The Truth

The Truth - 09.22.09

I'm gonna type this as loud as possible so that those that wish to read it can hear it over my ego.

An old friend came by the bus stop today. The only thing is, there’s no actual bus stop. That’s the rather sarcastic way I like to refer to my suite. And by suite, I actually mean office. Eh… office is just this side of a stretch. I think cube might be more appropriate. A cube with a 3 inch thick door, big window and shades. The cheapie, thin, trailer park kind of shades. Blinds really. And a combination, digital door lock. I guess I'm important. And while we’re at it, friend is probably not the right word either. I mean, we get along. Always have. We’ve known each other for years. More than an acquaintance. Not really a buddy. Maybe a buddy. But definitely not a pal. Nowhere near family. I’ll say friend. That works.

Why would I use a term like bus stop, you might ask? Did you ever go past a bus stop and see people hanging out. Maybe reading a book. Or better yet, doing nothing. Sitting there with their shopping cart from God knows where. That blank stare like they are waiting on death because that might be better than this. The bus comes. The people stay put. Besides, their stolen shopping cart wouldn't go up the bus' steps anyway. The bus leaves. The people are still there. Basically they are oblivious to what’s going on around them. I can almost hear Nurse Ratchett in the background. "If Mr. McMurphy doesn't want to take his medication orally, I'm sure we can arrange that he can have it some other way. But I don't think that he would like it." They literally have not one single thing better to do than just hang out. They have no schedule. Are in no hurry. Have no sense of time. Butt on the bench and arm on the shopping cart, like it's going somewhere. Well, that’s what they do around my cube. They hang out. And they bring their 'stuff'.

Now it's obvious to me that society needs this subgroup to make the ones of us that follow 'responsibility and accountability' rather than 'just routine' appear more productive. I choose not to be a member of the sheeple. So be it. But it still amazes me everytime they "just pop in" for a visit at exactly the wrong time. I can almost predict or pinpoint the exact moment the passers by will invade my territory. It's laughable to some extint. If I'm balls to the wall, I can almost guarantee a pointless visit from a bored acquaintance. I can have nothing going on for three days in a row. Then all of a sudden on a firehouse day, when the flames are coming from all directions and I'm carrying the hose, the 'sorta buddy' non-family 'more like a friend' stops by to catch up on all the things that don't really matter. He is wanting to visit with me. Me, of all people. So I guess that makes me the jack ass. But I understand that going in, so does that make it ok? Remember? If there's something wrong with them, then there's really just something wrong with me, right? But the truth is, they don’t even know it. That's the annoying part. And they don’t even care. How could they care about something they don’t even realize or understand? If it is them, they just don't see it. And if it is me, they could at least recognize, understand and show appreciation for my gratitude. I'm important, remember? Refer back to paragraph one for that if you've forgotten. I made that clear early on.

But they don't. It’s not in their nature. It's very similar to the guy that you cannot offend no matter what you say. They just won’t go away. But, I am busy. Usually. Doing something that's got to be done. And if I’m not, I try to look as though I am when they come by. I grunt a little. I sigh and sit back in my chair. I place my hands in the manger formation and place them on my stomach in disgust. I rudely look past them for seconds on end as if something is going on behind them. I make sure my eyes follow a person, real or imaginary, outside of their peripheral vision. They always turn to see what's not actually back there. Wouldn't that imply that I'm more interested in what's not going on behind them than their random rambling? You would think, right? But it doesn't. Because, for a second, our eyes meet and I can tell that during that brief moment they just think I'm crazy. Not mean. Not rude. Not wishing with all my fervor that they'd really just go away and leave me alone so that I can keep this hose under control. All of this to no avail. It does no good. They cannot be offended. They will not go away.

So today, this was not such an unusual occurance, as I am pretty used to it by now. A busy day. Mostly just 'busy work'. The kind that doesn’t make any money, but occupies hours on end. Add in a little new business. Throw in a never ending array of random phone calls and messages and today was not a good day for a visit. Especially the random visit. The kind where I have to show genuine interest. The kind that’s perceived in their mind as kind and polite because they were thinking of me. When in actuality they are really just very bored people and have no idea how to cope with reality. "Let's stop in and see what Jayson is doing." But I’m supposed to feel sorry for them and stop what I’m doing and put business on hold and entertain them from their random boredom. I get it.

So… as I was saying, an old friend came by the bus stop today.
Wait! Hold up! Age for emphasis. You gotta see the age difference here. We are quite similar. He and I think mostly alike. We laugh at the same things. We see stupidity as it rears it's ugly head in the world. And we have moderately similar, yet totally different backgrounds. The only problem, or issue, I mean, no... challenge, rather, is the age gap. If I'm pushing post retirement, and he and I are sitting and leaning back, in old, rickety chairs out front of the 'feed mill' with Jim Dyar and Uncle Clyde talking about Woodrow and his wheel barrow, then all is right in the world. But there's about a 30 year gap in between my friend and myself. I'm still in the work force. I'm not pulling the 'hourly' at Wal-Marks just yet. I don't work for the post office where the only way I lose my job is by stealing hundreds of other people's Netflix DVDs as they come through the mail. No, I'm still trying to hold down my fort. Maybe in 30 years, I'll just say I'm done, pack up my sleeping bag and come over to your fort. But I'm still fighting indians in this one for now. My campfire's not buring out just yet.

Back to the story... an old friend came by the bus stop today. My first thought was how glad I was to see him. I guess it had been a year or so since our last visit with each other. My second thought was what bad timing this really was. Kinda made me smile in disgust on the inside. I wanted to do like that guy on The Office that tries to hide the fact that he really likes the receptionist, and he can't get very far in his job because Michael is such a dimwit and he just turns and looks directly into the camera, wrinkles his mouth over to the side, cocks his head over a little, raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders at the viewer. But I can't shoo him away. I need a break from all this 'stuff' anyway. After all, I do enjoy talking to the guy. That is, right up to the part where he usually starts rambling gossip at me about all the incorrect 'facts' on people we used to work with that he's gotten 3rd hand from who knows where and I start staring at the imaginary world going on behind him. I could do without that part. But we talk. We laugh. We catch up on everything.

Three minutes pass. I'm a watch watcher. Bad habit.
I was told a long time ago that when people begin to ramble, give them 3 minutes to wrap up whatever they want to say. After that, it's ok to cut them off.

At the end of about the 3rd minute (or 2nd hour, depending on if you are listening from my perspective) I heard the question that always comes up when me and this guy get together. "So have you talked to (I'm not putting his name here)?"

Jesus, Lord, Mary and Joseph. For a brief moment in time, I was Catholic.

If I were a 15 year old Girl Scout, and I got that in a text, "So have you talked to (fill-in-the-blank)?" I'd have hit them back with the double-whammy "omg wtf". But I'm not. I'd like to think I'm more refined than a 15 year old Girl Scout. Nothing against Girl Scouts. It's just a reference. But I can handle this in my own tactful way.

The only problem is, my tact is in a period of hibernation. I don't realize this until my mouth is already open. And here it comes. I wasn't loud. I wasn't mean. I was just 'to the point'. I'm at A and we're gonna be at B before you can blink, so hold on.

"Now why in the world would I have talked to (Blank)? If I had wanted to know what was going on with (Blank), I damn sure would not have talked to him. You can't get a straight answer out of him. I would probably have called you to find out about him. Or (so-in-so). But there's no way on God's green Earth that I would have called (Blank) diretly for him to tell me anything about himself. He's nothing but a walking lie. I may call him for the long, flamboyant dissertation about 'how the world has wronged him and if I could just listen for a minute I might understand better' version. But who wants to hear that? I'm not interested in that imaginary world going on inside his head. You aren't either. He's a nice guy, don't get me wrong. He's never, ever, done anything to me, directly, that would make me hold a grudge, or even really be upset at the poor guy. But he is a liar. Simply put, he's a liar. There's no other way to say it. And I don't think I want to have any conversations with the guy. But he's still a nice guy. Now, if I wanted to know about him. I may call the police department to find out how he is. Or the parole board. Or the place he was working last month. Or his ex-brother-in-law. But I wouldn't call him directly. No way! I'd never get the truth out of him. He doesn't know what the truth is! His whole entire world is a lie. (Blank) would rather climb up a tree just to tell a lie, than keep his ass on the ground and tell the truth. You know that! Now, do you actually want the truth or do you just want someone to visit with? To kill some time, before you go pick up your crazy check from the Post Office you don't work at anymore?"

Uh oh. Brakes. Went too far. Shouldn't have brought that up.

Ya know, I must be part of the evolutionary chain of events that put microscopic nasal sensory neurons on the eyelids that seem to be on my feet because I can clearly smell what I just stepped in that I didn't see coming.

Hold up. I'm lucky. He just laughs. So I laugh. Good thing. We're friends right. I certainly wasn't out to hurt his feelings. Afterall, I like watching movies too. And if 2 or 3 are good, then one thousand eight hundred and ninty-two (or ninty-seven, depending on which attorney you're talking to) of them has got to be better, right? It's ok with me, because I sorta understand. But I understand in the Chris Rock kind of way. "OJ should NOT have killed Nicole! But I understand...."
So then my old friend gives me the blank bus stop stare for a split second and then bursts into laughter. We both laugh.

My friend says, "No, your right about that. He can't tell the truth, about nothin'! Little bastard."

I thought 'little bastard' was a bit much, but I nodded in agreement.

"Now, speaking of (Blank), somebody told me that..."

Wait! I had to stop him. I can't bear a 'round two'.

"Old buddy", I said, "As mush as I'd like to keep this up, I've really got to finish some of this that's on my desk. I'm gonna have to get back to work."

And I smiled.

And he nodded, because he's one of those guys I was talking about that doesn't get offended.

And he left. He left in his old piece of shit that I've always admired. It's an age unknown van. A minivan. A brown minivan. An ugly, brown minivan. It's a Previa. The old style. None of that sleek early 90s styling crap. This is not the one shaped like a bullet. This one is shaped more like a piece of firewood. They quit making those snub nose, rattle trap, cracker boxes on wheels for a reason. And guys like him won't let them die. Thank goodness. They are much cooler now, 20 years past production, than they ever were when they were new. It's age unknown because there are screwdriver gouges where the vin plate used to be and grinder marks in the door jambs. The engine is not original. Nothing on this old turd is original, except the dirt.

There's a hula girl in a grass skirt smoking a joint on the dash. She shakes more than an epilleptic at a strobe light convention when he hits a bump or a pot hole. The seats lost their cushion years ago. They make your butt feel like you're sitting on an old wire milk crate. And this little dumpling was born without any air. But she's got plates, passes inspection, and doesn't leave him stranded. And virtually impervious to theft. That old van is a part of him. A very good part of him. And me sort of. It keeps him grounded. And it gives me perspective.

I watched my old buddy pull out of the parking lot that day and it occured to me that I was watching myself in about 30 years. There goes a perfectly nice guy who's only problem is time. There goes me. Who was I gonna go visit and tell stories to in 30 years? Who's gonna listen? There's no 'feed mill' now. What else is gonna be gone in the not-so-distant future? I can vividly remember things that happened at 6 years old. Not alot, of course, but some. And they are crystal clear. And it doesn't seem that long ago. However, it does seem like alot has happened since then. It just doesn't seem like it took too very long for it as it was all happening.

I'm thankful for friends like him. And I'm glad he let me climb up this blog tree and tell my version of exactly what sort of, pretty much, actually happened.