Monday, July 30, 2012

Skid Row Diary 4

July 16th  Wednesday  Day 4  

   Up at 3:00AM to begin watching "Voyager, but soon fell back with Jennifer and robbed the Home Bank of Grapevine, Texas, only to wake during the closing credits. I went to take a shower, but heard someone in there already and returned to my room to wait for who ever it was that had the impertinence to be up this early.
   Ever efficient, I used this time for a brief session of yoga and crunches and push ups before returning to the shower room. It was quiet now, but I was fooled. My neighbor from across the hall, Terence, was in there drying off. An engineering student, we greeted each other and then he took off. I undressed, waved my pendulous willy at a sleepy Los Angeles, then took a nice hot shower, allowing the water to cascade down the back of my perfectly formed neck.
   I meditated for 400 breaths upon returning to my room. Then began writing. At 6:00 I switched the radio from classical music to Mark and Brian. Mark was still making an ass of himself, not allowing Brian much of an opportunity to follow suit. Today he was insisting the reason he couldn't get into J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye," during a recent attempt, was because he was no longer a teenager. That's like saying you didn't care for "Moby Dick," because you're not a whale, or "Dracula," because you're not a vampire anymore.
   Oh well. I must have patience. At least he's reading something... I guess.
   John Manzano came to my room at 6:50. We both waited breathlessly for 7:00 to arrive and Despirita America to begin so we could see what Giselle was wearing today.
   "I had a dream last night," he confided. "A strange dream."
   "Tell me about it, my son."
   "It was about fire."
   "Dreams about fire usually denote homosexuality," I assured him.
   Giselle was wearing a nice sequined dress thank God. It was supported by two thin straps which showed off her lovely shoulders.
   Fulfilled, John and I went to breakfast.
   Grilled cheese sandwiches and potatoes. Interesting.
   I had a 8:30 appointment at the local Vocational Rehabilitation office for orientation, so walked over to Spring St. to catch a 71 bus headed for The Beast, the USC/LAC Hospital. General Hospital. The Death Palace. The rehab office is just down the street from it.
   I arrived 30 minutes early and read from "Edge of Tomorrow," until orientation began. There were about 10 others there, mostly black people, 2 Hispanics. One big, ugly, old white woman sat next to me who kept hitting on the black guys. I didn't see anyone take her up on her offer.
   For an hour and a half Janet Chong, of the Chong family, explained how the Department of Rehabilitation could help us become self sufficient if we were deemed eligible. One needs to be disabled to receive their assistance. Since I'm mentally unstable I certainly qualified. We were given several forms to take with us and complete before returning at a prearranged date. Mine was on July 30th, at 10:30AM.
   I left after Ms. Chong had finished. There was no point in staying around there. I took another 71 bus to Spring and Temple where I caught a B Dash to Arco Plaza. I found 2 letters from the Department of Social Services (DPSS) in my P.O. Box, but did not open them there. I have an electric letter opener in my room especially designed for such tasks. I did mail my application for Federal and State Student Aid.
   It was 10:30. I decided to walk to the One Stop center. On the way I passed a small group of Hispanic school children, 1st graders it looked like, escorted by 3 teachers. The children were all grasping plastic rings held together with a thick plastic cord, to keep them all together as they traversed the busy downtown streets and corridors. They resembled midget mountaineers tied together to keep from falling off the mountain.
   If only we had those devices when I was in school. Think of how my life would have changed.
   Several of the children noticed me as we waited together for a street light to change, and waved and smiled at me. They were sweet and innocent, not yet tainted by the world around them. Their smiles were the highlight of my day.
   I used the computer at One Stop to retrieve several pictures of Jessica Biel before looking for a job. A long haired, gnomish, white guy intercepted my printouts at the printer and gave me an odd look as I picked them up. I saw him go over to the young attendant and speak to him. He was ratting me out, the little bitch. The attendant, quick to weed out any improprieties, came to my station, excused himself, and asked to see something on my computer.
   I had since abandoned the photo site and was looking through my Email at a message from Flip Dog, the employment service. The young attendant, being very computer savvy, checked the History function to see what I had been accessing. There was nothing I could do, and prepared myself for an embarrassing admonition and warning not to use their computers for anything other than job procurement, and to mortally wound the busy body informant.
   However, chance would have it that the photo site I had utilized to retrieve the images of the lovely actress was named "Actress Archives," which could easily be mistaken for a website devoted to helping actresses looking for work in the entertainment industry. There was nothing else in the history that was incriminating. The attendant was very thorough, positive that he had yet again caught an perpetrator red handed. He hovered the cursor over the "Actress Archives" tag several times, but didn't click on it. If he had he would have instantly been rewarded with Jessica's beautiful face, which would have gotten me into more trouble since the attendant was gay.
   After a few moments I felt like saying, "Hey buddy, don't you have your own computer to play around with? I'm trying to get some work done here," but thought better of it. Soon enough, my little investigator sighed, defeated, and walked away. He later talked to the stool pigeon, who was still pissed at my not being harshly reprimanded and shown the door. It's guys like that who watch "America's Most Wanted," avidly, and become members of Neighborhood Watch.
   I continued to use the computer to apply on line for several customer service jobs at USC, actually having to retype my entire work history which I wanted them to know about. I called Leonard, who told me that Wells Fargo, the banking company, was looking for customer service reps.
   "I think I owe them money, Leonard. What else have ya got?"
   I didn't think I owed them money. I knew it.
   I had one message on my voice mail from Stacy Tran at Vocational Rehab, who wanted me to know my appointment had been changed to tomorrow at 2:00PM. I'd have another evening of filling out forms.
   I printed out some pictures of Condoleezza Rice and Traci Lords before leaving One Stop, on my way back to LACC.
   The Red Line station  at 7th Street now has a sign outside saying it was now Grand Central and 42nd St. in New York City.
   Ahhh, the miracles of movie making.
   I immediately began a little Two-Step Shuffle, and broke out into song:

   "Come and meet, those dancing feet, on the avenue I taking you to, 42nd street.
     Hear the beat of dancing feet. Its the song I love, the melody of... 42nd street."

   At LACC I turned in my school application to a beautiful, young, Asian type girl, and was told to make an appointment for an English/Math assessment test. I did this, being able to follow simple instructions rather well (the navy taught me this), and I was scheduled for next Monday at 10:30AM.
   I also discovered I already had 15 units of credit from way back in the 70s when I attended Piece Community College, in Woodland Hills (which is in the San Fernando Valley). I didn't remember finishing the classes (I may have been drunk those years), but I'll take whatever I can get.
   I also had 3 units from Pasadena City College, when I took English 101.
   So why am I being assessed if I've already taken English 101?
   The ways of higher education are mysterious.
   Done for the day I returned to the Weingart. I was there before 3:00 and was able to get some nice laundry tokens from my case manager.
   As a requirement for staying here at the Weingart, rent free, I'm to have a weekly get together with my lovely case manager, Labren Marshall. She wants to see me, I want to see her. If I don't for some reason, or she forgets to enter into her computer the fruits of our last conversation, she will place nasty notes in my room key box downstairs at the front desk.
   But it is not always an easy thing to see my lovely case manager. Today for example. I had time and wanted to get our session for the week out of the way. I went to her door. It was closed, but I saw her sitting in an office two doors down, talking to her new boss. She talked and talked. I waited and waited. The office door closed. What the hell? I retrieved my new yoga book from my room and parked myself outside of her door.
   "Mr Joyce! You're not gonna do me like that?" she called as the door opened again.
   "You wish." I should have said, "Yes, I'm staying here until you come out. You can't hide all day. I'll stay here for as long as necessary, by God!"
   She asked me to wait in the day room instead. Too many cantankerous veterans in there to suit me. They were all watching a breaking news story about an older gentleman losing control of his vehicle at a farmers market in Santa Monica and hitting about 8 or 9 people.
   I waited in the lounge instead, and continued with the writing I had begun in the morning.
   "Are you writing me a letter, Mr. Joyce?" my case manager, now free from her boss, asked me at my side.
   "You wish," I almost said. "No. I want a face to face sit down. I want my issue!" I demanded.
   She was about to go off with her fellow case managers to parts unknown, but I got to her first.
   In her office now she asked, "What's up?"
   Ms Marshall, Labren, is a beautiful lady... model beautiful. She looked like a cross between Dorothy Dandridge and Rosanne Katon. And she was single. I could see why her new boss kept her in his office for so long.
   "Oh I just wanted to check in. I'm supposed to do that every week. I thought I was going to have to call the S.W.A.T. team to get you out of there. Please let your boss know that's all true and good to get together and talk about work every now and then, but it's also good to actually do some work once in a while, as well."
   She ignored my sass. "And thank you for your birthday card," she said. I'd given her a birthday card last week. She is now 31 years old. A little old for me, but in her case I'd let that slide.
   "Did you have a nice birthday?" I asked, suave bastard that I am.
   "Yes," she answered. "I was able to have some fun activities over the weekend."
   Fun activities. I love that. That's case manger speak.
   I told her what was happening recently with my pathetic life, or some of it at least. She seemed excited that I planned to go back to college.
   "What will you be taking?" she asked.
   "Para-legal," I told her.
   "Well," she happily exclaimed, "we have a new goal for you then, don't we?"
   "I guess," I said wistfully.
   She entered my new goal onto her computer.
   After a while she said we were finished.
   "We're cool then, you and me? We're straight?"
   She just smiled at my Hip Talk. I left her then and went to my room.
   I finished writing, then went down to dinner. Chicken a la King.
   The Spring Break episode, part 1, was on "Married with Children."
   Charley Rose spoke with the Prime Minister of Germany. He's always doing something like that. I filled out paperwork for Voc Rehab while they talked. I had to write out my work history again, and explain how sick I am.
   Instead of "The History Detectives" again,  I watched "Star Trek Enterprise," the current Star Trek manifestation. The Federation's first contact with the Tholians, tonight, the alien, web spinning bastards.
   The possibility of humans breeding with Vulcans was first mentioned on this prequel to every other Star Trek show.
   "I wonder," the captain pondered with his female Vulcan hottie, science officer T'pol, (the lovely Jolene Blalock, the 10th sexiest woman in the world by FHM magazine in 3 years), standing close by, "if humans and Vulcans were to mate, would the offspring have pointed ears?" T'pol looked on disdainfully.
   I love this stuff!
   Of course a fly would have a better chance of mating with an elephant than two species that evolved independently of each other on different planets. But what the hell, we wouldn't have had Spock if we stuck to particulars.
   I finished my paperwork and read Monday's paper while watching a dramatized documentary about the six wives of Henry the Eighth.
   I fell asleep before Ann Boleyn was beheaded, however I dreamt that I had been abducted by a flying saucer as I had been making my way to the Vocational Rehab building for my appointment, and the Vulcan T'pol and an Orion Slave girl who looked exactly like the wonderful actress Desireé Cousteau of "Caged Heat," and "Pretty Peaches," fame, except that she was green, were examining me as I laid paralyzed on an examination table. I didn't mind because she looked pretty good green. A lot of girls do.
   "So you wanted to know if offspring between Vulcans and humans would have certain physical characteristics?" T'pol asked me.
   "Err, uuumm, eerrggarebba." I replied, being paralyzed and all.
   "Okay, well it's easy enough to find out, Mr. Joyce." she smiled that Vulcan smile down at me. "You were aware of course that on Vulcan it is the male who bears the young?"
   "Oh yes. Are you ready to try this little experiment Mr. Joyce? Just between you and me... and Gaila here..." Desireé, er Gaila looked down at me too with that sensual look Orion Slave Girls always seem to have.
   Damn those Orion Slave Girls!
   I resigned myself to my fate and began to relax.
   "Galila, would you please hand me the insemination probe?"
   "Of course, Commander," she said breathlessly.
   "Innnssemmiinnaaaatioonnn prroooobbbbbeee!"
   "What was that, Mr. Joyce? I couldn't quite make that out."
   "Err, uuumm, eerrggarebba!"
   "Why of course. Thank you Galila," T'pol said as Galila handed her a long cylindrical object, about two feet long and 4 inches in diameter.
   "The Orion Vaseline, please. Thank you. Very well," she continued, "help me turn him over."
   "eerrrggdrr, ffhdggrnbnnnddd, sshdhdttfbbhghgyydff, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
   "See, that didn't hurt much, now did it?"
   "Yyyeeesssssss, iiittttttttgggdrrddbbfggsdhh, hhhururrrttssd!"
   "Only a couple of more hours... and then we get your head, as is our custom."
   "I find this extremely stimulating," T'pol added after a ten minutes or so. I was a whimpering mass of protoplasm by then.
   "Can I do it for a while," Desireé asked.
   "Of course, my dear."
   Then Dorothy Dandridge and Rosanne Katon showed up and took their turns.
   "Ooooohhh jjjeesssuuususs Cccchhhhrrrriiisssstt!!"
   I dreamt that I passed out...
   ... and when I woke up I had pointed ears.
   How odd.

No comments:

Post a Comment