Zaire Millet. I liked Zaire Millet and I think she liked me. She called me her ‘Guncle’ which meant ‘Gay Uncle’ We had many a laugh and Zaire had a distinctive laugh. She played the Bratty McGrotty game better than this old dog could. I enjoyed her company which existed in the office only. The mailroom staff could not stand her though.

It was more than likely racism. A white Jewish/Italian guy from Queens who lived in his mother’s basement as well as the immigrants of color who in their rush to assimilate, latched onto the worst parts of American culture which was the denigrating of Black people. I did try to contact Zaire when I left but it had no response.

Michael Dissa. He passed away recently. My friendship with him was through Charlie. I first knew Michael when Charlie was working the CD store wing of Pier Platters. I DJ’d Michael’s wedding I did not do a good job. I think of him singing along to The Smiths ‘Stop Me If Think You’ve Heard This One Before’.

When I was working for the Algerian Financial Managers I would see him on the platform for the PATH train. He saw me, I saw him and it never went any further than that. And I regret doing such an awful job playing records at his wedding reception.

Noel Guzman was a guy who I initially filled in for while he was having surgery and recovering from the operation on his broken neck. He would commute from Pennsylvania to work in Jersey City for the Algerian Financial Managers. He had an awful posture, much like a hunchback.

When he was training me before he was out on medical leave I would shadow him and wound up walking slumped over like he would walk. I caught myself doing just that. Not to mock him, just following his lead that intensely.

MaryAnn Fuentes was another gnome from Algerian Financial Managers. She would drink a tumbler of cold water, and complain about being cold. She was nice enough but also one who was quick to drop a dime in a company filled with people loaded with dimes in their pockets. She had a hairdo that resembled Lisa Lisa from the Cult Jam days and was about 5 feet tall in heels. She gave me a bottle of Maker’s Mark as a Christmas present for a few years which explains the unopened bottles of Maker’s Mark in the pantry.

I’m fairly certain that Zaire is still alive, while I am uncertain if Noel or even MaryAnn can be counted among the living.

I’ve known Noah Vale for a long time. He’s seen the best of me and the worst of me and I think he mainly remembers the worst. Mainly things that I had said in the past and regretted saying almost immediately after.

The horse has left the barn and I don’t know where that friendship stands. I guess it’s a day to day, week to week thing. When we see each other it’s pleasant but who knows where it really stands, though I do remember Noah Vale fondly.

It’s a Tuesday. Monday was bleak. Neither Bill nor I had a good night’s sleep the night before so the both of us started the day groggy. It was a Monday and that is usually accompanied by depression and though it was there on the fringes, it was compounded by a phone call Bill received.

It seems his very good friend Kirk told Bill that his dear wife Pat had died the night before. I’ve met Kirk a dozen times, he is a good man and his wife was a sweetheart. Bill yelled into the phone, his disbelief but it was true. We felt awful for Kirk. Bill and I attended their wedding back in the day in our early years of courtship and I believe Bill sang at it.

That set a gloomy tone for the day. I suggested that Bill phone our friend Margaret who knows Kirk and who had gone through the same thing months ago with her husband passing away suddenly. I suggested that Margaret might be able to phone Kirk with some words of comfort or consolation.

Margaret is a Reverend and Kirk is a believer so solace might be found in that. Bill also called his friend Kevin with the news and it turned out Kevin had upsetting news as well, that his brother had passed away the day before. The gloomy tone intensified.

Death is always nearby. I tried explaining it to Rafe Dais and Shahabudeena Khan long ago but they didn’t seem to get where I was coming from. Death is part of life. Y mother passed away on Mother’s Day in 1991. No one saw it coming though she was a smoker and she was overweight, I guess no one wanted to see it coming.

My father and my mother were in their living room chairs on that Sunday morning talking about who knows what, my father could’ve been the dick we’d all known him to be and saying something douchy. Next time he looked at my mother she was gone. No one knows what he might have said and he never brought it up.

My mother was doing the Sunday New York Times Crossword Puzzle, and I used to joke that we should sue the New York Times since 27 across turned out to be a real killer.

Months later my sister in law Karen was at her job, having a smoke outside the office with a co-worker. The co-worker asked if it was alright to ask Karen something about her mother in law. Karen said sure, it was OK.

The co-worker reportedly described what my mother was wearing that day and Karen was surprised at the accuracy. Karen asked how did the co-worker know this and the co-worker said because my mother was standing next to Karen with a message. My mother supposedly said she was sorry she left the way she did but her time was up and she couldn’t stay any longer.

That’s a great story and I wish I could know how true it was, the whole thing about spirituality and visitations from the afterlife. Being 62 myself, just 3 years younger than my mother when she passed, I am aware of the slender thread between this world and afterwards.

I used to watch Six Feet Under back in the day, a show about life in a funeral home and each episode would open with someone dying. It didn’t pull any punches and it didn’t sugar coat it. A lot of people died alone sing mundane things. And thats how life and death seems to be. Mundane and awful for those left behind. I miss family, and friends.

Not sure if we will meet again, I’m in no hurry to find out. I can’t imagine leaving Bill, it’s too painful to contemplate.