I hate it. No really I hate it. I guess Felicia was merely the pimple on top of the problem. Last Thursday and Friday I worked with this nice woman, Anna. She was a good worker, supporting a nine year old son. I liked her and hoped that she would be back. No she wasn’t back today, instead Terry who I am liking less and less each day, had her friend Rachel come in. I figured it out when I heard squealing and looked up to see Terry and Rachel hugging and giggling and doing girly things. No Anna, here’s Rachel.

I wasn’t too happy about it, but then again I’m just the janitor. I asked about what happened to Anna, why wasn’t she coming back and I couldn’t believe the excuse they gave. She was unfriendly. That’s what they said. Now I didn’t think she was unfriendly. I thought she was just fine. The fucked up aspect is all these mother fucking people are the unfriendly ones. I mean I’ve been there since April 19, and have barely had more than three minutes of conversation with some of these former ‘people’, now ‘assholes’. They have some nerve saying that she was unfriendly.

Did any of them put out a friendly hand? No. They barely acknowledged her much like they barely acknowledge me. But then again there is the extenuating circumstance that doesn’t relate to me at all. Could it be because she was a woman of color? In the all white office, in every sense of the word, she was the ant in the sugar bowl. It really really sucks. Also, last week before the shit hit the fan regarding Felicia I sent in notice that I was taking the three days before Thanksgiving off. No one said I couldn’t so I went ahead and started making plans.

No plans really, just taking 3 out of 8 vacation days left. I planned to take the remaining 5 days off between Christmas and New Years. They are now freaking out since I won’t be in next week. They are panicking quite a bit, and had me sit down with Terry, Linda and Donna to discuss covering all bases before I am marked out on holiday. Apparently they are figuring out that it might take four people to do my job. I also found out that the parent company, Engulf and Devour, has been calling the office to make sure the phones are answered correctly.

How nice, not only do I have to deal with these fuck heads when they are in my face, I also have to smile as I’m running around the office, picking up after these fuckers who can’t find a garbage can (there are two) in the kitchen, and sound like I’m smiling as I answer the phone, ‘Good Morning/Afternoon, McMann and Tate. How may I direct your call?’ I really want out of there. I am looking towards January and wish to be out of there as soon as possible. I’m not looking forward to a big bonus, I’ll probably get the sliver of pie which was the same amount that I got from Wanker Banker. I am just so fucking unhappy.

And tomorrow I have to be in the office at 7AM. If anyone from the office reads this, besides Alan and the wonderful Elizabeth, they can go to fucking hell.

Well I know I did the right thing on Friday, leaving work early, coming home and having a disco nap before going out again. I slept about an hour and woke up relatively refreshed. Bill had come home in the interim and dashed back out to see a friend of his put on a dance recital. I sat around, had a cup of strong ass coffee and headed out myself a short time later. It was a beautiful night around 65 degrees. I decided to leave my shoulder bag home, containing iPod and digital camera, figuring they would have to be checked once I got to the Bowery Ballroom.

I walked along the darkened esplanade aside the river, not many people strolling around, just a couple of joggers. I got to the train and sat in a nearly empty car, and since I had nothing to read I wound up going through various text messages on my cell phone deleting most of the older ones and getting off at the Christopher Street station. I got to the street and found most of the Friday night bar hopping underway. I walked through and met up with Linda and Amiable Alan on 7th Avenue.

They were standing outside a bar called Luke and Leroy and about to go in when Linda observed I was smoking and said we should have gone to a bar that allowed smoking. As luck would have it, we were a few doors away from Mr. Dennehy’s, a bar with a garden that was open and decided to go there as it was a warm night, we can hang out there and talk and smoke without having to compete with loud music. We settled in and talked, Alan telling us his story so far which was very interesting and deserves to be written about.

Despite our best efforts, we tried not to talk about work though it was the only thing we really had in common. The subject was broached, and it all came spilling out. Felicia this, Felicia that over my many pints. I was drinking like it was water. It was Guinness after all and after the first pint it all goes down like water anyway. I even was able to sit and have a Padron 5000 which was great, Linda loves the smell of a good cigar. After my grubby fingers eating most of the French fries, we jumped into a cab and headed east over to the Bowery.

I had purchased tickets a week earlier and I had mine, Linda had hers, but Alan lost his so he had to buy another ticket. We walked a bit so that I could partake in a jazz cigarette which would have been forbidden inside. Only a quick couple of puffs before we headed into the club, just in time for Scritti Politti to hit the stage. Green, the leader of the band looked great, not as fey as he looked in the photos from the eighties. Rather tall and hirsute, as tall as me I might add.

He stood and played guitar, chatting in between numbers and stopping a song as it began because he wasn’t happy with the way it was going. The show was great, the beer kept flowing and the songs were performed deftly live, even the heavily synthesized songs from the eighties, including Wood Beez (Pray Like Aretha Franklin) which was originally produced by Arif Mardin. After the set we sat in the lounge for a nightcap. I went to the bathroom and snuck a quick cigarette only to find out that I was really drunk. No one in the bathroom as I bounced from wall to wall stumbling.

I went back out to Linda and Alan and stated that I had to leave that I was pretty much three sheets to the wind. I sobered up when we hit the street, both Linda and Alan remarking how I didn’t seem drunk, but I was. It took a lot of strength to keep my head together as I had a ways to go back to Hoboken. It was late and I was not looking forward to waiting in the Path train forever for a ride home.

I did make it home at a reasonable hour and went right to bed, with Green’s voice and songs echoing in my head. The thing about Green and Scritti Politti is he was very much inspired by punk, formed a band and became smitten with hip hop, so much so that a song on the new record, features the song titles of Run DMC’s first album as lyrics. Like myself, I was enamored with punk and was smitten by hip hop when it started. Some friends of mine couldn’t reconcile the two but I suppose Green could and I could. And here we were 20 years later.