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On Sunday, the Poetry Slam, moved indoors, into the old used bookstore on Baker, the room is full. I'm late and so have to sit close to the front beside an older hippy. Carpet Vest guy isn't here, perhaps it's too far from his home under the bridge, or, as likely he's picked up with winter approaching and found himself better digs.
The standard readers, with an emphasis tonight on the older readers. Beside me the older hippy gets on the sign-up sheet, he'll be reading, not poetry, but a chapter from his upcoming book on his life in a commune...
When he gets up and begins reading it's clear it's not what should be read here, much like an agricultural report or dry biographical details of someone you have no interest in whatsoever. He's reading to us from Chapter 73 of his untitled Opus, in which he details the commune experience, "100 elders and 200 children, we worked 3 days on, 3 days off, except for the summer solstice....we talked about the Vedas and the Upanishads...we took turns minding the children..."
After about 5 minutes the host/mediator gently tries to cut him off...it's only supposed to be 3 minutes. "Almost done..." he barks, he's got to get this read....after another minute the bell rings, and he barks again "I'M NOT DONE YET!" as if he's paid for the time, and then, swearing at the hostess, the audience in general, he's lost his temper and he's as much swearing at himself for tipping his hand, all of this, and he storms out of the crowded bookstore. Your classic bad sport, your older hippie-asshole who's mastered the theory of some spiritual practice or another, but not the application, and if this reading was intended to reach or convert any new disciples it failed miserably. His was a heartfelt entitlement and arrogance, the first example I've seen at one of these readings.
It will be an interesting winter...
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I'd almost forgotten, missed it, but - an appointment with the dentist. A cleaning, long, long overdue.
How bad can it be, given everything else I've been through?
Pretty fucking bad. 2 Hours in the chair, alternately clutching my fists, the water jets, high pitched whine, vibration, not so much pain as immense discomfort. Little flashes of pain, where the water travels up a nerve or hits something just right. After an hour of this I'm done, but she isn't. Now for the manual tooth-scraping of plaque, build-up, tarter, and this for another hour, and I'm so done, past done, it's exhausting this, hours of edge-of-your seat discomfort, brightened only by the "I knew it" flashes of pain, fucking hell, she's battling every surviving tooth in my mouth. At the two-hour mark my time is up, she estimates another hour to go - fucking bloody hell, then brightly suggests an appointment the next day - and it's "NONONO", I need fucking time to recover, go home, watch "Marathon Man" and "Little Shop of Horrors" and "Brazil", realize how lucky I have it, only, only, I'm not feeling so lucky...
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Sunday, thumb out, get a ride from an American in a working vehicle who takes me right to works door.
Early. Not even 10:00. It says something about the area when hitchhiking is a more reliable form of transport than driving.
Well, maybe it says something about what I drive as well...
Anyways, homeless girl, still in her car on the ferry landing - what, 3 weeks now?
The day spent cleaning, organizing the cooler. The kitchen cooks up the last of the chicken wings and dry ribs, drop them off to homeless and she's grateful.
I'm surprised, I'd tried a few, they were - to put it generously, disgusting, but even disgusting tastes good if you're hungry enough.
Work wraps around 3:30, all cleaning is done. Or as much as is going to be done.
Now, thumb out to get back to Nelson, but, what's the rush? I've no dinner waiting for me and so I offer homeless, hungry, dinner, if she'll drive.
Unsurprisingly she's down. Only - only - her car won't start. Battery is dead. And so after another hour of fucking around and her apologizing for the state of her car/home (and - she doesn't understand - but she's apologizing to me - TO ME! which is hilarious, if she'd ever looked into my jeep....).
Eventually we make it. Dinner, glass of wine, light conversation as to her circumstances, books, films. Her taste in books, not so good, largely salvaged from the free piles, but she proves surprisingly film literate, and so we compare notes on a few favorites.
You can tell, she's glad to get out of her head. I know the feeling, it's not always a welcoming place.
She has advice about housing as well, to get into stepping-stones, they'll move me into the North-Shore Inn, cheap rent...
This is not an option, but it is good to know there are resources.
And my good deed done I buy her a mickey, me a mickey, pay for gas and that's the end of the restaurant, the end of our date, probably I should have invited her back to the jeep, only it's a mess, and, really, there's a special hell for those that prey on vulnerable women and so now it's back to the real world of 100 things too long postponed and overlooked. The winter should be busy.
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The last few days at the restaurant pass, cards from customers wishing you the best, Friday, Saturday, Sunday pass and then it's' done. Stupid tips, even to these the end of days.
Throw away my shoes, 2 pairs this season, from new to split through the soles, throw away shirts that saw second and third lives, should have been thrown away weeks, months before. Pack up your ties and waistcoats, load up the jeep, return to Nelson. The dire wobble of the front tire, held on by 2 lug nuts, this will be it's final run.
Now for the big unpack, resort, laundry and begin in earnest to try and find a place to live.
***
The restaurant, normal operations, is done, but there is still the clusterfuck of cleaning to be addressed.
Return on Wednesday to find out there were no plans to clean, this is it, a ton of work left to be done to close the place down properly, put it to sleep for the season, but everyone is already madly off in their own directions. Will return on Friday to finish this off, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, probably into next week, all this postponing work just drags the season out, but it's over.
Sleep, Wednesday night, I have dreams of girls with full breasts and plump asses, the first time in quite a while my mind has been a friendly place...
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Another Poster, there's so many alternative business models out here it boggles the brain. This one is a little more creative, I should meet her
Link: https://www.lovesshaman.com/
