, though, and I do hope locals and visitors enjoyed the show.
From Pathetic Life #21
Saturday, Feb. 17, 1996
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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