Stop Flattering Me

by pjmcbride

There are currently 3 openings for supervisor. My name came up, along with a Certain Person’s. My name came up because–well, because there are 3 openings. Now a Certain Person, on the other hand, was a top-notch union steward for many years. Perhaps she should go over to the Dark Side. I also offered the job to Nick, who growled and told me to go away.

NO MORE THAN MILDLY-AMUSING ADVENTURES ON THE BUS

You may recall that I was once involved in a dispute with a bus driver over bringing a fountain drink on the bus. (If you don’t recall it, you can find it some hundred posts previously, and I can’t help you there.) At any rate, as Rom likes to say, the bus pulled over at Barker/Hillcrest to pick up a couple guys who appeared to have all their wordly belongings in 2 immense backpacks. They also had a case of beer between them, and had broken into said case and consumed quite a few already. (And I can only hope I don’t reek like those guys after I consume apple ale. Well, Rom has made no complaints.)

Well, considering how this driver was about my harmless not-even-caffeinated soft drink, you can imagine how she felt about beer in progress. A spirited argument developed, but she finally let them on after they poured out their open containers.

Bus driver: “I’m just trying to be nice, letting you on.” (She had also called her dispatcher, so I feared the police would be pursuing us any moment.)

Drunk Guy: “I’m glad you’re trying to be nice.” (with heavy sarcasm) “I’ve had a bad week.”

Bus Driver: “It can’t be that bad. You got a case of beer.”

D.G.: “It was that bad. I tried to kill myself last week. I put a plastic bag over my head and a rubber band around my neck. Luckily, I woke up before it was too late.” (I’m thinking that not being able to wait to break open your case of beer until you get home might be part of your problem.)

Leaving logistics aside (“You can’t kill yourself by holding your breath.”–Rom), since when is this something you tell complete strangers on the bus? People seem to have no sense of privacy anymore. It’s like when I hear people discussing their criminal activities, court dates, jail sentences, etc., in public. If I had a criminal record, you wouldn’t be hearing about it here. No, really. But I don’t, unless Nick manages to cite me for jaywalking. (“I’d arrest you for jaywalking,” he says, but he is living in a fantasy world.) And no, I didn’t call 911 and say, “I just heard a guy mention suicide!”

WHY I DID CALL 911

–Because a guy was looking in my windows downtown–on the 2nd floor. (Before you think I’m insane, there was an outside staircase.) He claimed he’d been taking a walk and climbed the flight of stairs “to rest.”

–Because I thought I heard someone inside the apartment downtown, which turned out to be a cat playing under the umbrella I’d left in the bathtub to dry.

Does anyone remember that I already told those 2 stories in a previous post long ago? I wonder if I did a better job then.

And the times I called from the house I currently occupy–I can’t remember if I already mentioned these or not. All bets are off. {“Maybe you should re-read your previous posts and check,” they whisper. “That would be the responsible thing to do.”}

–To report a stray beagle at my back door.

–To report a tortoiseshell cat, who responded to my affectionate overtures by bolting into the street and getting hit by a car. I still feel bad about that. She was no longer on the scene when Animal Control arrived, and her fate remains unknown.

–To report a car fire across the street, which turned out to be merely an overheated radiator.

–To report a fire in the house next door, which turned out to be steam escaping from the basement windows. Apparently I have a problem distinguishing smoke from steam.

As we see, my record for reporting emergencies is not good.

 

 

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