Once, someone shoved Dale Carnegie at me — How to Win Friends and Influence People — so I read the book. It’s a little stale, but could be very helpful for people who want to win friends and influence people.
From Pathetic Life #12
Friday, May 26, 1995
In a moment of personal liberation, though, I understood that wasn’t me. You have friends or you don’t, but I never want to “win” friends, like a
plush puppy at a carnival.
I won’t pretend to be outgoing, or listen with a smile to boring people. Better to have no friends, than the kind of friends you have to ‘win’.
♦ ♦ ♦
On the phone, I was making arrangements to help some guy move on Tuesday, and he said the job would go smoother if we had a second man. I said I’d see what I could arrange, hung up, and of course asked my flatmate, Pike. He’s taken my overflow work in the past, but we’ve never worked on the same gig.
The work starts at 7:00 in the morning, though, and that’s usually about the time the drugs have worn off and Pike is ready to fall asleep. So he said no, and I kinda snapped.
“Jesus Christ, Pike. It’s work, and you’ve got no money in your wallet. Couldn’t you lay off the speed, crank, or whatever for one fuckin’ day?”
“Don’t give me crap,” he muttered. “I’m just saying, there’s no way I’ll be in any condition to work at 7 in the morning. You’d rather know now than then, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, what about the rent? Will you have the rent on the 1st? I’d rather know now than then about the rent…”
He didn’t say anything to that, which means the answer is no, he won’t have the rent.
“Pike,” I said. “You’ve gotta put the bong down long enough to do a day’s work and pay your way.” I kinda regretted it as I said it. It’s true, absolutely, but it sounded like my mother.
Pike started to say something back at me, but Terry interrupted, and said, “Doug’s right, Pike.”
Oh, I hadn’t mentioned that Terry was there? She’s always there, like the furniture — furniture that talks, and says stupid things. “You’re a lazy bastard,” she said — to Pike, “sponging off my food, my drugs,” and he started hollering at her and she hollered at him, and I tactfully faded back into my room.
First, I don’t want Terry on my side in any argument.
Second, I don’t want Terry in my apartment.
And turd, she says Pike is sponging off her for food? I thought she was sponging off me, eating my food, or maybe both of them are — there are always a few fewer slices in my loaf of bread than yesterday.
♦ ♦ ♦
Five minutes later, they’re still arguing in the next room, and I’m in my room trying not to listen, and deciding I really don’t like sharing the Mierda apartment on Slum Street with those two.
This is a long shot, but is there anyone reading this page of my zine, who might rescue me from my flatmates?
Look, I don’t smoke. Don’t play loud music. Rarely cook. I’m not sociable, never host parties, and I’m easy to get along with, provided you’re not an asshole. I need to be near public transit and inside San Francisco city limits, but that’s almost all I need.
Seriously, a cot in a closet would be enough, long as there’s an electric outlet and toilet and shower access. I don’t want to pay much rent, but I will pay it, and on time.
My number is ███ – ████. Leave a message. Please.
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.
Leave a Reply