On Being A Responsible Adult

July 7, 2011 at 12:21 pm (Cussed Dumbers, Sweet sticky things)

A month ago, I e-mailed Master P, requesting he NOT schedule me on two particular days off. I’d finally had confirmation that Mizelle was coming to Portland; I wanted an open calendar. Simple enough, right?


It has been a weird work week. With 4th of July and the Blues Festival, (AKA The Shitfaced White People’s Convention) the week got off to a rockin’ start and hasn’t let up. The week flew by, and it seemed almost a crime that I’d had it so easy.

Don’t get too comfortable. My phone went bzzzt. Text message. Could it be Clairissa? I’d been waiting with bated breath to hear from her, it had been almost a week. I was terrified I’d done something to upset her, or that our recent activities were too much. If she were male, I’d be having all kinds of issues, so it seemed logical that she might be having trouble coming to grips with certain hetero activities. I was kicking myself right and left, hoping I hadn’t poisoned our friendship. Was it her?

Nope. Dr T. “Problems. Master P scheduled your replacement all right. At two different stores. Is there any way you can work tomorrow? I can get you off Saturday?”

I’d been wanting to hear that last sentence all week. Just not from him.

I exited the bus downtown and walked to the Waterfront Store. Dr T and Dannyboy were changing shifts. Dr T apologized, and understood if I wanted to decline. I considered it, but knew what would happen if I didn’t work. Dr T would have to work from 5:45 AM to 12:15 AM. Eighteen and one-half hours. While his paycheck would look spectacular, I couldn’t do that to him.

“Give me a minute?” I checked e-mails. No word from Mizelle or Clairissa. (Pout.) “Okay, I’ll do it, as long as I get to work the Nightclub Store. I want air-conditioning and internet if I’m gonna disrupt date-week.”

Dr T was cool with that. I called and gave the Tasmanian Pitbull the news. She gets to close the Waterfront Store. She sounded like she wanted to keel me, but she was okay with it.

I went off to work, giddy with anticipation at seeing my old friend, and maybe playing with my new special friend. Uncle Cliffy was in a good mood, I turned up the radio. Friday just became Thursday, but no biggie. I hoped Mizelle would understand. She could still hang out at the house, chill with my sister and niece, watch movies. We’d just start the party a bit later…

About 6 PM, the store started feeling sticky. It was 87 degrees outside, was the A/C working properly? Hmm…

At 7 PM, Saucy Alfredo came to give my lunch break. I’m into overtime hours, so I have to take a lunch. I locked my backpack, hid everything edible, counted my stack of twenties, and left for a bit.

I returned an hour later. “How was lunch?” Alfredo giggled.

“Fuckin’ waste of an hour I’ll never get back.” I was in no mood, and it was now probably 90 degrees inside.

Alfredo had just finished making some funky concoction in the microwave involving noodles, corn and a tomatoey substance. With that and his Ass Body Spray, the smell was overwhelming. He threw a plastic bag over it and took it to Waterfront.

Work became an endurance test. My head began aching about 9 PM. I consumed a 24-ounce cup of ice water every half-hour. The ice would melt before I could finish it. I called the Waterfront and asked that Alfredo bring the little turbo fan to me. It made the air move, which made things barely tolerable.

The candy took a hit. Mr Goodbar now has erectile dysfunction. Every person that entered the store uttered some variation of “HOLY FUCK it’s hot in here!”

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

I wasted no time leaving work. I sat at the bus stop for a half-hour, enjoying the midnight air. I figured if Uncle Cliffy had to work in the heat all day, it would be fixed by the time I got there.

About 3 AM, sitting home in front of the fan in my cool, cool room, I noticed a (1) in my e-mail inbox.


“Hey baby, phone been off since Saturday, going crazy catching up. Loved your letters, and love you. See you soon?”

I will spare you the mushy details, but I’d suggested a rendezvous early Thursday before Mizelle arrived. (Strike when the opportunity arises, ahem.) That was before I’d been drafted to work.

“Hey buddy! couldn’t sleep after the day I had. Could totally hook you up with a totally raunchy-speedy-sleazy-but superior quickie at noon today. (Thursday)”

Dammit! I had to politely decline, but spared no energy requesting a raincheck. If I ever want something to happen, just agree to work on a day off…

Mizelle woke me promptly at 11 AM. I gave her the news.

“That’s okay, I’ll stay here one more night, and just show up at your house in the morning.”

A text from Dr T instructed me to “wear an air-conditioned jock strap. A/C still not working.”

Well, shit. Wonder if the Tasmanian Pitbull wants to trade?

She’d probably keel me if I asked…

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