Gray Sunday

 It all started out with waking up around noon and looking for sports on the TV.

I understand that we are in between seasons and there aren't a bunch of sports that are as interesting to watch as they are to play.

I wound up watching "top fuel" cars go from zero to 327 mph (in one case). Most of the races featured one car that would indeed go from zero to 327 mph, and another car that would basically conk out in some way; either spitting top fuel out of the exhaust, instead of exhaust, or otherwise malfunctioning. So very few of the races were even close. And is this a sport that I might take up, myself, racing top formula cars? Google; "How do I get into top formula drag racing?"

I guess I would have to find a place to store the darned thing when I wasn't racing, or practicing. I suppose I would have to work a lot with the throttle and the little steering wheel, a few hours a day, if I want to compete at the national level, as opposed to just being a local hero; the best top formula drag racer in Mid City, New Orleans, or something..

Then, I watched the greatest tennis player of our time, whose name I forget, come back from 2 sets down which, I was informed is quite a feat in that sport, to defeat maybe the second greatest tennis player of our time.

Then it was onto the bike, headed for Bobby's to get some weed, with a detour to the Whole Foods, to get cash.

The intense thunderstorm that I had been warned about through beeps from my phone and a ribbon across the bottom of the screen during tennis, seemed to be looming just to the north, and there was a crack of lightning and thunder just as I sat on the seat of the bike, to go get weed.

It hadn't started raining until after I was outside Whole Foods, and so I stood by my bike and cracked open the beer I had gotten.

The Snowflake

There was a totally millennial snowflake looking guy, standing next to a bike of his own and staring at the screen of his phone. He had long hair and what looked like a fair amount of groceries and I was pretty sure, had I tried to talk to him at all, I would get ignored; he just seemed like that type. 

He did move his bike a bit to give me room to get mine out of the rack, but didn't say a word after I had commented about the rain; so I think my impression was right. I think fewer and fewer people actually understand the things I say, in general, and maybe cell phones are to blame.

I think I said something like: "...hard to tell if it's stopping or starting.." to which there was no reply. He was probably thinking: Why doesn't he just check his phone to see if it is starting or stopping, like I learned to do by the age of 10?

The Lagunita IPA was good, and I only got sprinkled upon in trekking over to Bobby's, where I found that soul to be in pretty good spirits, who said that it has been 6 days since he has done a hit of crack.

Then, as I was leaving there, the rain started falling steadily, to the point that I knew that the paper bag from Whole Foods was going to dissolve and the two water bottles along with a bottle of wine were going to wind up falling to the pavement at some point during my ride home.

So, I stopped at Ideal Market to buy a few things and then to ask for extra plastic bags to switch the Whole Foods stuff over to.

After having smoked weed with Bobby and his roommate whom Bobby describes as a terrible alcoholic, I was paranoid enough to feel very self conscious of my whiteness, when going into the particular Latino market.

I really didn't know what I wanted to get and was trying to forecast what I was going to be in the mood for whenever I did get hungry.

One of the employees came up to me and kind of greeted me, without saying "Can I help you?," which was cool.

I tried to tell him that I hated to shop when I wasn't hungry, for the reason above, but after I had said "No tengo hambre," he seemed to have taken offense, as if I had said, "Go away."

It might have been that he was thinking: "Then what are you doing in a grocery store, if you're not hungry?" but he walked off and grabbed a broom or something and I guess I concluded that I had better stick to English when in that store until such a time that I can carry a decent conversation in Spanish. I didn't have in my vocabulary a way to explain that I really just wanted to swap my paper Whole Foods bag out for some plastic ones while getting something that I would want to eat later, after sipping some wine, which is an appetite enhancer.

Then, at the register, I noticed the cashier looking at my glasses, which are being held together by gray duct tape, as the Eyes On Canal place hasn't gotten the new ones right yet, going on a month now.

I took the glasses off and explained to the girl how they were broken and then how I had taped them with the gray tape. I then pointed out how I had worn a gray shirt and gray sneakers to go with them, and turn it all into a fashion statement. It was like I was speaking a different language, and maybe I was. I thought it would at least get a smile out of her, but, she only began to not look at me, throughout the rest of the transaction. Cultures are so messed up. I thought about how clean and neat "they" -at least the Latinos I've encountered- keep their pickup trucks, with decorative air fresheners and usually something interesting hanging from the rear view mirror, and how she might have thought it unacceptable that I even go out in public with glasses being held together by gray tape. Who knows how people of different cultures think; or whether or not the think autonomously or as a collective consciousness.

A Bummer Of A Trip To The Ideal Market

So, that was a bummer of a trip to the Ideal Market, but I got my plastic bags. I wadded up the damp paper bags and set them down by a dust pan and whisk broom that was leaning against a wall nearby what looked like other trash.

"Basura," I said, using the Spanish word for trash. And, in keeping with the spirit of the whole adventure, was then looked at by the staff within earshot as if I had just called every one of them "trash."

I was bothered by the experience, but more so while still high off Bobby's weed. In the light of day it seems like they might be all smiles the next time I go there.