“This is Mr Previn. I am holding your ad that says you’ll do anything legal, and I have half a day’s work for you.”
OK, but who leaves a message and identifies themselves as “Mr Previn”? I returned his call, and when I started with, “I’m Doug, the guy from the flyers,” again he said, “I’m Mr Previn,” before talking about what he needed me to do.
From Pathetic Life #24
Wednesday, May 29, 1996
So today I’d be working for a man with no first name, and guess what? He’s rich, at least by my standards, though by rich people’s standards he’s probably poor. He said he owns three boutiques, two in the Marina and one South of Market, and my job was to be a secret-shopper — go into each store, stand around, see if anyone helped me, and ask some rudimentary questions to see if the staff knows the answers.
On the phone, he gave me the stores’ addresses, and I mapped out my Muni rides — mostly 22s and 14s. We agreed on six hours of pay — $30 — though I couldn’t imagine one visit to each store could take that long.
It’s a peculiar job already, but it gets more peculiar. Mr Previn wanted to meet me at a downtown soup-and-sandwich shop, and he gave me that address, too, and told me he’d supply me with a device to record my conversations in the stores. Wearing a hidden microphone seemed slightly over the top, but what the hell, thirty bucks is thirty bucks, plus he said he’d buy me lunch, and I rarely say no to someone buying lunch. He’d made it all sound somewhat clandestine, though, so I made double-sure my mace was in my pocket before busing to the soup-and-sandwich place.
I got there five minutes early, and the place was swanky — checkered blankets on the tables, three-digit prices, and a necktie and matching jacket on the young man behind the counter. I’d never eat at that place unless Mr Previn was buying.
It wasn’t busy. Three men were eating at three different tables, so I said “Ahem,” and addressed the room, “Would any of you be Mr Previn?” Two shook their heads no, and the third said he could be if I asked nicely — clearly a come-on — so I went back outside and leaned on the wall next to the only door.
And there I was for another fifteen minutes, asking every male who went inside, “Are you Mr Previn?” None of them were, or none admitted it, so I guess he had second thoughts. I have better ways to spend my days than loitering in front of a sandwich shop, so I left with no soup, no sandwich, no gig, and no idea what that was all about, but I’m happy to still honestly say that I’ve never worn a wire.
♦ ♦ ♦
Since I was 2/3 of the way there already, I took a #27 bus to my maildrop, and came out with my backpack a few pounds heavier. Then I walked down Geary Boulevard to visit the phone booth that owed me 20¢.
Revenge is beneath me, of course, but accidents do happen. I’d rummaged through my tool kit yesterday, and brought a fist-sized container of cheap liquid glue, purchased a year ago for sticking up my “I’ll do anything” flyers. For that task, it had proven better at sticking my fingers together, and soon I switched to glue sticks or sticky paper instead. For today’s task, though, oops, I spilled glue onto the phone’s mouthpiece, and then spilled some more, and drenched the keypad too.
Cherry on top was an index card that said, “Out of order” in big letters, and in smaller letters, “All refunds made only by check.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Let’s see… The phone booth ripped me off, and it got glued. Jose’s Produce ripped me off, and they got cockroached. I have the addresses for all three of Mr Previn’s shops, and also, it would be a shame if something happened to that Walgreens from last Wednesday, where the security guard kicked me out.
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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