Deja Vu All Over again

September 20, 2017 at 11:11 am (On the road again..., Waxing Nostalgic)

Country Bumpkin

I love to drive. I started at age twelve by taking laps of the back yard in a 1970 Toyota Corona. I learned to drive a stick (three-on-the-tree) in a 1964 Ford F-100 half-ton pickup. When I turned fifteen and got my permit, I took my driver-licensed, stroke-paralyzed Dad along to keep it quasi-legal, and we drove and drove. This last weekend has been reminding me of that.

Mizelle has been using me… as a means of getting her vehicles home to middle-Washington. Work hours and childcare complicate matters, but I am more than willing to help.

It’s like being on vacation!

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Dairies and Berries

September 15, 2017 at 11:23 am (Cosmic Encounters, On the road again...)

Mizelle was lighting up my phone. “Hi there!”

“Well, hello sir!” she replied. After exchanging pleasantries, she got down to business. “Want to do me a favor?”

“Sure. Whatcha want?’ Her favors aren’t usually too annoying.

“I’m buying a truck out in Scappoose, and need someone to drive it back. You game?”

“Of course I am!”

And so began my summer vacation.

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From Prettybird to Jailbird

August 11, 2017 at 10:29 am (Sweet sticky things, That's not funny...)

Oh morning, why hast thou forsaken me?

Behind the Fence

I haven’t been around much. Well, haven’t been here. Work has kept me busy, and I have been trying to keep it together. Cat-sitting, yard work, I been truckin’. The weather has been hot and sticky, and the air is worse than Beijing’s. I’ve been having trouble breathing, and even walking to the MAX takes it out of me. God please make it rain.

And then there’s Rain. She’s in jail, and I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

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Bishop Takes Night: Check!

July 4, 2017 at 11:59 am (Cosmic Encounters, Waxing Nostalgic)

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival

I am a Portlander through and through. Though I was raised in Sandy, Oregon I was born in Portland, and the minute I was allowed to ride the bus by myself I was all over the city, investigating, pretending to be a cop or a criminal or wherever my imagination (and TriMet) would take me. Much like these days, I’d rather be out walking around, soaking up atmosphere and enjoying my weird city.

Back then, there was a thing called Neighborfair. It was an end-of-summer day-long concert, and a good reason to load up on cheap wine and head for the park. When I heard there was going to be a blues festival?

I was down there waiting when the opening act took the stage.

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My Civic Doody

June 30, 2017 at 10:30 am (Cosmic Encounters, Cussed Dumbers)

Every two years, near Mizelle’s birthday, I get called for jury duty. It’s that time again.

I tried to get out of it in previous years, but they are tenacious. (“Okay, then when can you serve…?”) Jury duty fell on my days off, so might as well get it over with.

At the same time, Dizzy was leaving town, and needed a cat-sitter. Since Naomi and I get along famously, (and I get along with Dizzy okay) she asked if I would peek in on kitty, make sure she’s fed, didn’t poop in the sink, etc…

For my troubles? Use of a downtown loft…

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A Bucketful of Pleasantries

June 13, 2017 at 11:00 am (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly, That's not funny...)

People often ask how I can tolerate dealing with the public. Sometimes I wonder myself.

Portland’s Rose Festival is coming to an end. It’s the store’s busiest time of the year. We get tons of business from the parades, festivals and conventions. We go out of our way to be accommodating, but we never seem to succeed.

Last night, my night off, I get a call from Voorhees. He’s mid-shift at the Mothership. Usually he texts me. A phone call provides a sense of urgency, so I answer. “Whazzup?”

“Dude, I just had a guy pull a knife on me because I told him to turn his radio down. He woulda cut me if I hadn’t locked him out. Fortunately I had my keys out. I’m waiting on Southie or Grinder to come open up. I am so done with this place.”

He had locked the door, and was pacing around inside. He’d achieved his threshold of madness.

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Sinking the Leader Ship

June 1, 2017 at 9:11 am (Cussed Dumbers)

I’m a pretty straight-up guy. I will tell you honestly what’s going on, sometimes painfully so. I understand discretion, and omitting details to spare feelings etc… But I’m not a big fan of deception, and really hate being lied to.

So when I have to play games with a supervisor, it gets on my nerves.

I’ve known Uncle Cliffy for fifteen years. We worked together at the store I worked at before Master P’s. I recommended him, vouched for him, even applauded as he passed me in the ranks to become my supervisor. He claims we are friends, so it’s nice to have friends at the top, right?

With friends like these…

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Out In The Country

May 31, 2017 at 11:17 am (Cosmic Encounters, On the road again..., Sweet sticky things)

After a fifty-hour work week, lots of work drama, and a phone that won’t stop ringing, I needed a respite.

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Filthy Fake Lucre!

May 14, 2017 at 6:25 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Durability Issue

Okay, here’s your mystery question: What’s that in the ashtray?

It’s not a pile of crack, or any drug. (It may have been used in an attempt to procure drugs, though.) It used to be light green. It used to look like money, because it was.

Counterfeit money.

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Pillaged!

May 11, 2017 at 11:11 am (Cussed Dumbers, That's not funny...)

I’ve gone on about storing my stuff at work. I have a dressy shirt I wear while on shift, its pockets hold my phone and spare store key. (It’s nice to be able to lock up at a second’s notice, without my key being locked in the office, or having to go to my jacket pocket across the room.) A big enough shirt it takes up most of the room in my travel bag, plus a hoodie, reading material, and various other necessities to get through the night, and I’d be weighed down like a bag lady. So I find a non-obtrusive spot to hide my pile of work-junk.

I’ve told the story of how Grinder wanted to throw my stuff away. I’ve gone on about Eva Braun insisting I move my storage area to another store. I’ve been cooperative, done what asked, and complied with all their various requests. Uncle Cliffy, manager of the Waterfront Store, has no issue with me using a closet-sized spot in the very-back of the office. It’s like it was made for me. It was nicknamed the Wilson Water Closet, because a former employee used to leave Big Gulps of pee back there, instead of locking up and going to the bathroom. The peeing has stopped, (no evidence anyway 🙂 ) No more pee-cups, it’s a storage area for brown bags and cash register tape.

When I came in to drop off my work shirt, and found my area completely empty? As the kids say, I about lost my shit…

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