Tag Archives: 126 Bus

I Believe I’m Gonna Love You

Back after a 10 hour shift. It’s 11:11 right now. Been home about 15 minutes. Just have to get through one more day then I can have a break, a day off. Today was a long day. I was up around 9:00 this morning and had to thank Bill for going to the supermarket last night and picking up some 2% milk for my coffee and cereal. Made life a little bit easier and cooler.

Soon after that, I was at the bus stop with Bill waiting for the 11:15 126 bus into Manhattan. I learned my lesson last week after the 11:30 bus did not show up. Tomorrow I have to catch the 8:00 bus since there is no 8:30 bus and I have to open the shop at 9:30, thanks to the magic of Calvin’s management skills and schedule making.

Today I worked with Sean and the Bradley and let’s face it- the Bradley is an incredible asshole. We have very little in common and since Don who served as a bridge of sorts between is no longer working at the cigar shop the bridge is over.

He’s a terrible phony and I only communicate with him when I have to. He doesn’t pick up after himself and rarely, if ever, cleans up the backroom. He’ll sit in the tiny pantry on a folding chair eating his lunch and not put the folding chair away and doesn’t throw out his trash.

In warmer times between the 2 of us, we had once discussed Xanax. His prescription is a stronger dose than mine and he recommended snorting the Xanax, like Nurse Jackie. I don’t do that and I won’t do that. Xanax chills me out considerably and doesn’t seem to have that effect on the Bradley.

He’s quite hyper, banging away on the counter top like he’s playing congas. I have to wonder, why did he leave South Carolina to take a job at a cigar shop in midtown Manhattan? Did someone or something make him leave? A Crystal Meth habit perhaps?

Yes I know it’s all speculation, but it’s a fun speculation.

I let the Bradley handle the music for the store since I am tired of customers complaining about some of the music choices I play. The other day I played some of Phil Spector’s Christmas album as well as The Roches’ We Three Kings. The Roches made me think of happier times for all at Farfetched.

Some of the customers complained about too much Christmas music. And that even includes the Mix Mas CD that Harpy burned for me a few years ago. So instead of all that, we heard Sheryl Crow, which is really not my cup of tea.

After the customers left the backroom tonight I played Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Yes, I’ve forgiven Reg. No one was around to complain and if they did I really wouldn’t care.

The Bradley left, a bit freaked out over his drawer being short $3.00. He brushed aside my suggestion that he could take the money from petty cash to maintain the balance and asked which drawer I would use to open tomorrow morning. Since his register was short $3.00, I figured I would use the same drawer I used today.

Now Saturday Night Live is starting and I am tired and really not typing all that well tonight. Oh well. No posting tomorrow, unless there is something worthwhile to post and I’m really hoping there isn’t. I’m working with Sean and the Bradley again so who knows?

What’s Up With That?!?

Chaz Bono?





Sean

I Helped Patrick McGoohan Escape

Man, sometimes I just don’t like people. I know, I am one of the people and someone somewhere might be writing the same thing about me. But lately I’ve been finding people are mostly annoying and inconsiderate things.

You hold the door for them and they don’t say thank you. They stop and stand right in the middle of the sidewalk, or walk 4 or 5 abreast down the sidewalk, making it impossible to pass. And then there are the bus people, who will wait for the bus and never ask anyone how much the fare is, or will not have their money ready until they actually get on board, then it’s time to dig through their pocket books or wallets, sometimes asking if anyone has change of a ten or a twenty.

Tonight as I was heading home, I got on a crowded bus and found a seat in the second row. There was a guy sitting there, skinny enough for me to think it wouldn’t be that tight a fit. As usual I said excuse me as I was sitting down.

He sat there, legs apart reading the salmon colored Financial Times. I said, ‘tight squeeze, eh?’ and he replied that it was. I noticed he had about 3 inches on his left and could have easily shifted over a bit making it more comfortable for the both of us and mentioned the fact that he had a few inches to move over.

He said he didn’t have space to move. Now I’m sure the space was larger than his cock, but no- he wouldn’t move and instead huffed when I sat. So he was going to be like that. I decided that I too will sit there with my legs apart, not really caring if our legs touched.

Also adjusted my pea coat so that it wasn’t hanging over the armrest, increasing his obvious discomfort. More sighing from his side as I put my head back and closed my eyes for a minute. Then I decided to play some Siouxsie and the Banshees which I hoped would annoy him.

Whether or not it did, I’ll never know. He got off at 14th Street and I wasn’t surprised at that. Most newbie know nothings in Hoboken live up there, paying for nice addresses but not considering that they will always stand on the bus since by the time the bus makes it up to 14th Street, it’s standing room only.

He got off the bus and I spread out, enjoying the space. I don’t go looking for trouble but I can usually find it. Maybe it’s living in this metropolitan area that makes everyone tense and nervous. I can’t say I’m above it, but usually by the end of the day, I’m tired and just want to get home. Pretty much in a mellow mood since I’m too fatigued for anything anyway.

I make my beeline down the avenue, avoiding most everyone and everything. If someone actually needed my help, I’d be sure to help them out if I could. But some people are just shit, to paraphrase William S. Burroughs paraphrasing a madam from a whore house.

That’s about it for today. Tomorrow I’m going to cheer on my niece Meghan’s husband in the New York City marathon, and after that I hope to check in on Tim Daly and Hiro Takashita’s studios on the Hoboken Artist Studio tour.

I doubt I’ll be writing, but one never knows, do one?

Sean


Can't help, lovin' that man of mine...