Wednesday: Plasma, And No Lilly
I got forty bucks for my plasma yesterday; having just decided not to be at Lilly's beck and call.
This is kind of the theme of the post: Losing my initiative because of relying upon other people.
I texted her from along the way, attaching a photo of the rest of the bus riders to show her how I was the only white guy on the thing.
She just texted back: "Be careful, it's hot..."
She changes her mind as frequently as Donald Trump.
She initially invited me to a pool party that was going to be held that day (Wednesday) to celebrate the return of Chantilly, her oldest, from Ireland.
Then, I mentioned that I would have to go early to the plasma place in order to make it back for the party.
She then informed me that if I were to do that, then she was uninviting me to the party "I don't want you passing out in the pool..."
That is one of the ways that she exerts pressure on me. She doesn't want me to donate plasma, seeing only the danger in it and not the (piddling, to her) fifty bucks, or forty, as in yesterday's case.
And, so "If you give plasma then you can't come to the party (and see my daughters in their bathing suits)" is one of her devices.
At some point, I'm going to have to just "be a man" and tell her that, although I enjoy keeping her company in the pool, I have a life of my own to manage. She might pout but would probably respect me for it and not bar me from playing on her stoop.
I have been meaning to ask her ex-husband about her, but just can't figure out what to ask, or how to phrase it. What's the deal with Lillian?
He still lives in the house in his own division of it, and Lilly hushes me with a finger held over her lips whenever we walk past the window to his room on our way to the pool. Why this is so is a mystery. I used to think it was because she was ashamed of me and didn't want her ex to snicker over to what level she has lowered her standards.
But she is inordinately secretive in general. "Don't tell anyone Chantilly is in Ireland. Don't tell my neighbors you know me because they may try to hurt me through you. And tie your shoelace..."
Her ex-husband always greets me warmly whenever I encounter him in the Quarter, looking at me the way I imagine a failed hiker who is on his way back down the trail to the base of Mt. Everest might look at someone who is on his way up.
It was the best trip I have ever made to the plasma place in regards to anger issues. I wasn't cussing out every skeezer I saw on my way there: "No, I don't have a dollar or a cigarette, I'm on my way to sell my vital cells!"
Sure, I was jostled to the back of the herd when the bus to Gretna pulled up, as usual, but was able to retain the good mood I was in, even when the bus inexplicably turned in the direction away from the plasma place at the point where it either does that or goes within a half mile of the place. A simple Googling of "when does the bus to Gretna take an alternate route?" could solve that problem, I am learning, as I bring myself into alignment with The Screen Staring Age.
I waited behind about a dozen other donors in the waiting area, but was called sooner than most of them. That must be part of my being designated as a "new donor.
This was my sixth one since starting back.
Maybe they figure that being made to wait a couple hours combined with the drop off in the amount of bonus money might be enough to scare off a new donor, such as I "was."
Or, it could be that the all African American staff are starting to take a shine to me...er...no, I must be "tripping" to be thinking that, LOL.
"Am I supposed to be waving my arms and yelling: 'Hey, what about me, did you forget about me?!?'" I asked one of the technicians, a heavy-set black lady.
She assured me that I wasn't going to lose any time by being just about the only person in there not doing that.
I would have to take the street car in if I want to busk tonight, because I don't have a lock for the bike.
It is a Trek brand bike, I noticed, upon taking a better look at it.
I had just assumed that, since it is a woman's bike and is a "cruiser" style that it would just put along and be best suited for riding around filling its basket with flowers.
But, once I put the right amount of air in the tires, I found that the thing zipped along as well, if not better than the Specialized Rockhopper that I had stolen from me. That's what made me look for the brand name on it, which isn't boldly displayed.
Close To A Job?
Wayne, my neighbor has, once again, referred me to the company that he works for, saying that they are "hiring like crazy."
All I would have to do is have Cox install a land line phone as well as hook up wi-fi in my apartment; something that would bless me outside of, and in addition to, allowing me to work for the company that Wayne works for.
He is in line for a $250 bonus, should I be hired pursuant to his referral, and this should motivate him to help me.
"You're one of the only people in this building who is even bright enough to use a computer," he lamented about the fact that he doesn't see many potential $250 bonuses at Sacred Heart Apartments.
He told me that the company would send me a Macintosh computer if they hire me. He also said that the land line plus wi-fi would be a low 79 dollars per month, and that I wouldn't have to pay for them to install it, and could wait until I have gotten my first paycheck to pay for it.
This seems to be a golden opportunity. I wouldn't even have to have a bank account; something I would have needed were I to have tried to work for the same people that Travis Blaine works for.
That Computer Nerd
The name of that "special snowflake" guy is Travis Blaine, and he was so ego-centric, he never even suggested that I try to get a job where he works, not even after I returned to the apartment, dejected, after not being hired by the Uxi Duxi.
I had ruefully lamented about it, when I returned to the place, having had to cut him off in the middle of his ranting about every detail of his day.
This was about the time that he giddily gave me the great news, great for him, that he had discovered that the security people at Sacred Heart were sloppy in their record keeping and had not been meticulously counting the days he had been at my place, and that he could probably stay and extra ten days and they would never notice.
He then spat out some cookie cutter response like: "That sucks, I'm sure you'll find something..." before resuming his non-stop discourse about himself and his day, and his life, and probably even how much money he had made sitting behind his laptop and breathing the air in my apartment.
He wound up giving me 75 dollars off his food stamp card, a few sugar packets from McDonalds, and some cleaning supplies, and a bag of cat food, half of which was for his own cat, for allowing him to stay for "10 days" which turned into 18 days, behind promises of more food stamp money, that was ultimately paid to me at a rate of 25% less than he had promised (with a handshake) as if he had used a calculator to come up with what he probably thought a person would begrudgingly accept in lieu of a full amount, because anything is better than nothing, type of thing.
I thought it was due to scarcity of work, and that I would be in competition with him for work from the same company in the same zip code, that he never suggesting that I apply. But, when I asked him about working for them, he piped up with: "Oh, yeah, all you would have to do is..." and then went on to explain how that is what he had done and to tediously lay out for me, how it works for him and how it allows him to do this and that, and how it is similar but better, for him, to what he had been doing before, etc. etc."
That was when the full extent of his egocentricity came to light -the fact that I had been to the point of being depressed over not being able to find a job, and it had never even occurred to him to suggest it.
Travis Blaine.
One of the few good things that came out of his staying with me was he left me some latex gloves, which became invaluable, once I discovered ammonia as a cleaning agent.
I got forty bucks for my plasma yesterday; having just decided not to be at Lilly's beck and call.
 |
| About a $275 bike |
This is kind of the theme of the post: Losing my initiative because of relying upon other people.
I texted her from along the way, attaching a photo of the rest of the bus riders to show her how I was the only white guy on the thing.
She just texted back: "Be careful, it's hot..."
She changes her mind as frequently as Donald Trump.
She initially invited me to a pool party that was going to be held that day (Wednesday) to celebrate the return of Chantilly, her oldest, from Ireland.
Then, I mentioned that I would have to go early to the plasma place in order to make it back for the party.
She then informed me that if I were to do that, then she was uninviting me to the party "I don't want you passing out in the pool..."
That is one of the ways that she exerts pressure on me. She doesn't want me to donate plasma, seeing only the danger in it and not the (piddling, to her) fifty bucks, or forty, as in yesterday's case.
And, so "If you give plasma then you can't come to the party (and see my daughters in their bathing suits)" is one of her devices.
At some point, I'm going to have to just "be a man" and tell her that, although I enjoy keeping her company in the pool, I have a life of my own to manage. She might pout but would probably respect me for it and not bar me from playing on her stoop.
If I spend fifteen bucks on a bike lock instead of thirty, and they cut through it by merely applying more pressure to the bolt snippers than they would have had to to snip through a five dollar lock, then I might as well have spent only five bucks, because I'm going to lose the bike anyways. Now that I know that it is an almost three hundred dollar bike, I'm more concerned. I might just get the five dollar lock in order to be able to immediately start riding it to the Lilly Pad, and saving three bucks on street car fares the very first night, planning upon getting a thirty dollar, hardened tungsten, kryptonite coated, forged steel job as soon as I can. The only problem with this reasoning is that I have typically procrastinated to the point where my bike gets stolen, behind the above logic. If you aren't going to spend thirty, then only spend five...Lilly becomes bossy to the point of governing my every action: "No, don't put your cup there, if it spills it will get your shirt wet. Don't sit right there, there are bees around that flower plant. Don't dive in, get in slowly, you're too hot; you could go into shock. No, don't donate plasma; I don't want you to! No, don't use the pink stuff it's bad for you, use the regular sugar! Daniel, we're not taking one more step until you tie your shoelace!" type of stuff.
I have been meaning to ask her ex-husband about her, but just can't figure out what to ask, or how to phrase it. What's the deal with Lillian?
He still lives in the house in his own division of it, and Lilly hushes me with a finger held over her lips whenever we walk past the window to his room on our way to the pool. Why this is so is a mystery. I used to think it was because she was ashamed of me and didn't want her ex to snicker over to what level she has lowered her standards.
But she is inordinately secretive in general. "Don't tell anyone Chantilly is in Ireland. Don't tell my neighbors you know me because they may try to hurt me through you. And tie your shoelace..."
It was the best trip I have ever made to the plasma place in regards to anger issues. I wasn't cussing out every skeezer I saw on my way there: "No, I don't have a dollar or a cigarette, I'm on my way to sell my vital cells!"
Sure, I was jostled to the back of the herd when the bus to Gretna pulled up, as usual, but was able to retain the good mood I was in, even when the bus inexplicably turned in the direction away from the plasma place at the point where it either does that or goes within a half mile of the place. A simple Googling of "when does the bus to Gretna take an alternate route?" could solve that problem, I am learning, as I bring myself into alignment with The Screen Staring Age.
I waited behind about a dozen other donors in the waiting area, but was called sooner than most of them. That must be part of my being designated as a "new donor.
This was my sixth one since starting back.
Maybe they figure that being made to wait a couple hours combined with the drop off in the amount of bonus money might be enough to scare off a new donor, such as I "was."
Or, it could be that the all African American staff are starting to take a shine to me...er...no, I must be "tripping" to be thinking that, LOL.
"Am I supposed to be waving my arms and yelling: 'Hey, what about me, did you forget about me?!?'" I asked one of the technicians, a heavy-set black lady.
She assured me that I wasn't going to lose any time by being just about the only person in there not doing that.
I would have to take the street car in if I want to busk tonight, because I don't have a lock for the bike.
It is a Trek brand bike, I noticed, upon taking a better look at it.
I had just assumed that, since it is a woman's bike and is a "cruiser" style that it would just put along and be best suited for riding around filling its basket with flowers.
But, once I put the right amount of air in the tires, I found that the thing zipped along as well, if not better than the Specialized Rockhopper that I had stolen from me. That's what made me look for the brand name on it, which isn't boldly displayed.
Close To A Job?
Wayne, my neighbor has, once again, referred me to the company that he works for, saying that they are "hiring like crazy."
All I would have to do is have Cox install a land line phone as well as hook up wi-fi in my apartment; something that would bless me outside of, and in addition to, allowing me to work for the company that Wayne works for.
He is in line for a $250 bonus, should I be hired pursuant to his referral, and this should motivate him to help me.
"You're one of the only people in this building who is even bright enough to use a computer," he lamented about the fact that he doesn't see many potential $250 bonuses at Sacred Heart Apartments.
He told me that the company would send me a Macintosh computer if they hire me. He also said that the land line plus wi-fi would be a low 79 dollars per month, and that I wouldn't have to pay for them to install it, and could wait until I have gotten my first paycheck to pay for it.
This seems to be a golden opportunity. I wouldn't even have to have a bank account; something I would have needed were I to have tried to work for the same people that Travis Blaine works for.
What was the name of that computer nerd guy you had staying with you? I'm surprised you didn't ask him what kind of work it was he was doing that allowed him to take trips to New Orleans. -Alex In California, blog reader
The name of that "special snowflake" guy is Travis Blaine, and he was so ego-centric, he never even suggested that I try to get a job where he works, not even after I returned to the apartment, dejected, after not being hired by the Uxi Duxi.
I had ruefully lamented about it, when I returned to the place, having had to cut him off in the middle of his ranting about every detail of his day.
This was about the time that he giddily gave me the great news, great for him, that he had discovered that the security people at Sacred Heart were sloppy in their record keeping and had not been meticulously counting the days he had been at my place, and that he could probably stay and extra ten days and they would never notice.
He then spat out some cookie cutter response like: "That sucks, I'm sure you'll find something..." before resuming his non-stop discourse about himself and his day, and his life, and probably even how much money he had made sitting behind his laptop and breathing the air in my apartment.
He wound up giving me 75 dollars off his food stamp card, a few sugar packets from McDonalds, and some cleaning supplies, and a bag of cat food, half of which was for his own cat, for allowing him to stay for "10 days" which turned into 18 days, behind promises of more food stamp money, that was ultimately paid to me at a rate of 25% less than he had promised (with a handshake) as if he had used a calculator to come up with what he probably thought a person would begrudgingly accept in lieu of a full amount, because anything is better than nothing, type of thing.
I thought it was due to scarcity of work, and that I would be in competition with him for work from the same company in the same zip code, that he never suggesting that I apply. But, when I asked him about working for them, he piped up with: "Oh, yeah, all you would have to do is..." and then went on to explain how that is what he had done and to tediously lay out for me, how it works for him and how it allows him to do this and that, and how it is similar but better, for him, to what he had been doing before, etc. etc."
That was when the full extent of his egocentricity came to light -the fact that I had been to the point of being depressed over not being able to find a job, and it had never even occurred to him to suggest it.
Travis Blaine.
One of the few good things that came out of his staying with me was he left me some latex gloves, which became invaluable, once I discovered ammonia as a cleaning agent.
If this "Wayne, your neighbor" character can get you a job "on computers" then great. That's about the only way jobs are gotten by anyone, anywhere - through connections. That's sure how it's done where I am, and thus I have some "ins" if I want to work as a security guard, or in some circuit board factory breathing fiberglas, or something like that.
ReplyDeleteActual work that just requires being "on a computer" I could be forgiven for thinking does not exist here, except that I read online that such work is in fact done here, by someone, in some buildings somewhere, and that said people actually make more than the 1X - 1.5X minimum wage 99% of the people seem to make here.
This is why I've come around to realizing that technical skills don't mean that much. What matters are "soft" skills, basically what's known as schmoozing.
So schmooze it up! A free Mac, internet service, etc all sound pretty good. Better than I'd ever be able to get here. I'd have to move to New Orleans, sleep under a sign or in some trees, eventually moving to the Nachez dock, then get in enough trouble to gain the attention of Social Services, get into a free apartment with just the right kind of neighbors, etc. It's more reliable than college.