The PATH train was crazy crowded this morning. Because of a New Jersey Transit fiasco, their trains were diverted to Hoboken, and all those commuters had to go somewhere.

That was dictated. That’s as far as my dictation got. I was not present for most of the day as it crawled past me.

Yesterday was most of the same except for leaving with Jimmy Chile at 3:45 PM to go to a small Thanksgiving celebration at the main fruit stand. I was initially wary about going and spending time with Yancey, which certainly meant that I did not want to spend any more time with him if I could help it.

The women, Kimberly and Anise, who trained me, were understanding and expressed some disappointment when they knew I was not going to show up. That was the deciding factor for me. I walked up with Jimmy Chile after I convinced him I would rather walk. He’s a fast walker, and once or twice I had to let him know to slow down.

It reminded me of when I used to walk around with Rita, who was constantly getting me to slow down since I was walking too fast. Now I am Rita, complaining about my companion walking too fast for my aged legs.

Today was slow, especially when compared to walking. A few years ago, an old friend, Denise, saw me walking on the street and asked why I was walking so slowly. I didn’t think I was, but years later, her words echo in my ears. I am very conscious, perhaps too conscious, of the speed of my gait.

I see younger people flying past me as I walk and try to keep up. I still wind up sweating like a horse. And yesterday afternoon, the younger person was Jimmy Chile.

Today, Jimmy was all over the place, but he always found time to check up on me. Marcus is not in the office, working from home, I think. And since the holiday season is creeping up, things are not as busy as they usually are.

I suppose it will be like this until January. I really don’t know since I wasn’t working at the fruit stand this time last year. I’m not complaining. I just have to show up. Leaving the festivities last night, I rode the elevator with a guy who was leaving the fruit stand until December. He has off. I mentioned that I’m a contract player, so I will be in.

He suggested getting a good book, and I told him I was reading ‘Let The Stories Be Told’, the biography of that Boston band, The Cars. He mentioned that all he had were baby books. As we exited the elevator, I asked if he was able to understand those books. Cheeky.

It’s a good book, entertaining. I really liked The Cars’ first album. I bought it soon after it came out. One summer day in 1978, I rode my bike to Maywood for a haircut. I saw in the paper, The Cars were doing an in-store appearance at EJ Korvettes, a mile or two up the road.

I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, and after my haircut, I rode to Paramus. There they were, all five of them, signing albums. I already had the album and did ot have the money to buy a new one, so I snagged a brown paper shopping bag, which they signed before heading out to their limo.

That first album is a classic. Almost every track is a hit. There were always at least one or two interesting tracks on their following albums.

Sixes and sevens and nines

So I work at the fruit stand, but not of the fruit stand. I am a deputy fire warden, but I will only tend to employees who work at the fruit stand but are not of the fruit stand. They can save themselves. It is a modest proposal.

Union Square partnership
The Rolling Stones Tumbling Dice plays in my head, and it’s a good sign to play in my head
It is Wednesday, November 19th, 1:29 p.m. I am heading out for a smoke of my little cigar. It was a long morning, with Yancey hanging around.

There was an email that was sent yesterday about how if you donate a Toys for Tots item, you were entered in a raffle, and today Yancey took it upon let me know, and I am not an employee and therefore not entitled to be in the raffle.

I will not be surprised that when it comes time to pick up this box of Toys for Tots, my two items will be the only ones in there, despite the fact that I’m not an employee of the fruit stand, I just work at the fruit stand.

I’m sitting at my spot, which is cold but not damp. My mother would tell me I would get a cold and in my tuchis if I sat on cold ground.

So there’s a gathering for employees and not employees from the fruit stand, and I was all set to go yesterday, and after conversing with the Yancey I was quite annoyed with that whole situation, even though I did not think about it until he brought it up.

I contacted the woman who is throwing the event. Tell her I wasn’t feeling too well, and she understood, but I think I am going to go regardless. It gives me a chance to leave around 3:45 to get up there at 4:00, and the event is from 4:00 until 5:30, but I think I’m just going to leave at 5:00 p.m., and Jimmy Chile is going as well, which should make it somewhat entertaining and perhaps not that uncomfortable

So the Mike situation… I tried calling him last night. A few times to know avail, no response. Left voicemail, no response. Don’t know what he’s doing, and I asked how he was, and I have no idea. He did reply to me this morning, but that’s as far as it got.

Bill is taking me to a play on Sunday afternoon which was written by a friend of his and I suggested we bring Mike and Bill was not too into that idea and after the non-communication with Mike I tend to agree that we will not bring him on Sunday. It will just be Bill and me in the city, which is probably how it should have been from the start.

One has to know how to approach Yancey and communicate with him. I admit I do push back. I told him I was on the outside looking and since I am not invited to these events that I see. He insisted that I was not on the outside, even though all evidence points to the contrary
I think he’s used to people just saying and deferring to whatever it is he has to say, and I should try to be that type of person more often, but my default is not that

Watching the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions a few weeks ago, I found myself more interested in what the hip hop artists had to say than the rap and rollers.