Warren Ellis, �Transmetropolitan: Dirge�
All right, enough with the mopey entries! I really hated to do that last one, because those were feelings from way back in September. I knew I was going to have to write about them, as the book inspired such strong, specific emotions, but had no idea that it would take so long to write about them. I �m feeling much better now.
Why?
Since you asked, I got back from California at the tail end of November, and promptly went into work with The Company. As my shift was ending, I called the manager into the stock room to have a little chat.
�You know the problems I�ve been dealing with in regard to my father�s ill health,� I began. �And you know that I�ve been working three additional jobs besides this one, as well as attending Graduate courses at the university. Well, the other day my dad called me, needing a ride to the hospital. I happened to be home at the time, but I was so exhausted, I slept through the phone ringing. Obviously, I�m no good to him if I�m never available.�
She knew what was coming, and seemed sympathetic. It still didn�t stop her from trying to talk me out of leaving, however.
�Well, you know,� she said, �if you like, we could put you on minimal shifts, like once a week until things even out...�
�Well,� I said, �I was thinking about that, but in figuring which jobs I have, this is the one where I work the most hours and get the least amount of money...�
�Yeah, but your review would come up at the end of January, and we usually give employees a raise if they have a good standing with the company.� (Not in bold, because she didn�t use it as a pseudonym � that�s what she actually referred to the place as).
�How much of a raise?�
�Um... it depends...�
�Ok, that means not a lot,� I said. �But that�s really not the issue. I think the thing that really sealed my decision was that I�m not really comfortable with your discriminatory policies regarding religion.�
Her jaw dropped open a little. The easiest way to freak a manager out in a corporate environment is to say the words, �discriminatory policies.� Her brow furrowed, waiting for me to expound upon my statement.
�It says in your handbook,� I continued, �that employees may not wear any apparel, jewelry, or tattoos featuring inverted crosses, pentagrams, or any other sign or symbol which could be construed as �satanic.� That�s discriminatory. Because, you know � Hail Satan.�
She attempted to laugh it off, expecting me to join her. My face remained cold and impassive, even questioning as to why she thought this was funny.
She stopped laughing.
And just to be clear, no, I am not some sort of Satan underling. Seeing as I don�t believe in a god, it would be pretty silly to believe in the antithesis. To borrow a comment from Klugarsh, I have a triple-digit IQ, so I don�t have a particular need to have faith in either. Or to borrow a quote from the 80s hardcore band called Th� Inbred, �You need someone to make decisions for you/Worship is the same, no matter who you bow to/You can�t have one without the other/Flip sides of the coin but both are masters.�
But man, it was fun to make them squirm as they wondered if I had a legitimate grievance.
They told me to write out my notification for quitting, and my letter of resignation was written like a Dear John breakup letter, saying I thought it was time we saw other employers and employees. I gave them two weeks� notice, though I said I would appreciate it if they kept my hours to the absolute minimum.
Which, to their credit, they did. I was scheduled for two shifts during that time, only one of those landed on Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.
The busiest shopping day of the year.
It went fine. Yes, it was busy, but when it�s busy at least I can concentrate on working at the register instead of constantly refolding shirts like an ADD victim, counting the merchandise that would bug people I know for selling them here. Klugash? There�s a Bloodsucking Freaks shirt, as well as Re-animator. Arlette? You know that Zombie shirt? Yeah. Julia? Invader Zim throw pillows. Danny B? The Big Lebowski trucker hats. Disco? The day that I left, they stocked a Daredevil shirt with Alex Maleev art.
Oh wait, that bugged me as well. And no, I didn�t buy it. I did, however buy one thing for my former employees at the bookstore (which I still need to send). Somehow, it seemed appropriate to get them something from here, as this is where I first ended up after deserting them.
But I was fine working that day, probably because I knew I would only have one day left that I had to do it, whereupon I would become a retail-free man. The only hard part came right at the end of my shift, when they played Dead Kennedy�s �Holiday in Cambodia,� with certain key words censored out of the song.
That seriously almost made me cry.
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But I�m getting ahead of myself. So I quit The Company on the first day back. In order to make up for the loss of income at that job, I needed to get a higher role at the nightclub. The owner promised that he would train me as a bartender, but was vague about when that would happen. I decided it was time to force the issue. And so the next day, I rode my bicycle down to the Liquor Commission.
Despite all the problems I had the last time I went down there,everything turned out perfect. I didn�t know they only did the required seminar and testing for bartenders twice weekly at certain hours, and I just happened to show up a half-hour before one of those testing times. I sat through a four-hour seminar that essentially repeated over and over again how much trouble we would be in if we served people who were underage. Then they passed out our tests.
I missed two questions.
That�s right, I know my way around liquor. One of the questions I got wrong regarded management issues. The other one I missed because I didn�t know that lap dancing was illegal in Hawaii.
Which of course, means I have to move.
I walked out of that office with my golden ticket � a yellow industry card showing I could work behind the bar instead of the other side for a change. I brought it in the next evening and showed it proudly to the club owner, and to his credit, he let me start training almost immediately. That�s an entry unto itself, but I�ll just say that people order weird drinks here on this island. All sorts of people asked what I recommended, and I usually answered with whiskey and coke. I mean, it�s a good drink, yes? Instead, what I�ve made the most seems to be something called a buttery nipple.
Though I do like that I�ve become an expert on making nipples buttery.
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So, in the two days I had been back, I had quit one job and lined myself up with a different position at another. There was still one thing left to do, however.
I was increasingly unhappy with my living situation with the lesbian. When I first moved in, there were two lesbians, and they were a cute couple. But then one was shipped off by the Air Force to commit atrocities in Guantanamo Bay. For some reason, they made a pact that neither would masturbate for the entire time they were apart.
I can only imagine how bad it was for the prisoners in Cuba.
Of course, we were in an awkward situation. The place was too small and our personalities were too large for the space, and it didn�t take long for us to realize that while we both shared obnoxious, opinionated, and all together strong personalities, all three of those factors were polar opposites, if that makes sense. I have a low tolerance for racism. She had a low tolerance for �sand niggers,� whatever those are. I have no need to have some sort of creation myth to make me feel better about uncertainty in the world. She said it was stupid to believe in evolution, because it can�t be proven, therefore � God did it.
We stopped having conversations.
But it�s hard to avoid each other when I didn�t even have a door. I referred to my rented space, which cost me five hundred dollars a month, as �my cubbyhole.� That was an apt description, because like those little boxes you use in kindergarten, once you put all your stuff in, there�s never any room for your shoes. It was essentially a tiny strip segmented from the rest of the house by a single wall that seemed more out of poor architectural planning than an attempt to make a separate work area. All I had was a bed, a bookcase and a dresser, and my stuff still poked out of the edge of the area designated as mine. And that�s even after positioning the bookcase so it was next to the bed, making the bottom three shelves impossible to use functionally.
I knew I wasn�t going to stay here forever, but it was quickly apparent I should seriously start looking for new digs. In three months we had gone from friendly, to cordial, to a begrudging acknowledgement of each other�s presence. Where she used to seem concerned about being quiet when she left in the morning, knowing I had worked a fifteen-hour shift until four in the morning, she began her morning ritual of getting ready for work at six by turning on the Lifetime Channel in the living room. Loud. The television was about twelve feet away from where my bed was, with no door to separate us.
And by the way, why do lesbians watch the Lifetime Channel? Is it because they want to see straight couples suffer?
There were other things. The final straw however, the thing that got me moving was in regard to my father. I mentioned that he called, leaving a message that he needed to go to the hospital, and I slept through it.
The thing is, she didn�t. She heard the entire message and for some reason, decided to not wake me up.
How do I know this? Because when I did finally get up about five hours later, she was sitting on the couch watching Lifetime. After a few moments of me shuffling around she said, �Oh, your dad called a while ago. I think he needs to go to the hospital.�
What. The. Fuck.
So that�s the back story. Ach, another really long entry. Sorry. In any case, I checked out housing options on Craig�s List after finishing up with the Liquor Commission, and e-mailed a few prospects. One of them wrote back, and we set up a meeting for the following day.
The house was gorgeous. Where the lesbian�s place was a tiny square in a long strip of other tiny squared apartments, this was an old Hawaiian plantation style house on the hillside. The old place had a view of the parking lot where there was no parking, though lots of abandoned furniture and vehicles. This had a topside view overlooking downtown Honolulu. This place had a huge kitchen. A large bathroom, complete with a tub. And for my room � it had a door. A beautiful, beautiful door.
The guys looking for a roommate were funny too. It was a four-bedroom house, with two gay guys and one straight. I was told the prospective room was in the designated straight section toward the front of the house, which is fortunate. I tried to be charming, which was difficult, as the skies opened up and did one of the heaviest rainfalls I�d experienced since I got here, all directly on me. I expect I looked rather pathetic, and hoped that might help in some way. I didn�t hold much optimism, however, and even projected that by asking them to let me know as soon as possible if they decided to go with somebody else.
I rode home and there was a single message on the machine. I hit the button.
�Hey Dean, you just left our house about the room. We didn�t want you to have to sit around wondering what was going to happen, so we figured we�d just tell you know...�
Great, I thought, I guess I have to keep looking.
�...That we�re ready to let you move in if you want it.�
I did the most idiotic looking victory dance in the middle of my cubbyhole.
I still do it every time I come home.
So on the fourth day that I was back � Thanksgiving � I moved out. Some people may find that sad, as it took the entire day from ten in the morning until 11 at night, as I didn�t have any packing materials or moving van. Aside from the girl who bedded me giving me a hand to move said bed and my bookcase, the entire move consisted of me throwing items in my car until it was filled, and then unloading them in my room. No food. No family. No friends.
But I can�t even begin to describe how thankful I was.
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I had pictures, but the camera I bought to replace the lesbian�s camera I broke now isn�t working. Figures. Still, though, I mean, you can�t expect me to have an entry without something bad happening, right?
