Duty Calls

April 27, 2016 at 11:20 am (Cussed Dumbers)

Salmon St FountainI remember when weekends meant the drinking started Thursday, the acid got dropped on Friday. (After work.) Saturday you drank yourself down from Friday night, and Sunday you slept all day so you could string two sentences together on Monday.

Times have changed.

I started my three-day weekend Sunday morning bright and early. (10 AM is hella early in my world.) I tossed laundry into the granny cart and headed for the laundromat. A touch of morphine washed down with vitamin water added color to the sky and spring to my step. I like to time my laundry so I have the place to myself. If you want to do laundry in solitude, Sundays are not that time. Every single non-Christian male is at the laundromat, warshing their tighty-whities. Note to self: Wait until Monday or Tuesday next time.

There were lots of home projects to take care of. Paperwork, home-improvement loans, yard work, room cleaning. I did it all. It’s rare I finish the weekend with a sense of accomplishment. While things aren’t finished yet, they are a work in progress.

As I rode the bus to the dispensary, my phone buzzed. “Hello, PUCKER! I miss you.” It was Rain. I was wondering how long it would take.

She’s been living across town, building a new nest. She’d texted a while back about one of her ex’s being back in her life. I gave her space, deciding to let her get ahold of me instead of always being the one who calls/texts/shows up. It took three days.

I texted back, “It’s been forever since we did lunch. Wanna?”

“Come on!”

For those of you who haven’t figured it out, when Rain and I have lunch there is little nutrition and lots of eating…

I buzzed the door, she let me inside. I watched TV while she puttered, cleaning her house for the umpteenth time that day. Later, her phone rang. Salty wanted to come by. I got dressed and passed a joint to Rain. “Here, babe. Smoke this later and your room will smell like me.”

I had just missed the trolley, so I walked from Slabtown to The Pearl. Soon I was passing the Waterfront Store, so I poked my head in. Festus was reading a book.

“Howdy! Just heading for home, thought I’d peek in.”

I noticed a shifty looking older gentleman coming from the area of the beer and wine. “Too expensive for me!” he announced as he gave me a sidelong glance. Festus gave him the heat-to-toe scan, but could see nothing jutting out at odd angles. I followed him to the door, and watched as he headed down the sidewalk. As he got to the corner, he looked back to see if anyone was following. Gotcha!

I walked to the corner, came up upon said older gentleman hiding a 16 oz can of Coors in his back pocket. The other was under his jacket.

“You shoulda paid for that,” I told him.

“I just got out of jail, I have no money.”

“That’s not an excuse to steal. You should have paid for that.” I walked back to the store, went inside, and went to the cooler. There was the six-pack, minus two cans. I took it to the sales counter.

“I looked him up and down, didn’t see anything!”

I went to the door, just in time to see one of the Clean & Safe kids on a bike. I flagged her down. “Got a ROC for you, beer thief on the corner.” (ROC is Report of Open Container.)

“Sweet! Be right back!” She rode to the corner. I watched the register while Festus went outside to deal with the paperwork.

They all walked back to the store. Festus told the thief, “Stand just inside the door and wait, please.” Surprisingly, the thief complied. Most shoplifters would be miles down the road by now.

A Portland Police officer on a bicycle took a report, and wrote a citation. Festus 86ed the shoplifter, twice. Once in front of Clean & Safe, once in front of the police officer. Festus will get a subpoena, Art East will have to spend half an hour finding the event on videotape, and someone will have to go to court. Although I am the one who witnessed the theft, Festus will get the glory.

And the subpoenas.

I did well for not doing much. Now it’s Wednesday, Monday morning in my world. I’ve been productive so far, gonna keep it rolling when I get to work. I have a new nemesis. (Hi, Uncle Cliffy!) He’s been shit-talking me to anyone who will listen. Sadly for him, the people he’s telling things to know better. And those who don’t will figure it out.

Taking the high-road-to-nosebleeds. Lead by example.

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!

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