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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Out on Thursday, on my way to the Library, and, while standing and having a cigarette outside before entering whom should I encounter...
...but "Tat". I'll call him Tat because of his very obvious Tattoos. He's an old regular from the restaurant, super-nice guy, and we're talking briefly, he's working a job, just on his way to lunch, maybe I should come along? He'll buy...
...and I'm in the process of politely declining, don't care to be a bother, have work to do, bleah bleah bleah when he tells me it's at the Soup Kitchen. You know, the place above where I volunteer..
Now I'm in. Pride be damned, there's a reason it's a deadly sin, I'm in, like Flynn, I've never gone, I've never been, but - lets see where my labors are going...
So, first, a varied buffet of sorts, served up by volunteers, of whom there's a host upstairs I've never met.
It's busy, and I know quite a few of the people, it's busy, maybe 70, 100 people, there's the the Pastor that runs the Charity and another one that assists, and there's some of the street people and a host of other people that I know to see but not so much to speak to.
The "Church", if I can call it that, a large room that weekdays is the soup kitchen and on week-ends is home to the 'congregation', but - we'll come back to that.
So, catch up with Tat, move it from acquaintance into friendship, and I discover that his Tats are actually spiritual sigil's representing his belief in Christ...
OK.
OK.
The hook is set, and - clearly, I have my own interpretations, understandings of it all, remedial at best and certainly not worth sharing, it's far more interesting to hear what other people think...
And soon we're sitting with Pastor.... and Tat is catching me up and I'm asking about his ex and his kids and getting all this, and discovering a lot about JC that I never new, for example that Black Sabbath really weren't a bad band, I mean, read their lyrics (and here he's pulling some up on his phone) and wow- what do you know? I should pick up some of their records...
...and so forth, discovering that Tat knows various of the other customers from the restaurant, the Sunday Crowd, and that Tat has the gift of prophecy and can channel the Holy Ghost and that cute so and so is pretty good at speaking in tongues...
...and we're discovering a surprising number of people we have in common, mutual acquaintances, he knows Dan from the restaurant, Dan's been a good friend to him, and so on and so forth...
Meanwhile I'm trying to get a handle.
Discover that Tat knows so and so, great customer from the restaurant, and that - while I knew that So and So went to Church I'm discovering that Tat goes as well, and that - believe it or not...
...and wow, how long have I worked under this rabbit hole without ever suspecting it existed...
...it soon becomes apparent that the Pastor is the sanest one in all of Christendom....until he speaks, but for the moment he's largely silent, working off his charismatic reputation...
This is apparently one of the town's better kept secrets, although I've clearly known about it all along, it attracts a wide variety of the towns non-homeless and relatively normal people...I've heard from girls who've told me of guys wanting to take them there on a first or second date, and damn, I'm jealous, I've always prided myself on the low bar I've set for dating but apparently I can limbo down a little further, adapt a little better to the Kootenay life...
And so it goes, and I'm glad of the society, glad to know everyone a little bit better, and - "hey - there's a non-denominational worship tomorrow night are you going to come out?"..."of course, why would I miss it...." and this question will answer itself in another post...
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And for some reason I just remembered him. Someone I worked with 20 odd years ago.
An ass, really, tall - apparently good looking (the girls liked him) - and - well, the stories tell themselves.
Derren, spelled with 2 e's, I'm not certain it wasn't an affectation, or Derwood as I'd call him but you had to be careful he could be a bit "touchy". In your face sort-of touchy.
His story, his go-to story was about how he was on a midget hockey team *(he's in his 30's) and there was a guy there he didn't like. Cock of the Walk. A little too arrogant for Derren's taste. Nobody liked him.
This is a common thing in these stories, we justify our actions by saying "nobody liked him", and this, because there's no way anyone can check, it's a sphere of acquaintance we have no access to, we trust in the narrator.
I don't think I trusted Derren.
Anyways, they're going out of town to play at an overnight tournament and Derren had had enough of him. Was going to teach him a lesson, if you know what I mean.
So he took a shit in a zip-lock bag and froze it, and when they were getting on the bus dumped the frozen shit in his hockey bag.
By the time they got to the tournament and unpacked the shit was fully thawed. Messy.
Derren's laughing, boy, that sure shut him up!
And that's how Derren taught him a lesson.
***
Now Derren had grabbed the bus-boy, young, impressionable, nice kid. And too young to know any better and maybe, just maybe he was believing the stuff Derren was telling him.
Derren was telling him how Humble he was. I mean, laying it on thick; "You will never meet anyone humbler than I" sort of stuff, this after yet another "He Shoots - He Scores" saved the game sort of story, and he's repeating it over and over until - finally - I've had enough.
I interrupt. "I don't think 'humble' means what you think it means" I tell Derren, bus boy overhearing. "Humble people don't go around telling people how humble they are...".
Derren was unprepared for this. He was never prepared for any sort of battle of wits, and resented any correction. He drew himself up to full height, there was gonna be a hockey brawl, only another waiter - Dion, was nearby and laughing. And while he hated me he looked up to Dion and so my life was saved for another day...
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Personally, I've had enough of the guy, and it's small consolation that like Trump he's only a couple of years tops from imploding -
Here's Slates Take: Slate on Musk: https://slate.com/technology/2023/01/elon-musk-new-billionaire-rule.html?utm_source=digg
I'd just say he's a fucking idiot and a jackass and be done with it.
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And, the road to hell paved with good intentions and all of the people I didn't contact this holiday season.
You know who.
Dag, into the thrift shop, railing at M***, then me. Her daughter. It's not her daughter, it's merely the bringing of bad tidings, of which her daughter has the misfortune to be the bearer.
You see, Dag, being deprived of her drivers license due to crimes against humanity, is now house-bound in Procter.
Talking to her, now 10, 12 years younger than when I talked to her last, she's regressing, it's not obvious, she's plausible in all other respects, but this backwards-aging, and were I better acquainted with her I would notice the others, I'm not so and so it flies. Just this, her age, getting younger every time we meet.
And I still haven't made it up to see Stormy. Which I'd better see to quick or I'll be going to hell...
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And, volunteering, back at the thrift shop. I had cleared the area - M***'s area, made it to the back wall, had my picture taken and it was distributed to the staff as proof that it could be done.
This was while M*** was away. M*** got back a few weeks ago, and offered dim congratulations on my 2 week success that undermined his 5 years of constant, 5 days a week labor...
I knew it would be this way. And, whether contrite or infected with my Zen enthusiasm he even cleaned up his shrine, all into a tub.
But - now I'm noticing, his Shrine is being rebuilt. A new one, from new donations and - to him (and occasionally me) - filled with items he(or I) find curious.
This is it at the moment:
You get it. Kitsch.
And - his area - as I'm often in when he isn't - has been sealed with red tape, like a crime scene, none shall pass, and I'm directed instead to other departments that have need of my skills.
He's rebuilding the nest. He can't help it. It's in his blood. Just as much as it's in my blood to destroy it.
I'm thinking at the moment jewelry could use my attention. I have yet to find a single interesting watch, and would be most curious to go through the tubs - and tubs - of bad plastic/Bakelite/gold plate/silver alloy jewelry and see if maybe, just maybe, there's something of interest.
Pretty sure there isn't, but pretty sure M*** is done working with me for a bit and so time to diversify and find other ways to keep productive and busy...