Ax PVC

10.60 – 4.56= 6.04
I always order the same thing and try to have the correct change when I go to this Dunkin’ Donuts on 14th Street. There’s a girl there in her hijab who always has the look of a deer in the headlights when I walk in.

I take a daily survey so I can get a free donut, and I have mentioned Miss Deer in the headlights a few times in the past today. She really outdid herself, where it seemed like she was a deer in the headlights, having a stroke.

My items turn out to $4.56. I gave her $10.60, saying out loud how much I was giving her. She could not figure it out, even though she probably could enter the amount in the computer/register; whether or not she did, I don’t know, but she did not give me the proper change. I remarked, “People, we have done this time and again, almost every day of the week, why can’t you get this right?” I did not raise my voice, but I’m sure I registered my frustration.

There’s a man there in the store might be a manager, I don’t know, but he stepped in and took over, and I took him two attempts to give me the right change. They have a register; it probably does the math for them unless they enter the wrong amount, and Little Miss Deer in the Headlights could not figure it out.

I did write yesterday, but never posted so today might be a double header. I don’t really know until I get home and edit this, and also edit yesterday, I was overwhelmed by distractions and a foreboding feeling.

Yesterday started with a very heartfelt sentimental text from Mike, which was nice to read, and we talked yesterday, and that was it. Things are what they are, and that’s fine. I don’t expect much to change. I’m not sure if I want to change much
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According to some people, today is the date of the rapture. I’m not sure if I’m still here. I haven’t heard of people vanishing or planes crashing or trains running off the track, which is what would happen, I suppose, if somebody who was operating those machines would suddenly vanish.

I slept well last night, but I have to go to bed earlier, and I did last night, which is 11:15. Some idiots in North Carolina gave you a call at 12:30, somehow getting through my two not disturbs so I will have to do something about that tonight because I do not want to be disturbed without trying to sleep and fuck that shit

I’ve talked about it enough, but I could have sworn Sunday or Monday would have been the day to do it, but a social media break is definitely in the works and much needed with everything heading to be so horrible, or at least sad or ill moods.
Jimmy Chile has come to the rescue once more. I had been wrestling with a plan that the company that placed me at the fruit stand wants me to do with regard to a development plan. Basically, what you want to do with your Future?

Being happy is not a good answer at least not in a professional setting, because there is no room for happiness in a professional setting. Capital it fails us now. So in my attempts to post and repost and re-edit them over and over and over, I started to get snarky, which will not help me get a raise or a bonus or whatever it is I’m doing this for.

Gone are the days of just showing up and doing your job and going home; now you have to jump through hoops and tell people that you are a team player and going to do everything you can to make life better for them.

Jimmy Chile might be near the end of his rope with regard to my snarkiness. Yancy is expected in tomorrow, and no one is happy about that. He said he was going to send me a calendar invite, but that has not happened.

I am gravely disappointed in everything today.

I just saw a social media post about the movie Clue, which came out 40 years ago today. I remember working for a messenger company but saving the ads in the subway for the movie Clue.

The messenger company was En Route, located just around the corner on 15th Street between 5th and Union Square, which is where I am now. So much has changed, so much has not. The great Martha Keavney was working as a bike messenger, and she got me in there as a foot messenger. It was not as glamorous as you’d think.

I lasted almost through the season, the holiday season, which was crazy hectic, giving me nothing much. Soon after that, I think I got a job at Friedman Alpren and Greene, an accounting firm.

Jet Watley interviewed there and didn’t take the job, and suggested me, so I did and I got it and I think I left it there about a year before winding up at San Loco, where I left for a few months, and then wound up at Murdoch magazine for a few years. All that from finding out about the movie clue being released 40 years ago today…

Am I the bearer of bad news? At least let’s talk about jobs? I worked in the recording studios and music business, and that world is gone. I worked in publishing for People Magazine, and that world is gone. I worked in finance, and there was a financial collapse.

It’s about to happen again, and then the 9/11 victims’ compensation fund, which is hanging on for its dear life because their man L’Orange Merde is swinging a knife around the webbing that is supporting that VCF.

Now I sit outside smoking a small cigar, a mini cigar actually, bigger than the ones I used to smoke, get smaller than the ones I smoked last week.

It’s definitely like a summer day and I am remembering things from 49 years ago specifically a blue Panasonic cassette replayer at my sister gave me for my birthday that kept getting tapes and I thought it was something wrong with the player it was probably the tapes I returned it two or three times and eventually gave up lose the store at the same street in Rochelle Park.

But it was the beginning of my interest in recording things, and how far I’ve changed. It was also 49 years ago that I saw Gerald Ford, who was President at the time, give a speech at the Garden State Plaza, and I came thisclose to shaking his hands, but they pulled him away before it was my turn, so I did not vote for him that year in 1976.

I have just come to the realization that she loves you by the Beatles is a song that makes me happy. Even thinking about it lightens my spirit somewhat.

One thought on “Ax PVC

  1. johnozed Post author

    The Google Gemini rewrite as a Samuel Becket essay

    ***A Report on the Human Condition***

    **I.**

    The exchange. A repetition. Every day. The same. 10.60 given. 4.56 required. The register, a machine, knows the answer. But the girl, the deer, she does not. She stares. A stroke, perhaps. Or simply the absence of thought. The change, incorrect. Again. A manager, a man, he tries. He too fails, once. The machine, it is useless. People. They are useless. We are useless. My frustration. It exists. It is registered. In the air. A sound without a voice.

    **II.**

    I wrote yesterday. I did not post. Distractions. A feeling. Foreboding. What is there to post? What is there to say? Mike texted. It was nice. A sentiment. It is what it is. It will not change. I do not wish for it to change. What is the point of change? Nothing.

    The rapture. They say it is today. I am still here. No one has vanished. The planes, the trains, they continue their terrible, predictable journeys. I did not sleep enough. They called. From North Carolina. Through the do-not-disturb. So it is a lie. A promise broken. The world breaks its promises. The phone, a thing to be broken.

    The break. The social media break. It is needed. The mood. Sad. Horrible. It is always sad. Always horrible.

    Jimmy Chile. He is a savior. For a time. A plan. A development plan. What is your future? They ask. Happiness. It is not an answer. It has no place. In the professional setting. No room. Capital. It fails. We jump through hoops. We say the words. Team player. Make life better. For them. The words mean nothing. We know this. They know this.

    Jimmy is tired. He is at the end of his rope. A rope with no end. Yancy comes tomorrow. No one is happy. The calendar invite. It has not come. It will not come.

    I am disappointed. Gravely. In everything. Today. All days.

    **III.**

    A memory. The movie. *Clue*. Forty years. A messenger company. En Route. The ads. On the subway. I saved them. Why? No reason. Martha Keavney. A messenger. A foot messenger. I was a foot messenger. Not glamorous. Nothing is glamorous.

    I left. A job. An accounting firm. Friedman Alpren and Greene. Jet Watley. He did not take it. I took it. I left it. Then San Loco. Then Murdoch magazine. All this from *Clue*. Everything leads to everything. And nothing.

    The bearer of bad news. A burden. My burden. My curse. The music business. Gone. Publishing. Gone. Finance. Gone. A collapse. It is happening again. The VCF. The victims. L’Orange Merde. He swings a knife. It is always a knife.

    **IV.**

    I smoke a cigar. A mini cigar. Not the same. Not the same size. It is summer. A memory. Forty-nine years. A cassette player. Blue. Panasonic. A gift. From my sister. It was broken. The tapes were broken. I took it back. They gave it back. We gave up. I gave up. It began my interest. Recording. It has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing has changed.

    Gerald Ford. The president. At a plaza. The Garden State Plaza. So close. To shaking his hand. He was pulled away. The hand. It was denied. I did not vote for him. The vote. A protest. A useless protest.

    I realize. A thought. The Beatles. “She Loves You.” It makes me happy. I think about it. It lightens the spirit. Somewhat. For a moment. Then it is gone. It is all gone.

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