It is officially one year that I have been assigned to the fruit stand. Instead of surety, I have a feeling of dread. Yancy makes his biweekly appearance tomorrow at my tiny fruit stand and yesterday he found a mistake that I had made on March 31, and I corrected it on April 20.

And it was a mistake that had me scratching my head, wondering how could I have messed up so badly. Today I resolved to be more aware, more cautious but even that fell under the gaze of Yancy.

Asking an employee when their guest (another employee) is due to arrive. Yancy passively aggressively mentions that the guest is an employee and should be granted access from 8 AM. If it was an error, it was made from my being cautious.

The first anniversary goes on and I am not the only one who feels the way I feel. A surprise coworker has been here longer and is tired of the way the fruit stand is run. Or at least tired of the way the job makes them feel.

I am writing this on the phone. Not dictating, just thumbing along. My paranoia has me not doing anything personal on the fruit stand computer. And forget about the fruit stand tablet. I was going to use that but decided against it because it required downloading apps that could be scrutinized by my higher ups.

It has been 10 years since Prince moved on. I remember getting ready for work and hearing news on the Today show that a body was found at Paisley Park. I immediately sprang into denial mode and headed off to work for the Algerians, thinking it was the gardener or someone. I could not fathom thinking that it might be Prince. But it was.

I suppose I was numb and in shock. David Bowie had passed away a few months earlier, and this was just as bad. I worked with Bowie; I had never worked with Prince. The closest I had gotten to Prince was one summer in the early eighties. I was doing my weekend record buying on St. Mark’s Place.

Walking past Trash & Vaudeville, I spied a limo outside and joked to myself that I was more than likely a wannabe rock star. I was in St. Mark’s Sounds buying whatever had come out that week, and upon leaving, I saw Prince with Big Chick, his bodyguard and the limo trailing behind. This was before Purple Rain and after 1999 so some people knew who he was and they were hanging out their windows shouting how much they loved him.

I scurried over to Gem Spa on the corner of St Marks and Second Ave and called Rita on the payphone. She was the only person in Manhattan that I could think of, and I only had a quarter or two. And she was a former teenybopper so she knew where I was coming from.

Alas, Prince hopped into the limo before I could say anything to him. I did see Prince live five times. The first time was an Easter matinee at the Nassau Coliseum. Then Madison Square Garden for LoveSexy. That night a 2 AM show at Roseland and I was so enthralled I had to go back to the Garden and see him again. And I scored one ticket which was all the way on top in the nose bleeds where the previous night I was a few feet above the floor.

There was no way I could tolerate being so high up so I wound my way down, walking around the arena, checking the show as I would stop and see a song before I was shooed away by the ushers. The show had two halves so during the intermission, I was outside the floor level.

Surprising to me, I ran into a friend who had floor seats. He was surprised to see me and asked where I was seated. I pointed to the ceiling and told him I was right below it. He mentioned that he could do better and went back to his seat and as his girlfriend for her ticket stub which he gave me when he returned.

Five rows away from the stage. I was persistent then.

23 years later, I get a phone call from RoDa. He asks if I want to see Prince and I explain it’s out of my price range. He says it’s free. I could not resist. It was the Welcome to America tour, Prince was in top form. It did not seem he was wearing heels. I had somehow forgotten a number of his hits and he was reminding me.

A brilliant night with the wonderful RoDa.

It’s Monday, and you can probably figure out the date. It’s been a good weekend with Mike while Bill is somewhere in the Midwest? The south? I can see him online but cannot describe or name the part of the country where he is located. What part of the country is Nashville? I’m sure you know, but it escapes me at the moment.

The weekend was Mike and me, chillin’. A few episodes of Golden Girls were watched and I rented Pillion, which was, for me, a disappointment. Not as funny, not as romantic as I had heard. Mike is inching his way into the leather world and would like for me to accompany him. I just find the leather world too one dimensional and lacking in warmth and or humor.

There was a time, I’m guess about twenty years ago. I had a playdate with a man in the east of Midtown on the river. I prepared for it all day. Juan knew about it, Bill did not of course. I took a train to Midtown and walked east. I knocked on the guy’s door and was let in.

No warmth, or humor or anything resembling hospitality. I knew within minutes that this was not where I wanted to be and was back on the street soon after. I’m sure the inhospitable host was surprised. I remember calling Juan afterward and explaining what had happened. And a few months later, at Folsom East with Juan, I think I saw the geezer. I was immune to his glare and moved on with Juan.

I suppose the timing must be right for me to enjoy being in a scene like that. I had been around the scene but never so much as being in the scene. And when I attempted to do so, it never quite worked out. Mike prods and suggests and I am hesitant, since I am a sociable and humorous guy, and they are not.

46 years ago, I attended the Beatlefest with Perry Dedovitch. It was only a few months since John Lennon was murdered, and there was definitely a weird vibe to it, at least for me.

I thought Perry was so cool, and since he was known to smoke weed, I wanted to do the same. That Sunday night in the parking lot at the Meadowlands Hilton, I smoked my first joint and nothing happened. Nothing happened the second time either, but the third time was the charm.

I forgot where I was; it may have been in Perry’s van, and the universe revealed itself to me. Everything was funny, and all food tasted amazing. Driving around, me laughing hysterically and getting burgers with everything on them at the Dairy Queen on River Road in Garfield.

It was a simpler life back then. I was getting high all the time after that. A few years before my mother made me swear on the grave of her mother that I would never smoke pot. I swore, and then a year or so after, I proselytized for the weed.

I did not smoke in high school, though many other guys did. I was a bad enough student and did not need external stimulation to sink my grades even further.

At my desk I once again played the B-52’s playlist, followed by the Brian Eno remix of protection by massive attack and I also played the massive attack Tom Waits collaboration which came out last week. Then I started playing the XTC playlist and now at lunch wear Blue Danube is playing in my head as well as Kate Bush which could be the playlist I play when I go back to my desk

Does anyone have an idea what season will be tomorrow?