“Shit what time is it”? The clock on the dash reads 8:30am.
I would much rather sleep a couple of more hours, I don't have to be at work
until 11, but this fucking heat is unbearable. Who would have thought it got
this hot in Tulsa. Again I entertain the thought of rolling the windows down
before I go to sleep, but I know better than that, I haven't made it this far
making foolish decisions. I know if I leave my windows down my chances of
getting jacked increase exponentially. Shit, this one time I was parked behind
this bar and I left my door cracked to let some air in while I slept. Next
thing I know the laws are waking me up asking me a bunch of dumb ass questions.
I told them I was too drunk to drive home so I decided to sleep in my vehicle
and must have not closed the door all the way. They said that's fine but I need
to keep my doors closed and locked, as there has been reported vandalism and
stolen vehicles in the area. Anyhow, I can roll my windows down now that I'm
awake. I hate smoking when it’s really hot but what the hell, I have a lot of
time to kill. I should go grab a beer as well, 'the breakfast of champions'. I
hop out of the front of my Cherokee wearing only Adida shorts, a wife beater,
and some shower shoes. I open the back door where both back seats are laying in
the forward position and rummage through a large plastic container in search of
a clean shirt, find one, grab my Chucks from the floor board and slam the door
shut. I reach for the sky enjoying the sound of my back popping, “nothing like
sleeping in a car”, as the cherry of my cigarette starts to point south like a
dying plant, dangerously close to burning a hole in my 'clean shirt'. “Where
the fuck are my sunglasses”? Not a priority at the moment I tell myself, my
thirst is. I finish my smoke as I walk to the gas station which is about a
block away. I enter and welcome the blast of the A/C. I walk to the beer aisle,
“Hmmm, what do I want to drink before I go into work…..? It is 8:45 now, plenty
of time to get a 40oz down before I have to be in”. I buy my 40 and a bottle of
water and make my way back to my vehicle. When I get back I put the keys in the
ignition and turn the dial on the radio to ESPN. As I listen to Scott Van Pelt
fill me in on the latest sports news I pull my hygiene bag out of the glove box
and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and brush my teeth. I rinse my mouth out
with the bottle of water I just bought. I pull a protein bar out of the center
console to appease my rumbling stomach. I climb back into the front seat, lean
the seat, kick my feet up onto the dash and crack my 40.
Well it’s about that time, Its 10:45 and time for me to get
a move on. I take the last swigs of my and admire handy work, the best way to
get the day started. I bury the empty bottle under some dirty clothes and
gather my uniform from the back seat. I notice the parking spots behind
starting to fill up as employees make their way to the back door of their
respective restaurant. I quickly dawn my uniform, jeans and a black t-shirt,
and gargle a mouthful of mouthwash and spit it out. 10:50, time to get on the
road. I crank the engine, back out and navigate my way to the exit of the
parking lot. Traffic is light so I easily cross the street into the parking lot
opposite of the one I just left and park. I walk to the back door quite similar
to the employees I just witnessed. I enter through the kitchen making my way to
domicile. I step behind the bar and feel instantly at ease. I grab my magic
wand and point it at my five friends and instantly ESPN appears on each screen.
I go through my morning chores of setting up the bar while I enjoy the effects
of that 40oz massage my brain cells, preparing myself for the ensuing double
shift. Margie, the manager, brings me my
drawer and gives me an apprehensive “good morning”. “Always a good morning when
I’m working with you Marge” I respond. She rolls her eyes, “just count your
drawer and make sure it is correct” and exits the bar. I do as she says and
slide my drawer into the register. By this time it’s 11:30 and the doors have
been open for half an hour. A few customers trickle in but not to the bar.
I recently did a show home DIY for a good friend as the house was going to auction. Was grateful because there has been no foreign money coming into our kiwi haven in the southern hemisphere. Dollar to high, government blocks tax incentives so my line of work has ceased for a bit... anyway, without going into political and anti establishment hysteria, I'll stop there cos I start feeling sorry for myself. Anywayyyyy... Morris, the Real Estate agent skips in to say the place looks great and " you've just added 25K to the house value within 4 days. Throws me a back slap.
ReplyDeleteI snarl with a false smile and say "thanks Mate". fully knowing that if he scores the sale at auction he receives $25'000.00 commission.
He is what I call "A Beige Man" boring as fuck, tie matched his beige shoes and he had hair growing out of his protruding ears.
I was proud with the before and after pics, so i was happy.
The house sold for $680K. Originally bought for $246K with a profit of $434K,
I got a call from this Morris 2 weeks after the sale asking for a meeting.
Went to his. As we both know, peoples surroundings is an extension of their
personality, which confirmed as beige, monochromatic, boring beigh cushions and curtains. Anyway... he said he loved what I did and had other homes for sale and offered me the contract. I humbly walked away feeling shit about my beige judgements. I like the sound of Marge (is my point) get to know her, She might be beige to, but could turn Blue like Morris. Message of my wee story is.. You never know what opportunity comes by networking. I think big of course and started visualising myself as the New Int/Exterior decorator with my before and after pic in the vogue mag. THINK BIG, VISUALISE you'll be surprised what manifests by having Faith, no Fear and good old fashion networking.