Black Sabbatical

September 18, 2014 at 10:31 am (Cussed Dumbers, The Easy Chair)

potatohead wigIt’s been a few months since I’ve been a regular here. I’ve missed writing. I still create in my head, while other forms of social media have distracted me and fed the creative brain. I love Twitter, even if it’s turning into a non-stop barrage of ads and nonsense. I love the concept of micro-blogging, and the immediacy of news, if you know who to follow.

But I need to pop the ol’ diary open, and put down more thoughts. It’s been a good if not great year, and I want to remember the happier times…

Rain is asleep in my single bed at noon. I was there until a minute ago, after a fifteen-hour nap. Sounds leisurely, but it was needed. I’ve been working a lot.

When the boss rearranged the managerial situation at work, people with more seniority were given my shifts. Dr T ended up running the Nightclub store, and the Tasmanian Pitbull worked the Waterfront, leaving me to fill in wherever. It must have been a scheduling nightmare for the bosses; they assigned employee-scheduling to one of the new managers. Initiation!

Except she rose to the occasion. She would text me, “How about this?” and then put me there. For a couple weeks during the summer she even created a position for me to fill three days a week. It was a veritable cornucopia of places, dates and times, but I showed up with a smile, and all went well. As the days went by, I became known to be willing to pick up odd shifts at a moment’s notice. Bosses love that.

So, when the Tasmanian Pitbull went to Greece for six weeks, guess who was nominated to work her shifts? It wasn’t as easy as it sounds. The Waterfront Store has been a target of street thieves for ages, and it hadn’t gotten better. I rolled up my sleeves, sharpened my pencil, and fifteen pages of notes later I am ready to indict a pack of little bastard street hoodlums. More on this as it develops.

The capper? This is Dr T’s last week. He’s made Social Security his bitch, and he’s moved out of downtown, closer to my blue-collar neighborhood. He’s on my bus line, and signs are pointing that I will replace him for most nights at the Nightclub Store. It’s my old stomping grounds, and I’ve missed my happy crackheads.

Every night, I will get to wish pleasant dreams to Crazy Cat Woman Carol. Just like old times.

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