Skeeter Repellent

Version 2 of Sunday night's post.

OK, I said that I would probably cross selling plasma off the list of viable ways to get cash.

I had been away from the place from December until July. Not since Travis Blaine was staying at my apartment, had I been there.

I remember that, because he had held back upon giving me some money that he had promised after I had gone and sold plasma and then was on my way out to busk in that famished state. "You sold your plasma, and you're gonna play tonight, so you should be alright," he had said, by way of explaining why he didn't need to fork over any cash at that time...

Then busking income picked up enough so that selling plasma for what I could make in 44 minutes of playing became deprecated, as the computer programmers would say.

Partly, also, because the bus trips there and back alone could run up to 2 hours off the clock, especially on those days when the bus "just left" every time you show up at the stop.

But, Sunday, I had gone there and gotten 15 dollars for my trouble, minus $2.50 for bus fare.

I would have ridden my bike to the place to save that money, even though it's ten miles each way, but I can't go over the bridge on it. It is illegal and strictly enforced by, I guess the State cops.

One night, I did ride across, after I had watched football with Howard, and the game had gone into double overtime or something, and it was back when I still drank, especially while watching football, and hence the "F*** it, I'll just ride my bike over the bridge" attitude that I had, after the last 102 of the night had shown up, with one bike already on its rack, and I had been cut in front of by an older black man, who had just hoisted his bike up and into the last available slot, while I stood there, trying to politely tell him: "Um, I was here first..."

That was shortly after November 5th, 2016, because the guy had said something like: "Oh, you get to go first now, cause you got Donald Trump, is that it?!"

But, that had turned into a hell-ride across the bridge, with cars honking and making a display of veering outside the marked lanes, as if to tell me: “Look what you’re doing, you’re gonna cause a wreak!,” and other drivers giving me the finger out their windows.

There is only about a foot and half of space between the white stripe on the edge of the road and a 400 foot plunge into the Mississippi.

So, Sunday I got paid 15 dollars, instead of the 25 that I was expecting.

There might be a greater "spiritual" purpose to the plasma trips, because I am actually relaxing my hatred of black people, by degrees, with each excursion over there.

For one thing, the workers at the plasma place are at least educated to a high school level, and had the ability to learn how to run the plasmapheresis equipment; that's something...It's good to be exposed to that "other side" of African American culture, the proper English speaking set.

They are a foil to the dim-witted cashiers at the Wal-Mart down the street, in that sense.

But, I have always thought that the way I seem to get along with Latinos even in places like Phoenix, Arizona where I drove a cab, and was cautioned to never go into the "Spanish" section at night, was due to the fact that they could sense that I liked them. And I supposed by the same token, the blacks can sense that I have "No, I don't have a dollar and I don't have a cigarette!" on the tip of my tongue at the sight of them.
You can hate me, but I hated you first, before you even walked up to me, type of thing...

I never had a problem with the Latinos. But, I liked them, and I guess people can sense that, plus, I attempted to speak Spanish, and even the way I corrupted their language was seen as being admirable to them.

So, I am now attempting to do the same thing with black people -to change the way I perceive them; because they aren't going anywhere, and I can't see myself holding a resentment towards them, which is going to be caustic to myself.

I can at least wait until they say "Esscuse me..." before I deem them skeezers.

I have concluded that it is easier to deal with black people if I imagine them as being full of fear. Of course they are infamous for being afraid of dogs and spiders and ghosts and such. But they must also be afraid of all the stuff going on in the world, and probably do feel a dark cloud hanging over their heads based upon Trump being president, due to the propaganda that they were subjected to during the election campaign -the fake news, and the Kool Aid that a lot of the blacks I have spoken with still had staining their lips.

Now when I see a black lady and perhaps a small child or two, it is easier for me to accept her if I attribute a lot of her actions to her being scared.

She's probably just as afraid of her kids falling prey to the violence that is all around her, because, well, blacks are violent. And fear of white people is probably woven into her fabric.

No Skeeters, No Skeezers

This time there were no mosquitoes at the bus stop, like there had been Sunday night when I had found myself sitting next to a skeezer at the same stop. No skeeters, no skeezers.


This guy was kind of fat and probably in his mid forties but looking more like fifty five, and drunk, apparently.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he had said when I had walked up, but not close enough yet for him to realize his mistake -oh, did I mention myopic.

He quickly corrected himself, and substituted “sir” in his salutation.

As I was beginning to speak, and to forgive his error, perhaps by saying: “It’s alright, one of the drawbacks of having such long hair,” and then maybe to have informed him that I was a musician, or maybe to take the route of explaining that I hesitate to cut my hair -and have been holding in that pattern for at least seven years by the looks of it, eh? Yuk, yuk...

And might have volunteered the information that I am actually planning upon inquiring at the Ideal Market “down the street from where I live” as to whether one of their amazingly( attractive (as a whole, even the older ones) Latinas has hair cutting skills and then to offer, say, twenty dollars to that lady, and even suggest right behind the store around the employee break area to be the spot where the work would be done, and having brought my own scissors, even.
There is a dumpster nearby that area, but it doesn’t smell.

I could have praised the cleanliness of the Ideal Market on Broad Avenue, open until ten, seven days a week, and might even have gotten around to talking about my old girlfriend , Karrie, who defined herself as having “Mexican” in her, but who was a defacto Latina.

In many ways, we could have had a meaningful discussion, and maybe have become fast friends.

But, the guy, who isn’t a skeezer yet, at this point of my narration, then cut off any conversation starter that I might have had in store, with a blunt request, the substance of which was “Can I bum a cigarette?”

OK, he’s a skeezer now.

This basically “deteriorated,” after my: “I can’t afford to be walking around passing out cigarettes to everyone I meet,” into his saying:

“I just asked you a simple question, It’s either ‘yes’ or ‘no!'"

Typical Skeezer Mentality

The implication was that he didn't want to be shamed through my response, over the fact that he was being a bum. A lot of skeezers aren't in the mood to hear any excuses the mark may have for not giving him something for free at his (the mark's) expense. It might go something like:

"No, I only have a couple left, one for before I go to sleep, and one for the morning..."

"I didn't ask you how many cigarettes you had and when you intend to smoke them. I don't give a f**k about your life story, I just asked you a simple question, 'Can I get a cigarette,' it's a yes or no!" type of thing. When they can sense that the answer is going to be no, they can become pretty short with you.

And, I would go away with the sense of: Now, I'm glad I didn't give you one of my cigarettes, turns out you're a real jerk, who doesn't care about people only tobacco.

Well, my point of focus was over the fact that he hadn’t allowed me to speak after having called me “Ma’am,” which, while most-likely an innocent mistake made in the dark with him being drunk, and perhaps needing glasses, was a matter of sensibility and there had been no apology from him, over something that had to have been embarrassing to the dude that was just addressed as a chick.

That happens once in a blue moon because of my long hair and poorly sighted individuals.

But, no, it was right on to “Can I bum a cigarette?” from him, sending the message: Ma’am, or sir, whatever; I don’t care who you are, just about your cigarettes.”


So, instead of us having had any meaningful conversation, or become friends, it ended right there.

"Don't worry about it!," he snapped.

"It must suck when you can't get something for free at someone else's expense..."

"It must suck when you can't get something for free at someone else' expense," I said, angered by the fact that he was showing so much unjustified anger, himself.

It would have been a waste of breath for me to remind him that I can do whatever I want with my own cigarettes that I paid for; I don't HAVE to give them away, not even to other smokers who share my addiction and whom I thus, should feel compassion for, etc. etc.

"Don't worry about it," he repeated.

He then mumbled: "Yes, indeed...." and a few seconds later, "Yes, indeed..." again.

He then threw in "Karma's a bitch!" trying to imply that God was going to get me for not going around passing out free cigarettes.

"Karma is getting you now," I said. "Every time you beg something from someone, you're increasing your karmic debt. Nothing is free in this world and you're digging yourself a hole. You're the one building bad karma. Yes, indeed." I couldn't help adding the last bit.

The mosquitoes are usually very bad at that bus stop, as there is a swamp-like area nearby.

I went into my backpack and took out my Off Deepwoods repellent, and, as I sprayed some on myself, I could see his mouth start to open. I gave him a look that I hoped said: Don't even ask.

I wouldn't normally begrudge anyone a few sprays of mosquito repellent, but I wanted him to feel the full brunt of that bitch, karma, that is is so convenient for the beggar to believe in.

"Someday, you'll ask someone for something and they'll say 'no',"