At least he has a place to go…

My daily exploits with the homeless border harassment but I try to be nice until they "take me there" so to speak. Here are two recent highlights…

Scene #1: A few weeks ago…

---- Coming up the McPherson Square Metro Escalator and grabbing the free newsra, and fiddling with my umbrella ----

Homeless Lady: Well sir you look nice today.

Me: Thanks.

Note: Never look the homeless in the eye nor have an extended conversation; they will steal your soul.

Homeless Lady: Are your going to read that paper?

Me: That is why I got it.

Homeless Lady: Can you spare 83 cents?

Me: 83 cents? No.

Note: everyone knows I have a 'homeless allowance', but contained therein is a variance for bullshit requests and anything too specific (e.g. 83 cents) is a bullshit request.

Homeless Lady: Oh, you think you are better than everyone else!!!

Me: No, just better than you because you are homeless.

Homeless Lady: Fuck You!!

Me: As good as story as that would be to tell, I'll pass.

Finally I got my umbrella up and walked away, amidst a random passerby who heard the exchange saying "Damn!"

Scene #2:

--- A flock of birds violently fly out of the groundcover and startle me to the point that I jump, but at least I refrain from screaming ----

Homeless Man: Ha ha, you scared of birds.

Me: Yes, they scared me.

Homeless Man: That is funny!

Note: This is where you have to be skilled in homelessness, or at least know how to fight. The homeless are crazy so you have to pick your poison, which you never know may include something communicable. This guy had a walking stick and was about 50 ft away, so I was good.

Me: Birds are nasty, filthy creatures…

Homeless Man: You just don't like birds…

Me: No, birds are fine. But I don't like you, and at least those birds have a nest to go to; you don't, because you are homeless.

Homeless Man: <silence>

Yeah, you are about as real as that bag you’re carrying…

I mean really, what is the de-ga-ga with this mess? I cannot get over this mess I saw on the train this morning. I mean who does this shit? I mean you get on at Ft. Totten and you step on with all this fanfare and shit, then I see it, that fake ass Louis Vuitton bag, coupled with your M Street Stunner Shades. I have one thing to say to you; STOP IT!! Just stop, stop breathing, choke on your pride, poke your eyes out with those fake ass eye lashes you have.

Look, folks I am of the homosex, but suffice it to say I don't like most gay people. Just too much of too much. Exemplified by this scorching hot shitty mess on the train, who wears this shit? I could not get a quality photo, but what I could get at least tells part of the story. This gay, hmmm let's call him "Shay" got on the train stepped in, looked right, looked left, tossed his head back and stepped to the middle of the car. Well you know I took notice. I was like who is "Shay" think he is? Then it all started, I had to dissect a bitch , I went from the floor up and took note that he was 'tore-up'.

Here is the outfit: (Imagine this)

• HOUSE OF DEREON jeans (that is right, they don't make those for men)
  


• 
  
  Old school British Knights High Tops
  
  
  
  
  
  • Note: I had every color of British Knights, I even had the Black and Gold Hammer Edition, but you would not catch me dead in a casket with some on in 2009
    


• A dingy(albeit white) button down colored dress shirt
  


• A vest that looked like he got from his baby cousin, "Too Sweet"
  


• Fake ass Stunna Shades
  


• 
  
  As if all that was not enough, a fake ass Louis Vuitton Backpack
  
  
  
  
  
  • Note: This bag was so fake I wanted to change cars for fear the vinyl would give ME a rash
    

So, as the train car filled up, Shay became more and more dramatic, a loud "SIGH" here, a cursed look there, but just when I thought I had seen (and heard it all) it started. Ms. Shay turned on "she" iPod Touch and it was OVER, and when I say over I mean OVER BITCHES!!! This bitch started playing Beyonce, and not just playing it, but BLARING it. I mean I could hear it through my headphones and over my Aretha. Children, that alone was not enough; "she" decided she was not only going to 'sing', but also 'dance'; it was too much to handle and the train was too crowded for it. Then it happened, we met eyes and the judgment I was passing was evident on my face and this bitch was not having it. It was like we were having a gay "Beat It" battle scene.. (you know the one where Michael Jackson locks wrists with that other guy and the bounce around before they set it off?) But I was not having it, so I looked away in a rather dramatic fashion, because I was not going to sully my spirit with that bullshit; so I stepped off the train and gave him that over the sunglasses look that told him in no uncertain terms. "uh you ain't shit!"

Work...

Noun

• S: (n) employee (a worker who is hired to perform a job)

Noun

• S: (n) contractor (someone (a person or firm) who contracts to perform a job)

So I have not had much to say for a few months, but today is a good day so I thought I would write a bit about the bullshit that is going on. So today I was expecting a rather large scale deliverable from some contractors that was to be presented by some (govt) employees. Guess what? That shit did not happen. This is how it went down (the names have been changed to protect the guilty):

There are 3 characters in this charade:

· Me

o I know I am hard to work for, I KNOW it. I was told after this debacle that my new name in the Office is "The Devil Wears Burberry"

· Contractor

o This POS idiot that claims to be some financial expert but so far all I have seen are spreadsheets I can do in my sleep

· Employee

o This spineless piece of mess does not do much other than exacerbate any anger or annoyance I feel about the work (or lack thereof ) that is being done by the contractor that he is supposed to direct.

Via Txt:

Me: "where are you?"

Employee: "still on train?"

Me: "why? And where?"

Employee: "there was a major delay, after my traffic jam coming in, Union Station Red Line"

Me: "if it is that bad, get out and walk, why am I here before you?"

Employee: "ok."

Me: "where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Me: "again, where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Of course my natural assumption is that EMPLOYEE had gone underground, even though I know our phones work underground, I assumed his shit was busted, my like mine. Let me say this too; I am not much for government work, government employees by and large (career ones at least) are not the most efficient people. Granted, I work hard, probably a little too hard. I am often at work before the coffee is brewed and leave after the cleaning crew is done, but I never, NEVER, NEVER miss deadlines or meetings. So I knew something was up when I got no response, twice. Now comes the second part of the madness.

Me: "lets take a look at what you have"

Contractor: "well, I have a mock up"

Me: "explain to me what that is, a mock up. I am not sure I follow"

Contractor: "well it is a detailed simulation of…" (I interrupt)

Me: "So it is not done?"

Contractor: "well, the mock up is complete"

Me: "what is this mock up you keep speaking of? no one directed you to make a mock up, you are charged with making a finish product, I don't do drafts, that is someone else's job."

At this point I pull out my note cards. People who have seen me work know that my life is ruled by an overly complex system of color coded 4x6 note cards, upon which I write almost everything I hear. Then I pull them out and review them, almost daily as though I am taking it all in again. If it were not me I would think it crazy, but I already know I am crazy. I have a rather snappy memory, so I try not to be too asshole-ish when I tell people that is not what I said.

Me: "see it says here that completed presentation delivery July 1 (today)"

Contractor: "I think that is wrong"

Me: "I KNOW you are wrong"

Contractor: "I think you had it mixed up"

Me: "listen; you are wrong, you knew you had to deliver something to me today, which is why you are in my office, in your best suit. You came here out of necessity not because you wanted to see my face – we both are far too busy for that, you came here to give me what you get paid for; finished product. furthermore, the idea that I do mock ups or drafts is simply ridiculous. who told you that?

Contractor: "<employee>."

Me: "oh for real? i need to fix that today?

At which point Contractor left my office and people came in snooping as to what was going on, I typically don't talk to people I don't like, so I look up acknowledge they said something and keep working, this has happened a lot today. Then Employee arrived….over 2 hours late.

Employee: "good morning, Ward"

Me: (completely disregarding the salutation) "let's talk about this mock up"

Employee: "let me get situated"

Me: "no, come on in just have a seat this won't take long"

Note: With me that is the kiss of death "this won't take long"…

Me: "who gave Contractor permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, the Department wanted talking points on a POC (Proof of Concept) today so I thought…" ( I jump in)

Me: "so you did? you gave permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, it is just a POC today"

Me: "for them yes, for me no; i don't have time to bullshit around with this madness, i have about 15 other things to work on. And if I have 15 then you have 30 so you should know that my deadline as set for you or ANYONE else is just that a DEADLINE."

Employee: <silence>

Me: "unless being quiet is going to get this done by 1:30PM EST, I suggest you go find someone to talk to who can get this done. now, you can go get situated."

Employee: "but, I was told by someone at the Department …" (I jump in)

Me: "that is where you messed up, you don't work for the Department you work here; that person there is GS-"who gives a damn", you, well you are just mediocre and working your way up. Let's meet at 12:45"

And that is how my day has been. Hope you all are well

- Him With the Asthma

Ugly....Part One

The longer I live the more I realize I just don’t like people. Or maybe it is that I like people too much, either way the human existence just wears me down sometimes. I sometimes wish I was ugly because ugly people don’t have much to complain about, I mean when you are ugly there is not much you can do to change it, outside of call Dr. 90210 but then when you come home you will have the struggle of finding good looking friends. Agh the pressure!

The Uptown 3

The Uptown 3

Two things in life that I love (not the only 2 but 2) are the NYC Subway and the feeling you get after you open up a fresh can of whoop ass on someone. So, why not combine them both? I mean you would think that would just make my damn day, right? Well, maybe.

I left a clients office today at precisely 4:30PM and I (rather than taking the car service) hopped on the Uptown 3 Express train at the Wall Street Station. Folks, I hate the Wall Street Station; the platform is skinny and small I always feel like I can fall off into the rat laden abyss that is the NYC Subway rail.

I get on the first train and it is packed like the Bush’s belongings at the White house. I had to squeeze in and be careful not to harm “the shoe”. As you all know I believe a shoe is the quickest way to measure a man, so I take pains to remind myself that “it is all about the shoe”.

That said I tried to commandeer enough space to protect the Billy Reid’s, but as we moved along the line the train got more and more packed I lost my faith in keeping the boy’s unscuffed. Anyway, the reason people take an express train is, well to get ‘there’ fast; it is also a way to avoid the riff raff, so I thought.

As we zoomed through the tunnel I was rocked in the pure bliss of the silver bullet that is the Uptown 3. Then we got to the 14th Street station and it all went to shit. All I heard was “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! Someone needs to give up their seat so the handicapped person behind me can sit down.” The message came from an obviously mentally disturbed and likely homeless person who, as it were, was talking about his ‘imaginary’ friend “Jimmy”, he again said “One of you muthafuckahs needs to get up because Jimmy needs to sit down!” No one moved. He continues to blab and blab finishing with “New Yorkers ain’t shit, no one will give up their chair, Jimmy is going to get mad” at that point I looked up at him. As our eyes met, he says to me “You look like a politician, are you a politician?”, I smiled. He then sticks his hand out for me to give him a ‘hand bump’...now I don’t really like touching people I know let alone a homeless man on a NYC Subway train....so I never raised my hand and rather just looked him in his eye and said “I’m good..” Well who knew that would set off a powder keg.

Jimmy (as we will call him now) immediately flips out. The following dialogue happened on the Uptown 3 between me and Jimmy:

Jimmy: “You too good to touch me?”

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You heard me, nigguh (Strike 1), you too good to touch me”

Now, this is where we enter the ‘STRIKE ZONE’, the zone at which you have 3 times to strike this match before the starts to burn. Let me also state that as I have gotten older the use of the ‘n’ word has bothered me less and less, because at the end of the day, I know they are not talking about me; because you OBVIOUSLY don’t know me if you are calling me that, because you will get scrubbed.

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You aint shit, look at you in your fancy clothes, you a house nigguh (Strike 2), just like Barack Obama a house nigguh (strike 3)”

Scooter: ‘You cannot talk to me like that’
Jimmy: “What you gonna do?”

Scooter: (In my most calm and deliberate voice) “ I will fuck you up”

At this point the gentleman next to me who had already (pre-JImmy’s entrance) mentioned he was a cop in Boston, looked me dead in the face.

Jimmy: “You aint shit, and you aint gonna do shit”

Scooter: (Looking square in the eye) ‘Believe what you like’

Jimmy: “Why you looking at me like that?”

At this point Jimmy steps toward me (as much as he can), and I look him from head to toe in the slowest ‘I am not scared of your punk ass’ sort of way

Scooter: ‘Oh, I am just looking’

Jimmy: “I will kick your ass right here in this train”

Now people are getting more uncomfortable. Women clutching purses, moving children, etc.

Scooter: ‘No, we are not fighting on the train, but you van meet me outside the station’

Jimmy: “You scared to fight me, see you aint shit you a house nigguh (Strike 3 PLUS)”

Scooter: ‘Look..I got it. You think I am a house nigguh, like Barack Obama, I got it; and you think you can whoop my ass, I got it. But you will not get to do shit on this train for two reasons. #1 - I don’t want to beat your ass in your house and #2 it is crowded in here and I don’t want to scuff my shoes.”

At this point the train all but erupts into laughter and ‘Jimmy’ looks incredibly deflated.

Jimmy: “You know what? Fuck you. I will kick your ass.”

Scooter: ‘You just might, but you wont do it on the Uptown 3, I am not losing my train privileges over your bullshit. I need to “Get my way with MTA”.

Those of you who have not lived in NYC do not know that used to be the tag line for the NYC Subway and Bus System, again there is laughter on the train.

Jimmy: (no response)

Scooter: ‘I am getting off at 42nd street. I can meet you outside the station’

Well, 42nd Street came and I got off and Jimmy, well, Jimmy kept his punk ass on the train. Which goes to prove my theory “big talk = small walk” -- the more shit you talk the less you can do. Don’t fear the loud mouth, fear the quiet man in the corner.

Now had he gotten off, I would have beat his ass. Trust me. I am an environmental fighter. I will hit you with whatever is close or use whatever is close to give you a beat down. Just saying.

Memory Monday... Continuation of the Roommate Story ... Originally Aired 30-October 2001 ...Part 2 of 3... The Car

The Car:

Now if you all were thinking that that was all I had to say about this guy no, no, no, no. Two more things the car and the man.

First, the car. You all know that I love my great piece of German engineering that I call my car. Even though it has crossed my mind to get rid of it since I live in a city where I do not need it, the “silver bullet” still appeals to all my senses. It’s soft leather, its great pick up, and its sexy looks all the reasons I bought the damn thing. Well you all know that I will let anyone drive my car I really don’t care that much, after all when it all is said and done it is just a car. Take heed though, I will LET anyone drive it. Which means if I do not say you can, you cannot. Reasonable I would think. I was walking home the other day from being out and I noticed my car had been moved. I was just thinking well maybe I parked there last night and did not remember. So I did not think anything of it. So then again I notice that my car is in a different spot, but same general location a few days later. So I got to Jim, “Jim, did you move my car?”, “No, why?” …by this time I knew it was Ali and I was already pissed so I said, “why, what the hell you mean why, because the muthafucka has been moved that is why, would I asked you if you moved my car if it was in the same damn spot?” So Jim, quickly assessed that I was pissed at the fact the fact the car had been moved and even moreso that is was by Ali. Granted I do not even know if Yasser (Ali’s nickname) has a green card let alone a driver’s license so I am just waiting for him to get in the door. Jim, who is trying to be the mediator keeps saying to me, “now you have to give him due process you have to evaluate why he used your car, and first assess whether or not he did.” I said, “all I am going to do is evaluate how I am gonna break my foot in his ass and then assess why he used my car.” Jim then went on to say, “well you are not sure he even did it” Now you all know how when you are mad the last thing you want is for someone to try and reason with you, so I told Jim this “if you did not drive it, and I did not drive it, then he drove it… unless the damn rats around here know how to drive or something.” Jim nodded in agreement and we sat and waited.

As soon as the door swung open and Ali arrived in the living room I lit into him, first in a rather subtle way, I said “hey uh Ali let me talk to you (waving him over to me with my index and middle fingers), have you uh moved my car or anything like that?” Thinking that he would say ‘no’, it took me by surprise when he said, ‘Oh yeah I forgot to tell you that I used it a FEW times to go to the store and run some errands.” I was taken by surprise, so much so that I could not say anything at first. I just stood there. All I can remember is seeing Jim running down the stairs like Shug Avery in the Color Purple to keep Cealie from killing Mister, and he packed up all the things in the room that could be used as weapons, the hammer, the spoon, the matches. Then he just sat down to watch, like a damn school kid. Then for what seemed like minutes but was only a few seconds I thought, ‘I know this summamabitch did not just tell me that he not only used my shit, but used my shit a FEW times.’ It was so funny to me I had to ask him again and again he answered in the affirmative with the word ‘few’. So I said, “Why?”, he said “I told you, to GO TO THE STORE AND TO RUN SOME ERRANDS” with emphasis just like that. I was pissed, so I said it again, “no, muthafucka why?, as in why in the hell did you go get my key, start my car, and drive like you own the shit” he again answers as though he has done nothing wrong, saying “I had things to do” I said, “you know what, you’s a crazy summamabitch, driving a black man’s car without permission, that is like cussing out my momma.” As I looked into his brown eyes I realized I should have been looking out of a window. He flippantly said “I am sorry, never thought it would be a big deal” I was like, “shit yeah it is a big deal you stupid bastard, this aint no damn horse and carriage like you have in Iran this is a car, with an engine and shit. The best advice I can give you to keep me from kicking your ass, is to never even look at my shit again, or I will fuck you up” He kinda waved his hand in my face and I went Jerry Springer on his ass catching his hand mid air, and kinda leaning my head to the side and raising my eyebrows in that mother kinda way, and said “I wish you would drive my car again, I invite your ass too, in fact I am going to leave my keys right here everyday, but you better have your arrangements set because I will call the police before your ass even gets home to tell them there will be a murder at 1741.” Jim then got up and played lawyer and I told him he could kiss my ass too. Well needless to say I have not opened any letters I get at the house for fear his ass is going to plant some anthrax or hemmoraghic fever spores in there.