Half day at work. And it did not start off well. Overslept, basically waking up when the alarm went off. That doesn’t happen often, I’m usually up before the alarm. And that’s the alarm on my phone. The clock radio went off when I was in the shower, waking up Bill, which is something I did not want to do since he did not get home until 2:30 in the morning.

After stumbling around the apartment I was out on the street headed to get my bagels and onto the train. Most Fridays the train is not crowded, today it was nearly empty, maybe 6 or 7 people riding in my car. And the office was hardly populated, about 5 people on my floor.

My workload was the same and I did not see Schlomo which was good. I was out by 1:30, and Schlomo’s supervisor the Legume came in around 1:15 which was fine. I said Good Afternoon and soon I was on the train heading back to Hoboken.

Last summer I had a lunch date with Nancy and Bob. I’ve known Bob for over forty years, back when he was called Bobby. And Nancy I’ve known almost as long. Drugs were involved in the beginning, first with Bobby and powders finding their way up our noses.

Then Nancy stepped in and she always had powders. She used the powders like a leash, at least on me to the distress of other friends. She also meddled in my life to my detriment. Advising William my then roommate to put a lock on his phone since I could not be trusted. Landline, not a cellphone as this was the Nineties.

William took her at her word and did just that and I attempted to have Nancy banned from the apartment which was a success mostly.

An interesting thing about Nancy, Bob, and I is that when the three of us are together it’s generally a laugh riot. But that involved many pints and drinks at Maxwell’s, convulsing with laughter around midnight. This time, last summer it was a lunch date, meaning in the afternoon.

I’m not much of a drinker these days, though Nancy and Bob hold up their end considerably. I prefer to drink at night when the day is finished. During the day I think that the hours that follow drinking are wasted. I don’t begrudge anyone else their drinking or drugging habits. Powders are right out, herb is still welcomed.

We met at a Taqueria in Hoboken. I studied the menu before and knew what I wanted. It was on the cheap side and I drank water. Nancy and Rob drank and had not-so-inexpensive fare. During the meal I commented on a mutual friend’s partner and how they looked which got me off-putting stares from Nancy & Bob.

I regretted it instantly and having no way to backtrack I tried to change the subject. I did steer it toward my battles with depression and how there were times when I could not leave the apartment, so despairing I was.

It’s not an ongoing thing, just that summer of 2023 was not a particularly good one. Nancy and Bob seemed astounded by the confession of depression and it made me realize that they were ‘not THAT TYPE of friends’. Drinking, joking, and whatnot are fine, and personal problems are not to be brought up.

That was basically the last time the three of us got together. Will it happen once more, I couldn’t say. It came close last winter with the memorial for a mutual friend. Bob was there with a few other friends from those Maxwell’s days and Nancy was on her way.

Bill and I stayed for a bit longer, chatting and joking with other friends. They were drinking and smoking of which I indulged with the herb. Bill and I were hungry and had been at this memorial for almost three hours. Some friends tried to intervene and get us to stay until Nancy’s arrival but we bailed.

Let’s face it, Schlomo is a twat. I’ve known it for a while, perhaps I was even in denial about Schlomo being a twat. I’ve written about it a few times using a different name, a different term but I think Schlomo is the way to go.

I’ve already changed the name again since I did work with a good guy in the nineties at Right Track Recording with the same name and I did not want to denigrate him. And just checking on a previous post I noticed I used Schlomo since he isn’t a friend to Semites, just to add some sand under the foreskin.

I get hung up on names in this blog thing. Re-reading some entries from the cigar shack days or even Wanker Banker I have no idea who I was writing about. So Schlomo is Schlomo. Schlomo loves reggae music and is fond of mentioning that he loves reggae and has never gotten high.

Like he’s looking for a pat on the back or a medal. “Isn’t Schlomo special?” was never said by anyone, even when he was a child getting on the short bus in Suriname. I’ve had to listen to his bullshit for over a year now and it’s been reduced considerably since I no longer sit by his office listening to him fart all day.

The whole coat rack fiasco was the tip off and I got it then and had to deal with it. And I dealt with it admirably. Today was just awful dealing with Schlomo. Once again I was in early and set about my day. I printed out all the pdf’s. Hundreds of pages, sorted, stapled, and tabbed, with corresponding FedEx labels (yellow card).

I did it all and was finished with that task before noon. Schlomo used to set those pdf’s up and it would take forever. Now I do it, before I leave for the night, setting it up for my morning task. And if more pdf’s arrive, then Schlomo can use his sausage fingers to make those things.

In the afternoon I work on requests from various administrators. Those have gotten easy to do but one of the last ones was a request for over 200 pages. Much too much for the envelopes and I sent him an email. I sent him a text. And received no response.

About 20 minutes later Schlomo appears. I tell him the situation, that a box would be needed and I know there are boxes in the area where he sits. Not really coming out and saying it, but I am saying that this would be better off done by the Giraffe working in that area, usually the last to leave.

About a half hour later he sent the Giraffe to me with a torn, yet slightly larger envelope. I laugh as the Giraffe hands it to me and say to myself, fine. I will stuff 230 pages into this envelope and I will send it off to be mailed. And I did just that, stapled, rubber banded, and sent off with the best intentions.

I did think about running around the block to the courier store but I couldn’t really do that. And the envelopes that I do work on, are weighed as one pound. Even if it is one piece of paper, it gets registered as one pound.

These pages were more than one pound so it may be rejected or it may be charged at a higher rate than the rate Schlomo worked so hard to attain for the company (no kickbacks I am so sure). But all I can do is work with the tools they give me.

There is Sméagol who works alongside Schlomo who does most of the mail runs to the courier or the post office. He collects mail from everywhere in the office except my desk. Walks right by it and even if there is a pile of items ready to go, he will not ask about it. Sméagol doesn’t like me and I do not like stray flea-bitten dogs.

So Sméagol now has the package that I made and will more than likely complain about the lousy job that I did with the inferior, torn tools that had given me to work with. It created a manic high of sorts for me. I am entertaining Costanza-like thoughts about marching in and quitting. But I can’t do that. They have to get rid of me.