Yet another fucked up day. It started out fucked up thanks to New Jersey Transit. Once again I leave the apartment on time, getting to the bus stop waiting for the 10:35 bus. By 10:40 I see nothing approaching. Another bus pulls up and I ask the driver if he has seen the 126 bus and he hasn’t and doesn’t even seem to know what the 126 bus is.

Once again I head to the Path train. It looks like it will be day three of taking the train into the city. But I spy the 126 bus at the terminal. I get on and ask what happened to the 10:35 bus, the one driven by Chief. The bus driver doesn’t seem to know. I get on board and find a seat. Sure enough at the first bus stop, the 126 bus driven by Chief passes us.

My driver seems to be a rookie, he’s driving quite slow and with people getting off the bus, he is now in Chief’s wake. We wind up following Chief on the route, even getting behind Chief as he picks up passengers while we have no one getting on or off our bus. I do the right thing and text Zack at the store to let him know once again I am running late.

I walk up the avenue to the cigar shack and see Zack who looks annoyed. He mentions that I should do more to get to the cigar shack on time, despite the fact that it is not me, but rather New Jersey Transit who is at fault. Zack says that I had better not be late for Friday. I ask what is going on Friday and apparently there is a conference call scheduled and we’re supposed to be at the cigar shack at 8:00AM.

I ask Zack if that means I would get to leave at 6:00PM and he says no. The conference call is about something that does not concern me at all, but Zack doesn’t care. As a manager, Zack is a decent poet.

There is an email from the twit down south who is organizing the conference call and I call the number posted. The twit mentions that the call could be made from home, all one needs is a phone and a computer. So I don’t have to come in at 8:00AM and work a 14 hour day. Zack is nonplussed. Unlike most managers who look out for their employees, Zack only looks out for himself, much like the possum looks out for himself while eyeing Zack’s position.

It will be a year this weekend that Marcus announced he was leaving the cigar shack and Zack was being promoted. It will be a year that I congratulated Zack and wished Marcus well while the possum turned beet red with envy and resentment, thinking that he might have been next in line instead of Zack. Zack noticed the possum’s color that May 12th, but now it seems Zack is safely ensconced in the marsupial pouch.

Talking Heads – Road To Nowhere
Thank you Obama.

Home again. A long day but wasn’t so bad. I did have to take a Xanax such was my anxiety. I was working with Zack and Thomas and Zack has been alright, and Thomas is becoming easier to ignore, but I am sure the Xanax helped. Yesterday Thomas told me of a very fine pineapple upside down Vegan cake which was good. Then he told me again about 2 hours later, and I reminded him that he had told me about it already. He seemed put off but though I do like repetition in music and art, in conversation I do not like it at all.

The same goes for religion. When I was growing up I couldn’t stand the fact that they told the same old stories over and over again. It seemed so pointless and stupid though it did point the way out of the hole that religion is to me. I did have bouts of religious fervor growing up, but not enough. In Fifth grade, when the priests came to my class trying to recruit altar boys, all the boys raised their hands but me.

I had two older brothers who were altar boys and seeing the schedules that they had, having to get up dreadfully early on Sundays did not make sense to me. Plus the fact that my mother would toil in the basement making sure their cassocks where cleaned and pressed did not appeal to me in the slightest.

Getting a few dollars for standing next to a priest for weddings for funerals wasn’t worth it for me, so I opted out. My classmates who did raise their hands asked why didn’t I join them and I explained that I like to sleep in on weekends. I don’t know how many made it through the year and frankly, I didn’t care.

In the 1970’s my father saw the Exorcist and forbade anyone in the family from seeing it. A few years later he saw The Omen and that seemed to be alright. I was too young to get into an R rated movie, but I did sneak in once after another movie, and saw Lee Remick take a tumble off a balcony at the top of the stairs thanks to her devil child on a tricycle.

I did read the book and was captivated and terrified. One Saturday evening I was so taken by the book I convinced my mother that we needed to go to confession as soon as possible.

We hopped in the car and drove to Sacred Heart church in Rochelle Park and got in line for confession. I went first and said my usual, ‘Bless me father, I have lied and I and have sinned and I swore’. Same reasons every time. I did my penance, Holy Mary’s, Our Fathers and whatever else and waited for my mother.

Apparently she told the priest in the confessional that it was my idea to go to confession which got the priest all excited as well as my mother. Perhaps they thought I would be a priest. On the way home my mother asked me what made me want to go to confession so badly and I told her about The Omen book which was a big letdown for her.

She must have thought I received the call to the priesthood and here I was in the grip of a Hollywood adaptation of a second rate novel. No priesthood for me, the call went unanswered and went straight to voicemail. Still haven’t checked it, but why bother? I changed that number ages ago.

Last Goodbye