Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
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"I have this idea. What if I took the laziest Green Day song, slowed it down to lullaby speed, and played it on mandolin with wind chime percussion?"
-- some soft voiced white girl at a coffee house who sold their CD to our Lyft driver
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I know I'm getting old because people are posting pictures of my favorite "underground" pop punk bands from my twenties, and every member looks like either Kenny Rogers or Willie Nelson.
I don't take Lyfts too often. I'm not made of other people's money. But while my usual ride is away, I've been using them for rides to work. Today, for the first time in six years of using the service, I got the same driver. And it's a driver I had last week, who I almost posted about because of his aggressively playing white 70s singer songwriters.
He's got a Beach Boys fan vibe. Like his favorite Beach Boy is probably Mike Love. One of Those People. Nothing to speak of this week but last week, as we passed my old street in Somerville, he slowed down to tell a Cigarette Smoking Youth that his car was parked in front of a hydrant. Cigarette Smoking Youth, as was predestined, floated the Cigarette out of his mouth to sneer "Go fuck yourself." "Would if I could, man. Would if I could." Beach Boy Fan said before slowly pulling away, and turning up the volume on Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog. Occasional Customer Mostly Loiterer walks into the store, not wearing a mask.
Me: Hey. We're still requiring masks. Him: I don't have one. Me: But you know we require masks. I told you yesterday. Him: I don't have one. Me: You can't come in without one. Sorry. Him: Can I have one of the store's? Me: No. I gave you one yesterday, and you just took it and walked out. That was the lastone. What did you do with it? Him: I needed it to get into another store. I shrug. Him: So you're not going to give me one? Me: I don't have one. You took the last one yesterday. Him: Can you get more? Me: Sure. Do you want to go pick up a pack for me? I'm here by myself so I can't go anywhere. Him: I'll watch the store for you. Me: Thanks, but no. He leaves without buying anything. Just like he did yesterday. My Boss, Literal Statement: "Wow. The roads look clear, we should actually make it in early today. Should we stop for bagels?"
My Boss, English Translation: "Wow. There is very little traffic. We should make it to the store early. How can I make us late?" Years ago, I ordered a book from a publisher I like. And they very nicely gifted me a copy of another poet's book.
I didn't read it. Because I thought I remembered that, once, that poet and I had each gotten a lift home from another poet. My house was first, and I got out, and went in to my poet-filled apartment. I noticed that the car filled with other poets in it hadn't left my driveway, so I looked out the window and saw a poet pissing on my steps. For no reason. We had no beef. But we had a bathroom. A bathroom I would have been happy to let him piss in, provided he at least aimed towards the toilet. But, no, this fucker had pissed on the steps to my apartment. Today, I picked up the book, and started to flip through it, and thought "Oh no. This is not the same poet At All. I have made a mistake. I like these poems and this person isn't even from Boston. I'm a dick." Then I read further and this poet Was From Boston for a while, and they totally definitely absolutely pissed on my steps for no reason. But their poetry is pretty good. And I wonder if they threw in the free copy of their book as a weird but welcome apology. |
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