Thursday, November 28, 2019

Somber Words On A Thanksgiving Morn

"A swirl of loneliness, rage and despair washed me into a tearful, blinded madness. I pleaded silently 'Oh, please help me.' The plea was to Fortune, Fate, God or a nameless power, a plea that is torn from every man sometime during a lifetime."

"No Beast So Fierce" by Edward Bunker

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Customer Service My Ass

Finally had the confrontation I have been expecting. And it was fun.

Worked the Steven Wright show last Saturday night. When you work a big show like that you do all kinds of preparation in advance and usually things go fairly well.

But sometimes, inexplicably, things go wrong. Horribly, painfully wrong.

There is an old George Clooney movie called From Dusk to Dawn. It is a vampire movie, believe it or not, and is completely insane. Takes place in a dive bar. Cheech Marin is the bartender. Perfect.

There is a neon sign behind the bar that says "The Customer is Always Wrong". I love that. It has been my motto since I got into customer service 13 years ago.

Before I go on, I must preface my remarks, and all future remarks, with one disclaimer - I am tired. Exhausted. Since I started this two job thing it has become apparent that a 65 year old human body was not made for this kind of punishment.

There is no recovering from it. Period.

I have noticed that sarcasm has been creeping into my customer service because of that. Little by little, bit by bit, gaining strength and confidence over the last two months. I am too tired for restraint. I have been mildly sarcastic but still within acceptable bounds of normal customer service. Sort of.

Now to be fair I have never been one of those kill 'em with kindness kind of people. I don't believe in it. I believe you should be treated the way you treat me. When you are polite, I am a God. When you are rude I get cold. Very cold. Businesslike. No smile. No tenderness.

Even then, I am typically hanging on by the smallest of margins. Right on the edge of spitting in your face. Stopping just short of that.

Until Saturday night.

Saturday night was a night where I had a line of people (meaning problems) in front of me stretching from the box office out to the lobby doors. For 30 to 45 minutes non-stop.

Might not seem like a long time to you, but when you are in the middle of it, it feels like a century.

Dude and his woman came in with tickets they had printed themselves, tickets that had been emailed to them. Their printer cut part of the bar codes off so they could not be scanned. Ushers told them they had to see me. Of course that meant they had to go to the end of the long line in front of me.

When they got up to me this guy was a real shit fuck scumbag motherfucker. You know the kind. A real fuck ass dirt bag jerk off piece of shit. He gave me attitude right off the bat.

I gave it right back. My nerves were frayed at that point and, in case you lost track, I was fucking tired.

I matched all of his anger with anger of my own. And sarcasm. Full blown. Straight from the heart.

I cannot even tell you what I said, but for every objection he hurled at me, I gave him poison. Ripped up the customer service handbook and wrote a new one. One that is more to my liking.

It felt so fucking good. Cathartic.

I expected repercussions on Monday but there were none. I got away with it.

Got me thinking.....................

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Truth in Blues

Stormy Monday.

An iconic blues song. The lyrics describe most peoples' lives.

"They call it stormy Monday
  but Tuesday's just as bad.
  They call it stormy Monday
  but Tuesday's just as bad.
  Lord, and Wednesday's worse
  and Thursday's all so bad.
  The eagle flies on Friday,
  Saturday I go out to play.
  The eagle flies on Friday,
  Saturday I go out to play.
  Sunday I go to church, yeah,
  Gonna kneel down and pray."

I lived my life that way for a long time. And I loved it.

Going out on Friday night, Saturday night, going to a bar, listening to live music, dancing. That is the Joe Testa I know best. That is a living, breathing Joe Testa.

I miss it. In the biggest way possible.

Now, the eagle does not fly on Friday and I don't go out to play on Saturday.

What does that leave me?

Not a hell of a lot.

Concessions

I have made every concession I can possibly make regarding one of my Big Hatreds.

Cold.

I hate cold, I fucking hate being cold.

In 2019 spring bled into summer, summer bled into fall. Recently it got cold. None of this bothered me. Truthfully. Did not think about it.

I won't say for the first time in my life but, for the first time in a very long time, I did not torture my soul in anguish.

Typically when the good weather rolls around I start counting the days until cold. As a result I don't enjoy the warmth the way I should. The way my soul craves.

This year I made my way through spring and summer and fall peaceably. And it slowed time down. I was amazed. Everything moved slower and I truly dug it.

I walked out to grab Carol's paper the other day, it was around 25 degrees, and my brain did not react. I was stunned. I laughed at myself.

But there is one concession I cannot make.

Snow. I cannot accept it. I will never accept it. The other day as I sat preparing to go to work I kept looking at the snow falling. My spirits sank. I was depressed. I was angry.

Accumulation was negligible. Took me one minute to brush my car off. But I was fucking pissed.

My theory is that life is hard, very fucking hard, and choosing to live in a place that makes life harder is sheer stupidity. Which, of course, is why I have spent my entire life in New England.

A job is an intrusion. It is an insult to my life. It takes me away from reality, so my approach is to minimize the time it steals from me. Leave for work as late as possible, get home as soon as possible.

Unless it snows.

Then I have to get up earlier, I have to shovel, I have to brush and scrape. I have to give up even more of my precious life in order to get to work on time. Get to work on time. I hate the concept of it, the reality of it.

I have to leave extra drive time because traffic will be slow. I will get home later because traffic will be slow.

All because of snow.

Cold does not slow me down. Snow destroys me.

I fantasize about killing someone. I believe if you kill someone who deserves it, who you truly hate and has done you wrong, someone who deserves to die, it must be cathartic.

Generally, I am not capable of that level of violence.

But if it ever happens it will be on a snowy day.

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Powerful Truth

A character in the book I am reading met with an older man.

She described the lines and imperfection on his face as "markers of time and damage."

That is perfect. The ultimate definition of aging.

Time and damage.

Sunday, November 3, 2019

You'll Never Believe What Happened

Carol and I have to replace the screen door on our porch.

I pushed it as far as I could as a responsible homeowner. My approach as homeowner is to ignore everything and let it run down to absolute destruction. Absolute zero. And then let it go a little more.

The screen door made the cut. It was so bad that the outside frame split in one spot. We had to open and close the door delicately so the door wouldn't completely fall apart. Sometimes we had to line up the top of the door with the bottom so it wouldn't sag.

So we motor in to Home Depot yesterday and pick up a new door. A rather nice one, I must say.

Right off the bat I gotta say I was already irritated. Anytime I walk into Home Depot or Lowes or a hardware store, there is an excellent chance I will have a stroke and die. I fucking hate those places and am exceptionally uncomfortable inside them. I avoid them like the plague.

I ain't no fucking handyman.

Got the door out to my car and the fucker wouldn't fit. I had pulled the back seats down without noticing that the opening was limited - it did not span the full width of the car.

We played with it for a few minutes until I angrily decided we would return the goddamn thing and figure out another approach. I was fucking furious. The non-handyman curse strikes again.

Along comes a stranger. "Doesn't fit, huh?" No condescension, which immediately made me suspicious. He took a shot at getting it into the car and then said "Give me a second." Went back to his vehicle and came back with one of those straps. Not a bungee cord; a strap. You know, with the hook on the end and all that. A workingman's strap.

We slide the door in as far as it would go and he proceeded to strap the trunk down and wrap it tight to the door, tying it underneath my car. Said "That is not going anywhere."

I thanked him profusely and asked him how to get the strap back to him. He said "Keep it. I got a million of them." As he walked away he said "Merry Christmas."

We drove home without incident. If he hadn't showed up, the door would be back inside Home Depot.

This incident really fucked up my hard line view of humanity as a bunch of useless assholes to be avoided at all cost.

I really hate dealing with people. Socializing I can do because I am a fun guy and a good actor. But dealing with people fucks me up. I don't want to see people, I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to answer their questions or ask them questions or deal with their opinions. In stores, in restaurants, in public. Anywhere.

I want to sit in the dark with whiskey and music and dream of alone-world.

And then this guy shows up so nice , so helpful, no condescension and unselfishly helps us out.

I don't think I would have done it. The only thing I would consider is if I saw someone unconscious on the ground. I would walk over, steal their wallet and then help them.

He really blew me away. Made me feel good. There really are good people in the world.

Not many, though.

By the way, don't worry. I am not installing the fucking door. Carol found a local dude to do the job.

I ain't no fucking handyman.