Back at the fruit stand. Quieter today. Not complaining and here I am typing out various letters, words and sentences before the day. Yesterday this would have been unthinkable. Today it’s thinkable. Bill was running around Manhattan last night, came home in time to watch 2 episodes of Jeopardy. We are almost caught up. I went to bed before Bill did. He had paperwork and whatnot to do so I was in bed by 10:30. And 10:30 PM is the sweet spot for me to go to bed, though my mind and body start to stir around 6:00 AM, wondering if it is indeed time to wake up and start the day. Then my bladder speaks up and insists that it is time to get out of bed and to visit the other side of the apartment.
I just had a slightly hairy situation. A young man with an oceanic name came up to me at my solo desk. He was assigned a temporary badge for the fruit stand yesterday and as temporary things go, it expired in the middle of the night. I was in proximity when the young man was given a temporary badge but not fully present. And a renewal was warranted. I fished around and finally was able to connect with Kimberly who walked me through the details of fruit stand workers and their temporary badges. The young man with the oceanic name was patient as I tried to maintain some sense of professionalism. I called myself an OG. Not original gangster but rather ‘Old Guy’.
Bill is out in Queens working on a reading that is going on this Sunday. He is stage managing the reading. Mike is going crazy with AI programs. He made a lovely image of David Bowie and me based on this morning’s attendance at the major fruit stand. He made an AI image of the Beatles and me, but I was smaller than the four of them, and it was various years/ages of the Fabs, not that Mike would notice.
Though I have been trying to eat better and perhaps lose some weight, the weight is more than likely here to stay. The weather is getting better, and I might just go for a bike ride this week, if not soon. I don’t know what to expect for this weekend, and I am hoping for the best. They are culling the deer population at Liberty State Park so it might not even be accessible.
I am sitting at where Lex Luthor used to sit. He’s officially a thing of the past. I accidentally let the cat out of the bag when I asked about Lex’s well-being when talking to our mutual counselor. She said he was fine, and I mentioned that I hope he gets help with a 12-step program or something like that. It was the first time the counselor had heard of it since modern-day companies do not say anything untoward about former employees.
This is why I would not make it as an employment counselor or a guidance counselor. I can keep a secret if asked, but if no one asks me not to spill the beans, beans will be spilt.
Listening to ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend’ by Prince and remembering Maurice Menares lip syncing and dancing in front of the Maxwells’ jukebox. Sweet times, so long ago. Last I saw, Maurice was in Tribeca near where I worked. It had been ages since I had seen him and then saw him a few times over the course of a few months. Now I am no longer in Tribeca and I could not tell you whether or not he is. No beans here.
Google Gemini humorous rewrite
Dispatch from the Fruit Stand: The Chronicles of an “OG”
Back at the produce-pushing grind. It’s suspiciously quiet today, which is fine by me—it gives me a chance to type out actual coherent thoughts. Yesterday, the very idea of “coherent thoughts” was pure science fiction; today, it’s a distinct possibility.
Domestic Bliss and Jeopardy Jousts
Bill spent his night sprinting across Manhattan like he was training for a marathon he didn’t sign up for. He made it back just in time for us to grind through two episodes of Jeopardy! We’re nearly caught up, which is good, because Ken Jennings waits for no man.
I tapped out and hit the sheets by 10:30 PM—the absolute biological “sweet spot.” Of course, my internal clock decided 6:00 AM was the perfect time for my brain and body to start an argument about whether it was time to get up. My bladder, acting as the tie-breaker, loudly insisted that a trip to the other side of the apartment was non-negotiable.
The Great Badge Crisis
I survived a “hairy” situation involving a young man with a name as vast as the ocean (Atlantic? Pacific? Poseidon?). His temporary fruit stand badge had the audacity to expire at midnight. I was “physically present” for his onboarding yesterday in the same way a houseplant is present—I was in the room, but not exactly absorbing data.
After some desperate fishing, I reached Kimberly, the Oracle of Badges, who guided me through the bureaucratic maze of fruit stand HR. Throughout the ordeal, I tried to maintain an air of professional dignity. I even referred to myself as an OG. To clarify for the youth: that’s not “Original Gangster,” but “Old Guy.” He was very patient with my ancient ways.
Art, AI, and Aerobics
Bill Update: Currently in Queens, stage-managing a reading for Sunday. He’s the glue holding the drama together.
Mike Update: He’s gone full “Mad Scientist” with AI. He sent me a prompt-generated image of me hanging out with David Bowie at the fruit stand. Then he sent one of me with The Beatles. Apparently, in the AI’s eyes, I am significantly smaller than a Beatle, and the Fab Four exist in a terrifying chronological soup where they are all different ages simultaneously. Mike didn’t notice. Mike doesn’t care.
The Physique: My “get fit” plan is going about as well as you’d expect—the weight seems to have signed a long-term lease on my midsection. I’m eyeing my bike for a ride this week, assuming Liberty State Park isn’t a war zone. Apparently, they’re culling the deer population, so it’s currently a toss-up between a scenic pedal and an accidental starring role in Bambi 2: The Reckoning.
The Lex Luthor Incident
I am currently perched at the desk formerly occupied by Lex Luthor. He is officially a historical footnote now. I did, however, accidentally drop a “truth bomb” during a chat with our mutual counselor. I asked how Lex was doing and casually mentioned I hoped he was finding success in a 12-step program.
The silence was deafening. Apparently, modern corporations have a “don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t even whisper” policy regarding former employees’ extracurricular struggles.
Career Note: This is why I am not a guidance counselor. If you don’t explicitly tell me, “Hey, keep these beans in the can,” consider those beans spilt.
Memory Lane
Prince’s “If I Was Your Girlfriend” is playing, which triggered a core memory of Maurice Menares absolutely crushing a lip-sync performance in front of the Maxwell’s jukebox. A lifetime ago. I used to run into him in Tribeca, but since I’ve vanished from that neighborhood, his current coordinates are a mystery.
No beans to spill there. My cans are empty.