Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Treats Of A Petty Squabble

3 Dollar Sunday
10 Dollar Monday
11 Dollar Tuesday

We are definitely in the doldrums of the slow summer season here...

Yet, time seems to be flying.

The Saints are soon to start their preseason, which will usher fall in, and people are going to start talking soon about things picking up in October and then, if that turns out to be false hope; as it has been the past 3 years; will start talking about Mardi Gras.

The bunch of winter type clothes that I found in a box outside an apartment where some guy my size had been evicted, has been sitting "in mothballs" in one of my closets and just looking at it 
throughout the past month of 99 degree, high humidity weather, made me sweat. I am still glad that I  lugged it home; expensive brands of sweaters and jackets comprise it; and I guess I can look forward to stepping out in fashion on the first chilly night that comes 3 months from now.

The street people will think that I have been secretly prospering during this slow period and "holding out" on them, telling them that I have no extra money, cigarettes, weed and that the last few sips left in my wine bottle are all I have, until I get out and make some more money.

Computer Room Blues
Sunday night, somehow, the sprinkler system came on on the second floor of Sacred Heart Apartments, causing water to drip in several hallways, offices and the computer room.

The computers have been removed indefinitely, and I can't help but cynically think that this is some kind of punishment aimed at the person who set the sprinklers off; and a warning to residents in general that, if they cause damage to the building through negligence, then they , will lose some of their privileges.

The ceilings aren't dripping anymore, they could have just thrown plastic bags over the things to protect them in the first place; and they aren't back yet.
A Return To Starbucks
So, here I sit at Starbucks on Canal Street, where I haven't been for months, composing this.
I spent the last of my money on the trolley to get here; rather than walk the mile and a half with the added weight of the laptop in my pack.

My food stamp card is down to 14 cents and will be for another 6 days and a few hours and counting I am counting, because I have been having to spend money on food every day out of the miniscule amounts that I have been pulling in.


I sure was an idiot, after I had the 50 dollar Saturday, and then did things like drink 4 dollar beers and "lend" David the Water Jug Player 3 bucks, and then spend 12 bucks on a harmonica which I lost the same night.

David is perhaps someone that one should just never tell that he made 50 bucks. The way his face lit up and he smiled (almost laughed) at hearing that bit of news, followed by his gushing "That's good, Daniel; you did good!" became a bit suspect; after it was followed by the usual: "You got any weed?" and then his request for 3 dollars "If you can spare it..."

The "if you can spare it" was said in a sardonic tone which really made me feel like I had erred by telling him that I had done alright and made 50 bucks. "...let's see him try to say that he can't spare 3 bucks when he just told me how much he made..." seemed to be written on his face.
It was as if he had trapped me.

I really should have told him that I needed every cent of it to pay my bills, which wouldn't have been a lie; had I known that the next 3 days were only going to produce 24 more dollars.

David and I had an argument.

Sunday night, I had a little bit of bud. Just enough so that, after I got to the Lilly Pad, I could smoke a bowl; after setting my stuff up and then tuning the guitar; things that seem to take just a minute when straight.

"Please tell me you have some weed," said David when I saw him; the phrase which he has apparently replaced: "Hey, Daniel, how's it going?"with.

I told him that all I had was a bowl to smoke when I got to the Lilly Pad.

"So, you're not going to smoke with me?"

"No, I want to wait until after I get going."

He muttered something that sounded like "OK, be like that," and then went off, after saying "Have a good night!" in a sarcastic tone.

I actually started to head to the spot, but changed my mind and went back to find him sitting there with his guitar in his lap, looking angry.

He even ignored me when I began to speak; just stared straight ahead, until I got to the part about my having changed my mind about smoking with him.

The argument took place the next day when I confronted him about that.

After having caved in and smoked with him, it began to bother me later on.

It seemed to take me forever to walk to my spot, having, in the glow of being buzzed, stopped to talk to several people. Then, setting up my stage seemed to usurp energy which could have gone directly into creating music. Then, it seemed to take forever to tune the guitar.

I said something to the effect of: "Do you think that, just because I might have some bud, I need to drop what I'm doing and smoke with you. I should have just lied and said that I was fresh out."

Then, before I could protest the fact that his recent way of greeting me is to ask if I have weed, he beat me to the punch.

He actually complained about the fact that he has to ask me.

"When I have weed; as soon as you walk up I break it out and offer it to you. And with you; I have to ASK! That's messed up!"

So, I'm upset because he asks me every time he sees me; and he's upset because he "has" to ask me.
To be straight (excuse the pun) he does seem to offer it when he has it, which is about 15% of the time.

He went on to add: "You've got a place, you're indoors. You have your rent paid for AND you get food stamps!"

I don't know if the point behind that was that, given those circumstances, there's no reason for me not to have a bottomless bag of weed -what kind of drug addict AM I? -Sure, I could live on Ramen Noodles and spend everything else on weed. I could even keep playing my guitar after one or more strings have broken, like David is doing. If all that fails; I could take in a boarder at 100 bucks a week, and that would almost insure that I would have a blunt rolled every time I rolled up on him.
His point may be that he feels that I had somehow been incredibly blessed when Unity and Catholic Social Services and the Volunteers of America found me and that should be only natural for me to turn around and bless someone else; another musician preferably...

Or should I feel sorry for him because he can't get the same blessings, for reasons that he has never elaborated upon.

I know that one can be turned down if they have ever been convicted of food stamp fraud, drug felonies, or if they have ever been kicked out of a Unity housing unit for any other "just cause."
So, I am a veteran who has avoided drug or violent felonies his whole life, and thus qualify for "permanent assisted housing." 

I've been "blessed" that way.

I've also probably spent one entire year of my life practicing and/or playing the guitar, (even with the modest assumption that I put in just a half hour per day over the past 36 years) which lends itself to being more "blessed" at the Lilly Pad.

I hope he doesn't think that I can do that because it is a white upper class predominately gay (except for Lilly) neighborhood, and that he couldn't do the same.

So, there's a thousand words about a petty squabble that is really no big deal...but why delete it, since I took the time to write it?
Ir

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