Overheard on the bus.
26.3.09
Alzheimer’s
My mom works with them. She said sometimes they ask over and over, “What am I doing here?” I guess they hold her arm and like six times in a row they’ll ask. “What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What am I doing here?” God, I don’t know what I would do. It always sounds so sad. I’m just glad I don’t have to work like that. I don’t know how she does it. She said she asks them the same thing after a while. “I don’t know. What are you doing here?” A lot of them really don't know what's going on. She said once a woman just started putting her shoes on. Someone there explained to her that shoes are how they show it's time for them go. They don’t know how to express it in any other way, so they just start putting their shoes on. It means they’re getting themselves ready, she said. It means they're ready to die.
16.3.09
It's four. Twice a day.
It’s simply dreadful outside. Honest to goodness, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if things keep up this way. A person can only take so much, you know. How many days has it been now, eight? Ten? Downright depressing is what it is. I’ve made an appointment with Dr. Stevens in the morning to see if he can’t prescribe something new, at least until this weather changes. The other prescription obviously isn’t working. What dear? No, I changed it to tomorrow. I’ve decided I can’t wait that long. I telephoned and Suzan, you remember, his receptionist, she told me he has an opening in the morning. I told her I simply cannot take much more of this, you know. Yes, she’s very sweet. She’s a dear. Pardon? Last year? Oh, well you know that was different. That was completely different. It was so hot! And it was dry! I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I couldn’t sleep. I tried opening the windows. I tried wet towels and ice. I even had Sharon place a water bottle on the bedside table so I could spritz the air. You remember. Nothing seemed to work. It really was a last resort. I honestly couldn’t breathe as I recall. No, no. Like I said, a different situation altogether, and it did work that time. And I was certainly able to sleep better afterwards. What, dear? Currently? No, it's four. Twice a day.
Have I told you about these headaches I’ve been having lately? Yes, and I can’t remember exactly when they started, but they’re truly unpleasant. You know, I read in the Times the other day a story about a woman who gets horrible headaches. She’s the subject of some study or something. These famous doctors are hooking her up to all sorts of equipment to monitor her brain while she sleeps. I know! They can actually see these things now. Apparently she has a history. She wakes in the middle of the night screaming in pain. Yes, migraines. Can you imagine? She said the headaches have gotten so bad she wants to kill herself most of the time. The poor woman is terrified of falling asleep. I mean, can you imagine? No, mine are nothing like that. They’re more of an inconvenience than anything, but better to stop them before they get worse. The next thing you know, it’ll be my name in the Times. Honestly.
Have I told you about these headaches I’ve been having lately? Yes, and I can’t remember exactly when they started, but they’re truly unpleasant. You know, I read in the Times the other day a story about a woman who gets horrible headaches. She’s the subject of some study or something. These famous doctors are hooking her up to all sorts of equipment to monitor her brain while she sleeps. I know! They can actually see these things now. Apparently she has a history. She wakes in the middle of the night screaming in pain. Yes, migraines. Can you imagine? She said the headaches have gotten so bad she wants to kill herself most of the time. The poor woman is terrified of falling asleep. I mean, can you imagine? No, mine are nothing like that. They’re more of an inconvenience than anything, but better to stop them before they get worse. The next thing you know, it’ll be my name in the Times. Honestly.
14.3.09
Corn Palace
“Cars today are so hard to work on because they’re so... the engine compartments, there’s no room to work in there. I can’t even change the spark plugs on my car, there’s no room to work. My wife had an old Dodge and when you opened the hood on that thing… I mean, I could almost climb in there and work, you know. It was easy then, you know. Dave Grace told me when he was a young guy he was on a trip – went on this long trip and bought a Willy. Remember those? Did he tell you that story? Seventy-five bucks at a used car lot. He said the thing was just a mess. He said it used more oil than gas. I remember he told me they were out somewhere and he hit a rock or something on the highway and it busted the steering. He said the car went off the road and hit a tree. He and his buddy were okay, but he said it was a miracle they hit that tree because they could have gone sliding all the way down the embankment. You wanna know one thing I was always afraid to try on my own? A brake job.”
“Easy,” the old man said. And that was the first thing I’d heard him say. I don't even think he looked up. He just sat there staring at his coffee cup like he was talking to himself or something.
“Easy?”
“Yeah, brakes are easy.”
And there was more, but I didn’t catch it all. It can be a real pain in the ass, listening to someone else's conversation, especially when it doesn’t really matter all that much. Besides, I was drinking coffee and thinking about something else. I was sort of busy mulling over an email I sent to a girl at work the day before and feeling pretty good about it. It was this flirty email where I told her I had a dream about her. And then I told her not to worry because it wasn’t a sex dream – I said, don’t go getting a big head or anything because it wasn’t that kind of dream. I don’t usually dream, but for some reason I had this dream and she was in it. And for some reason I decided I should write her an email and tell her about it. I don’t know this girl all that well and she’s like ten years younger than me, so I wasn’t even sure I should tell her about it, but I was bored so I did. I’m always sort of bored at work. After like twenty minutes she sent me an email back. It was only two sentences long and that's what I was thinking about when I started hearing the conversation between the two old guys next to me. The older guy was wearing a red baseball cap and staring at his coffee cup. He had this metal walker leaning up against the wall and it had tennis balls on the feet – swear to god. This guy at work has the exact same walker – tennis balls and everything – it was given to him as a gag when he turned 40 about a year ago. Now it just sits around and people use it for a laugh every now and then. I started listening to the two guys, but the old guy in the baseball cap, he was hard to understand. He had a scratchy voice and he talked in some sort of whisper - if he talked at all. The whole thing made him sound about dead. The best part about that guy was the way he drank his coffee with both hands. He picked up his cup like a kid or something. I swear, the hat and the way he drank his coffee really made him seem like an eight year old sitting there, but when he talked his voice was so old. I don’t know if the younger guy even noticed, he just kept going on about cars and engines and the good old days and pretty much anything he had on his mind. Talking to old people can be a real chore, but this guy was giving it his best shot. Every once in a while he’d run out of things to say and they’d just sit there looking out the window or at the ground or wherever before the young guy’d think of something and start in again. He’d look up and say something like, “I think the longest trip I’ve taken in a car - we drove to North Dakota years ago. We took my wife’s dad, he’s from there. We drove up through Nebraska and South Dakota and saw a lot of stuff I’ve never seen. Like, we went to the Corn Palace. Have you heard of that? It’s an old building - it’s about 100 years old…”
They went on and on like that, but I sort of went back to thinking about the email and those two sentences and how she must have made some sort of impression – that's one of the things she said in her email. She said, “I must have made some sort of impression.”
I really don’t dream all that often.
“Easy,” the old man said. And that was the first thing I’d heard him say. I don't even think he looked up. He just sat there staring at his coffee cup like he was talking to himself or something.
“Easy?”
“Yeah, brakes are easy.”
And there was more, but I didn’t catch it all. It can be a real pain in the ass, listening to someone else's conversation, especially when it doesn’t really matter all that much. Besides, I was drinking coffee and thinking about something else. I was sort of busy mulling over an email I sent to a girl at work the day before and feeling pretty good about it. It was this flirty email where I told her I had a dream about her. And then I told her not to worry because it wasn’t a sex dream – I said, don’t go getting a big head or anything because it wasn’t that kind of dream. I don’t usually dream, but for some reason I had this dream and she was in it. And for some reason I decided I should write her an email and tell her about it. I don’t know this girl all that well and she’s like ten years younger than me, so I wasn’t even sure I should tell her about it, but I was bored so I did. I’m always sort of bored at work. After like twenty minutes she sent me an email back. It was only two sentences long and that's what I was thinking about when I started hearing the conversation between the two old guys next to me. The older guy was wearing a red baseball cap and staring at his coffee cup. He had this metal walker leaning up against the wall and it had tennis balls on the feet – swear to god. This guy at work has the exact same walker – tennis balls and everything – it was given to him as a gag when he turned 40 about a year ago. Now it just sits around and people use it for a laugh every now and then. I started listening to the two guys, but the old guy in the baseball cap, he was hard to understand. He had a scratchy voice and he talked in some sort of whisper - if he talked at all. The whole thing made him sound about dead. The best part about that guy was the way he drank his coffee with both hands. He picked up his cup like a kid or something. I swear, the hat and the way he drank his coffee really made him seem like an eight year old sitting there, but when he talked his voice was so old. I don’t know if the younger guy even noticed, he just kept going on about cars and engines and the good old days and pretty much anything he had on his mind. Talking to old people can be a real chore, but this guy was giving it his best shot. Every once in a while he’d run out of things to say and they’d just sit there looking out the window or at the ground or wherever before the young guy’d think of something and start in again. He’d look up and say something like, “I think the longest trip I’ve taken in a car - we drove to North Dakota years ago. We took my wife’s dad, he’s from there. We drove up through Nebraska and South Dakota and saw a lot of stuff I’ve never seen. Like, we went to the Corn Palace. Have you heard of that? It’s an old building - it’s about 100 years old…”
They went on and on like that, but I sort of went back to thinking about the email and those two sentences and how she must have made some sort of impression – that's one of the things she said in her email. She said, “I must have made some sort of impression.”
I really don’t dream all that often.
2.3.09
Pencil and Paper
You don’t even know what a goddamn predicate is.
Yeah, but I don’t need to know nothing about no predicates to tell a story, y'know. I mean, I’m not gonna be a fuckin' English teacher. I’m talking about writing down thoughts, y'know. Telling ‘em like the same way you talk to someone in a conversation. Like really talking to someone, but on paper instead of out loud. It’s the same thing, really. It’s the same damn thing.
Same thing, huh? What kinda stories you think you’re gonna write? Like a book?
Well, I don’t know. Guess I was thinking little things mostly. Like the way broken glass shines up off the sidewalk in little flashes when you’re walking - like a bunch of little people taking your picture down there. Or, the way street oil turns into pools of color in the rain. You ever seen that happen? Stuff like that. Hell, I guess anything can be a story if you tell it right. Like if you seen something and that one thing is important to you in such a way – really means something, you know. Even if you don’t know exactly what the meaning is at the time and you write it down and explain it so it means something to someone else when they read it. Well, maybe that’s all it takes.
And you think you can write a whole book about glass on the sidewalk?
No, not a whole book. Like a short story or something. Or even just a few sentences maybe.
You got a typewriter? Even know how to type?
I don’t even think I need one. All's I need is a pencil and paper. You give me that napkin there and a crayon and suddenly I’m a writer. Maybe not Shakespeare or nothing, but he had to start somewhere, right. I mean…
Bullshit, man. You need a typewriter or something. One of those black notebooks? Something if you’re gonna be a writer. You can’t just use a crayon and a goddamn napkin. You’re always pulling this shit. Just last week you sat here at this very table and said to me, ‘I don’t need a car to be a race driver. It’s a state of mind.’ What the fuck was that all about, anyway? A state of mind? Jesus Christ.
Jesus, you don’t have to an asshole. I just meant its some kind of mind thing they’ve got going on out there. It’s not like boxing where you’ve gotta be able to pound the shit outta some guy. You just put your foot to the floor and haul ass while you sit there is all I’m sayin.
Right. Listen, you got something on your mind you gonna write about first?
Well, hell yeah I got something on my mind. I’m gonna write about this.
This here conversation we're having right now? You better use this napkin, then. At least until you get yourself a typewriter... and some typing lessons.
Yeah, but I don’t need to know nothing about no predicates to tell a story, y'know. I mean, I’m not gonna be a fuckin' English teacher. I’m talking about writing down thoughts, y'know. Telling ‘em like the same way you talk to someone in a conversation. Like really talking to someone, but on paper instead of out loud. It’s the same thing, really. It’s the same damn thing.
Same thing, huh? What kinda stories you think you’re gonna write? Like a book?
Well, I don’t know. Guess I was thinking little things mostly. Like the way broken glass shines up off the sidewalk in little flashes when you’re walking - like a bunch of little people taking your picture down there. Or, the way street oil turns into pools of color in the rain. You ever seen that happen? Stuff like that. Hell, I guess anything can be a story if you tell it right. Like if you seen something and that one thing is important to you in such a way – really means something, you know. Even if you don’t know exactly what the meaning is at the time and you write it down and explain it so it means something to someone else when they read it. Well, maybe that’s all it takes.
And you think you can write a whole book about glass on the sidewalk?
No, not a whole book. Like a short story or something. Or even just a few sentences maybe.
You got a typewriter? Even know how to type?
I don’t even think I need one. All's I need is a pencil and paper. You give me that napkin there and a crayon and suddenly I’m a writer. Maybe not Shakespeare or nothing, but he had to start somewhere, right. I mean…
Bullshit, man. You need a typewriter or something. One of those black notebooks? Something if you’re gonna be a writer. You can’t just use a crayon and a goddamn napkin. You’re always pulling this shit. Just last week you sat here at this very table and said to me, ‘I don’t need a car to be a race driver. It’s a state of mind.’ What the fuck was that all about, anyway? A state of mind? Jesus Christ.
Jesus, you don’t have to an asshole. I just meant its some kind of mind thing they’ve got going on out there. It’s not like boxing where you’ve gotta be able to pound the shit outta some guy. You just put your foot to the floor and haul ass while you sit there is all I’m sayin.
Right. Listen, you got something on your mind you gonna write about first?
Well, hell yeah I got something on my mind. I’m gonna write about this.
This here conversation we're having right now? You better use this napkin, then. At least until you get yourself a typewriter... and some typing lessons.
28.2.09
Istanbul
Your phone’s picking up everything tonight. It’s really loud. Did you change a setting or something?
No, it’s just loud up here and a bus went by. Can you hear those guys arguing?
Who?
Two guys just came out of this bar and they’re arguing behind me. I think they’re drunk.
Hello?
Yeah, I’m here. One of the drunk guys just fell over.
Jesus.
Can you hear that? They’re still arguing and one of them's on the ground.
Yeah, is he okay? What are they arguing about?
Dunno. Seems to be. Seems like he’s sort of used to it. Like it happens a lot.
Hey, I booked my flight today.
Flight?
Yeah, for my cruise.
Oh, right.
I got it for one seventy-five. The ticket cost eleven grand, but I was able to use miles, so I only had to pay the fees. Can you believe that? Crazy.
Eleven grand, wow. When do you go?
Yeah, business class. Umm, September 9th. The cruise doesn’t start until the 15th, but it was the only flight I could get. They were seriously booked for some reason. I was going to stay in Paris for a couple of days first, but now I'll be there almost a week.
And where’s the cruise again?
Istanbul. Two weeks.
Nice. What’s in Istanbul?
It’s just one of those places I’ve always wanted to see, you know. Hello?
No, it’s just loud up here and a bus went by. Can you hear those guys arguing?
Who?
Two guys just came out of this bar and they’re arguing behind me. I think they’re drunk.
Hello?
Yeah, I’m here. One of the drunk guys just fell over.
Jesus.
Can you hear that? They’re still arguing and one of them's on the ground.
Yeah, is he okay? What are they arguing about?
Dunno. Seems to be. Seems like he’s sort of used to it. Like it happens a lot.
Hey, I booked my flight today.
Flight?
Yeah, for my cruise.
Oh, right.
I got it for one seventy-five. The ticket cost eleven grand, but I was able to use miles, so I only had to pay the fees. Can you believe that? Crazy.
Eleven grand, wow. When do you go?
Yeah, business class. Umm, September 9th. The cruise doesn’t start until the 15th, but it was the only flight I could get. They were seriously booked for some reason. I was going to stay in Paris for a couple of days first, but now I'll be there almost a week.
And where’s the cruise again?
Istanbul. Two weeks.
Nice. What’s in Istanbul?
It’s just one of those places I’ve always wanted to see, you know. Hello?
Buzzed
I stood reading. He sat ungracefully, hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. From the corner of my eye I saw him look up and down the road before settling on me.
Man, he said, letting out a heavy sigh, I’m glad I remembered my gloves today. I’ve been forgetting these for two weeks straight, but I never realize it until I get here. He paused to consider the gloves and his outstretched fingers, turning one hand slightly. Glad I didn’t forget today. God, it’s cold. He clapped the thick blue gloves together and shifted his stare from me to the ground, elbows still resting on his knees.
Yeah, I said, looking up from my book. It’s been pretty cold lately, but at least the sun's out today.
For a moment, his attention was drawn to his shoes or the ground, but he wasn't finished talking. I closed my book and looked up at the sky and then down the road for the bus. He rocked from foot to foot before looking up again.
Yeah, well, I won’t be forgetting my cap, I can tell you that, he said. My head would freeze in a second. I got my head buzzed yesterday, so if I forget my cap I’ll know right away, that’s for sure. No more hair to keep me warm. He pushed his wool cap up just enough to show a swath of freshly shaved head. See that, he said running a glove over the stubble. It's buzzed clean.
Boy, I said, you weren't kidding.
Did’cha think I was?
No, I guess not, I said, looking down the road again for the bus.
Yeah, he said, I let it grow out all year and then I get it buzzed before summer. Keeps me from sweating like a pig in the heat.
Seems like a good idea, I said.
I got it done over there at Rudy’s on Capitol Hill. They're pretty cheap and I don’t really care who does it. A buzz is a buzz, right. So, it’s not like it makes any difference.
That’s true, I said.
He looked past me and I turned as the bus pulled up.
Man, he said, letting out a heavy sigh, I’m glad I remembered my gloves today. I’ve been forgetting these for two weeks straight, but I never realize it until I get here. He paused to consider the gloves and his outstretched fingers, turning one hand slightly. Glad I didn’t forget today. God, it’s cold. He clapped the thick blue gloves together and shifted his stare from me to the ground, elbows still resting on his knees.
Yeah, I said, looking up from my book. It’s been pretty cold lately, but at least the sun's out today.
For a moment, his attention was drawn to his shoes or the ground, but he wasn't finished talking. I closed my book and looked up at the sky and then down the road for the bus. He rocked from foot to foot before looking up again.
Yeah, well, I won’t be forgetting my cap, I can tell you that, he said. My head would freeze in a second. I got my head buzzed yesterday, so if I forget my cap I’ll know right away, that’s for sure. No more hair to keep me warm. He pushed his wool cap up just enough to show a swath of freshly shaved head. See that, he said running a glove over the stubble. It's buzzed clean.
Boy, I said, you weren't kidding.
Did’cha think I was?
No, I guess not, I said, looking down the road again for the bus.
Yeah, he said, I let it grow out all year and then I get it buzzed before summer. Keeps me from sweating like a pig in the heat.
Seems like a good idea, I said.
I got it done over there at Rudy’s on Capitol Hill. They're pretty cheap and I don’t really care who does it. A buzz is a buzz, right. So, it’s not like it makes any difference.
That’s true, I said.
He looked past me and I turned as the bus pulled up.
12.2.09
3.2.09
31.1.09
30.1.09
Living the Wild, Wild Life
I sang karaoke this evening at a place called the Lava Lounge or something similar. One song. You don’t know me, so you can’t really appreciate the significance of the whole deal, but I’m really a pretty shy guy, so me up in front of a bunch of coworkers, doing my best to sound like David Byrne is sort of a big deal... at least, to me. It’s one of those things where I start telling myself about how I’ll be wishing I’d given it a shot someday when I’m laying on my death-bed. I can be sort of dramatic like that – picturing myself in some hospital room, staring out the window and wondering why I didn’t just swallow my pride and give karaoke a shot that night at the Lava Lounge. Well, I did give it a shot, so now I can spend those hypothetical last days of mine wondering what exactly it was making me think I should get up on stage in front of a bunch of coworkers and sing, Wild, Wild Life.
Later I took some pretty fun pictures, though.
Later I took some pretty fun pictures, though.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)