The Poet : Chapter 25

 

TWENTY-FIVE

 

My poems were posted on telephone poles and trees all along my walk from the hideous B4 bus stop to the boring ass job. It was bad enough just stepping off the bus, staring at the same shit every day. Now I had to deal with a critique of my art. And it was a critique. Some of the poems had words like crap written on them. One about Carolina had the word Nazi scrawled on it. A few were graded with mostly D’s. One actually had a crude drawing of me on it with my love handles and man boobs sketched in for good measure. I had to hand it to whomever it was because they were really putting it to me. This took time and effort. It was the work of a very patient and meticulous bastard. I started pulling all of them down.

“What are ya’ doing?” Hazel asked, pulling up beside me in her big, silver minivan. The car was immaculately decked out in stickers of the Italian and American flags. She even had her bumper stickers for the Pope and the orange-colored billionaire side by side. The sound of soaring Italian pop music filled the humid, dull air. “It looks like ya’losing ya’mind the way ya’rippin’ down all them papers.”

            “Let’s just call it a life affirming act and a public service all at once.”

            “Wanna lift?”

            I looked down the long stretch of slushy road, at all of the telephone poles and street light poles that still housed the rotted fruits of my labor. Fuck it, I thought; this neighborhood could use a good blast of art. I tossed the wet ball of paper that I’d already ripped down onto the lawn of some good neighbor who had a small battalion of American flags poking out of the frozen drift, and I got in the car.

            “Some weather, huh?” Hazel said.

            “Yeah,” I said. “It’s amazing how we keep getting weather every single day.”

            “I meant how we keep going from hot to cold and back to hot.” She sighed. “At least it’s going to be warm today to melt the rest of this snow. I heard like sixty degrees and sunny.”

            “It’s the dead of winter, Hazel.”

            “But you gotta at least like the sun.”

            “If I could live long enough to see it burn out of the sky I would,” I said.

            “Gee, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

            “Sorry, I guess I don’t feel like discussing climate change after freezing my ass off all weekend in an apartment with no heat.”

            “At least it gave us Monday off.”

            “Fucking climate change.”

            “Climate change isn’t real,” Hazel said. “This is all the work of God.”

            “Yeah?” I said. “Tell that to the people in India next summer when it’s one hundred and twenty degrees out and they start dropping like flies.”

            “They can always move,” she said. “Same with those people who live in deserts. It’s not that hard. Luigi and I move every five years. We’re moving to Long Island as soon as my son finally gets his wife pregnant. It can’t be that hard to leave a desert.”

            “It’s always a pleasure getting your perspective on things, Hazel.”

            “Can I ask you a question?”

            “No,” I said.

            Hazel pulled her small tank into a shoveled-out space in front of the library. On all of the poles and mailboxes and lighting boxes around the branch there were more of my poems. One of the old neighborhood codgers, who frequented the deli across the street, when he wasn’t taking up a seat in my branch for a hard eight, was reading one of the poems taped to a green fuse box. When he finished, he tore the poem down, crumpled it and threw it on the street. They couldn’t all be winners.

“You ever had someone cyberstalk you?” Hazel asked.

“I think they’re called trolls now,” I said.

“I got me one of them Facebook accounts so I could connect with my son,” she said. “The other day someone did one of them friends things with me. And I accepted it. Some person named Bone Daddy. The profile picture was of Janis Joplin, so I thought, hey, cool. But then this person started sending me private messages. They were telling me how beautiful I am and stuff. I actually thought it was Luigi pulling a prank. But then this jerk got nasty with me. He started talking about my…my breasts and how nice they were for a lady my age. Do you know what he called me? He called me a GILF. Do you know what a GILF is, Rand?”

“A grandma I’d like to…”

“F…U…C…you know the rest,” she said. “Perverts. Nothing but perverts on the internets. Well, I cancelled my Facebook account right then and there. I don’t need that kind of abuse. But it got me thinking that it might be someone I know. Why would a random stranger talk about my breasts?”

“I could unspool hundreds of years of white supremacy coupled with the patriarchy, but if a Millennial walks by I’m going to get called out for mansplaining.”

“I don’t even have a picture of them online. No, it has to be someone who knows me. Someone on the inside. Someone like…Scott.”

“Scott?”

Hazel’s eyes bulged. “Yeah…Scott,” she said. “Think about it. He acts all quiet and innocent…those are the ones you gotta watch out for, Rand.”

“Okay,” I said. “So Muslim kids and Scott?”

“Homegrowns.”

We got out of the car and Hazel stood there while I tore down whatever I could of my hapless and exposed art work. Inside the library I could see Scott shuffling around holding a stack of picture books. Scott a pervert? I just couldn’t picture it. Scott as a serial killer? Maybe. I could see him gleefully wearing someone’s skin. But Scott with some nefarious Facebook account, sending Hazel lewd texts, and masturbating to pictures of her holding her stupid dog? It didn’t register. Some people fit the model, and certainly this world was filled with more privileged and disgusting men than it needed…but Scott?

            “Well, look who finally bothered to show up,” Willy said, as Hazel and I came in the door. I was maybe a minute late. “My boss.” He made the word sound more disgusting than it already sounded when I sometimes said it. I glared at him as I threw the ball of poetry into a large, blue recycle bin. It felt somewhat cathartic. But then Willy looked between Hazel and I. “What are you two doing? Having an affair?”

            “That’s right, Willy,” I said. “Hazel and I are having an affair, right out in the open. In front of you, in front of her husband, in front of Jesus Christ himself.” I looked at Hazel. “Aren’t we, dear?”

            Hazel glared. “I’m a faithful, one-man woman. I don’t joke around about infidelity.”

            “So much for you and I taking this show on the road,” I said.

“I…” Willy began. But I didn’t give two shits for what he had to say. I went into my office while he babbled on

“Oh,” Sheldon said, nervously and confused, when he saw me. Two years with the guy and every time I walked into the office, he acted surprised to see me, as if I’d someone just fallen from the sky and into his life while he was online playing solitaire. “Did you survive the blizzard?”

            “Liver is mostly intact,” I said. I turned on the PC and went right to Gmail. It had only taken her two days, but Larissa had already sent me a huge list of reasons why we shouldn’t move in together yet. Surprisingly my bathroom hygiene didn’t even make the list. There was another email from Henry Winkler advertising his writing seminar and how, even with a blizzard, he drew one hundred people to his latest reading. Fucking poets, man. “Can’t say much for the soul this morning.”

            “I got stuck in my garage,” Sheldon lisped. “But not because of the storm. I locked myself in by accident. Thankfully my wife found me the next morning. You don’t know fear unless you’ve been locked in a freezing cold garage for eight hours wearing an old parka and a pair of your son’s old Transformers slippers.”

            “If I can ask, where in the hell did your wife think you went to during a blizzard?”

            Sheldon sighed. He was still wearing a fucking Christmas sweater even though we were a month passed the holiday, and even though it was almost fifty degrees outside. “She thought that I was picking up a pizza.”

            “You’ve got a real keeper there, man,” I said. “Cherish that love.” I went back to checking the emails. Killian had started sending out notices for the upcoming poetry-fest. A whole weekend of that shit. Forty-eight straight hours of poets reading their poetry. Maybe it was time to move again. Somewhere north. Way up north. Where poetry was a cursed word.

“Um, Rand, did you skip that management training last week?” Sheldon asked

“My John Hancock is on that sign-in sheet along with the rest of those stiffs.”

            “It’s just that Edith said she didn’t see you in the afternoon for the role playing.”

            “Had a wardrobe malfunction with the leather chaps,” I said. “Actually, Sheldon, now that I think of it, I might’ve missed that role playing because I spent the whole afternoon in the main library’s basement shitter. You know that one, right? The private stalls. The big…”

“You spent two hours taking a poop?” Sheldon asked.

            “I’ve been known to break some records on the old commode.”

            “I…I don’t…”

            I got up from my seat. “The awe-inspiring often leaves one speechless.”

            “All the same, Rand, I…” But I was out of that office like nobody’s business.

            “There goes your boyfriend again,” Willy said to Hazel. “It’s amazing how one can just walk from office to office and pretend to look busy for eight hours.”

            Oh, to kick him in the face just once. But my union was only so elastic, and yours truly had acquired habits over the years, like paying bills on time, that required me not jeopardizing my job yet again. I needed Willy’s ass in that seat and not in the ER. The library was busy. Not reference busy. No, Willy and Hazel had all of the time in the world to sit at the desk and have a quiet little bitch-fest with each other over their same, sad nonsense. I mean the place just had too many people. I guess everyone had a touch of the cabin fever.

            I craned my neck toward the stacks. “Ugh,” Hazel said, still flushed from Willy’s comment. “She’s not here.” She was right. No Lena Alvarez. All I got was Scott shelving books and blinking at me, in that scary mass murderer way, when he caught my eye. I just couldn’t picture him lusting after Hazel.

            “I was making sure she was okay,” I said. “She was upset the other day.”

            Willy made a sour face and lifted his eyes from Hazel’s breasts. “Why are you always so worried about Rand and Lena?”

            Hazel turned red. “I’m not…I…”

            “You’re always talking about how Rand walks around looking for Lena. If I didn’t already think you two were doing things behind my back, I’d think you were jealous.”

            “What do you mean behind your ba…”

I cut her off. “Anyone call Lena?” I asked. “To see if she’s alright?”

“Duh, why didn’t me and Jill think of that?” Willy said, scratching his chin. “She’s not answering her phone, genius.”

“I don’t want to say anything or start any kind of racial controversy,” Hazel said. “But I’m just saying it’s in their breed to be lazy and irresponsible.”

            “And what exactly is Lena’s breed again?” I asked.

            Hazel waved me over. I took the bait. “Mexican,” she whispered.

            “She’s actually Peruvian.”

            She shrugged. “Isn’t that like near Mexico?”

            “By way of South America, sure.”

            “Well, how do you know what she is?”

            “Because she told me…like a year ago.”

            “Maybe Lena isn’t here because, as you so alluded to, somebody made her cry last week,” Willy added.

            “And who would’ve done a cruel thing like that, Captain Cannabis?” I said.

            “You ca…”

            “Can I tell you something, Rand,” Hazel said, “since you’re a supervisor here and you brought up race?”

            “I didn’t bring up anythi…”

            She interrupted. “I’m having problems with Jill…Black problems.”

            “I…I didn’t know you were Black, Hazel,” I said. “Christ, and it being almost two weeks since Dr. King Day. What you must think of me. I suppose I could make it up to you come this year’s Juneteenth.”

            “Why don’t you just keep having your affair?” Willy added.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about with this Juneteenth,” Hazel said to me. “But I think Jill has problems with me. Because, you know, she’s a Black and I’m a white.”

            “Didn’t Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney solve all of this shit years ago?”

            “A few weeks ago, Jill saw my button for that guy running for president. Well, I needn’t tell you, Rand. She went off. Jill started talking about what a sexist and what a racist he is. I tried to tell her that he’s only trying to make America great again, but she wouldn’t hear it. Honestly, I felt a bit violated. Like Jill was tampering with my freedom or something. I tried calling HR and the union but they didn’t pick up so I left a message.”

            “They must’ve recognized your number,” I said. “Have you watched the orange-faced billionaire on the television?”

            “Yes.”

            “Have you heard what he’s said about women? About Black people? About Latinos? About Muslims?”

            “Yes, yes, yes and yes.”

            “Yet you think Jill is in the wrong to be upset?”

            “She’s violating my rights,” she said. “She’s no patriot…and she’s prejudice.”

“Preju...” But what was there to say? I started making toward the workroom where Jill was already yelling up a storm at someone else. I had to give her a heads up that the torches and pitchforks were coming for her, courtesy of the tenants of red, white and blue foundational racism and lily-white innocence.

            “By the way, Randall,” Willy said. “Speaking of civil rights violations; I take formal offense to your calling me Captain Cannabis.”

            “Would you have preferred Sargent Stoner? Ranger Redeye?”

            “I’d prefer if you treated me with the dignity and respect that I deserve here,” he said.

            “You didn’t put anything about dignity and respect in your list of demands,” I said.           “Dignity and respect go without saying.”

            “They’re in the Constitution,” Hazel added. “Read it some time, Rand.”

            “I’ll be filing my grievance with the union later today,” Willy said.

            “Good, let me know when so I can send them an I-don’t-give-a-crap response along with a six-page, heavily detailed Microsoft Word document of all of the things that you don’t do around here,” I said. “or maybe we could save the postage and mail them in together.”

            “I…”

            “I’ll talk to you later, Willy Weed Wacker.”

            Jill was hovered over Oleg when I walked into the workroom. They were looking at the same computer screen. On it were a series of question of multiple choice. “Rand, you’re not dead from the blizzard,” Jill said, without turning around.

            “Only spiritually and emotionally damaged,” I said. “Although I think I might be buying a timeshare or breaking up with someone, or I’m harassing Willy while simultaneously carrying on an affair with Hazel and Lena. It depends on who you ask.”

            “An affair with Hazel just sounds gross.”

“The mind of Willy Abelman,” I said. “I see you made it out alive as well.”

            “Yeah.” Jill pointed at Oleg. “Only to come back here and deal with this maroon.” She glared at him. “How could you forget something like a safety training course?”

            “Was preoccupied with litigation against New York City Department of Motor Vehicles,” Oleg said. “And shoveling snow.”

            “It’s like the keystone cop over here.”

            “Is New York not Pennsylvania!” Oleg slammed his fist on the desk. “First I sue New York and then I sue Pennsylvania for this slander!”

            “Just a warning,” I said to Jill. “The villagers are calling for your head.”

            She waved me off. “I already heard from HR. The little bitch left a message complaining about my racial insensitivity.”

            “Anything happen?”

            “Yeah, me and Janice Walker made fun of Hazel and that orange-faced bigot for ten minutes,” she said. Then we watched as Oleg slammed his fists on the table and clutched his fat, red face in his hands. The safety test was stretching the boundaries of his sanity. He was a mass shooting waiting to happen. “By the way…missing another management meeting, Rand?”

            “Half,” I said.

            Jill crossed her arms. “What’s it gonna take? One day, Rand. You just had to give up one day. I mean how’re you gonna rein in that stoner milquetoast if you keep defying Sheldon and HR like that?”

            “I’ve been telling you, Jill, I don’t plan on reining anyone in,” I said. “It’s not in my nature.”

            “Well, Willy’s gunnin’ for you. And if you keep doing things like this and throwing up in front of little kids, he’s going to get you good.”

            “I have no clue why he’s after me,” I said. “But people usually have it out for me, so I’m not surprised.”

            Jill shook her head. “Because you’re there, Rand. Because you’re the boss. For some people it doesn’t have to get more complicated than that.”

            “I…” But I had nothing to say. She was right. Like Killian said month ago, I lived to torture supervisors. And I never needed a reason. Fucking paybacks kept on coming for good ol’ Rand. “Enough of this cruel and degrading topic. Speaking of my other paramour, where’s Lena?”

            Jill frowned. “I don’t know about that girl. I called her five times this morning. I called her cell. I called her house but no one picked up. I know for a fact that she’s not registered for classes this semester. I’m just hoping she’s all right.”

            “She was pretty upset about her old man the last time we spoke.”

            “Imagine making a twenty-year-old kid pay rent on a part-time job when she’s got books and train passes to school to pay.” Jill shook her head. “I could see it in my day, but kids now?”

            “Twenty is the new fifteen,” I said. And right then and there I decided to retire from ogling anyone under the age of thirty…okay, thirty-five.

            Sheldon came into the office and frowned. He put his hands on his hips and looked confused. “Rand, I spoke with HR. Apparently I’m supposed to give you a verbal warning about missing that meeting.”

            “I went to half of it. Could you give me half a verbal warning?”

            “I’ve never had to give a warning before.” Sheldon looked a Jill. “Do I have to shout?”

            “Are you seriously asking me that?” she said.

            “Look, Sheldon,” I said. “Let me save you the trouble. I’m going to start going to my meetings. I’m going to even start going to meetings I’m not supposed to be at. People will come into your office and ask you, hey, where’ Rand? And You’ll be like, Rand? Why he’s at another meeting. He’s at so many meetings that I have to do my job and his.”

            “That’s good…I guess.”

            Suddenly Oleg pushed away from Jill’s desk and got up from his chair “This is sham!” he said. “This is rigged! System is rigged against Oleg to fail! Oleg will sue human resources department!” Then he stormed out of the office and we all just stood there listening as Hazel and Willy sang Beatles songs at the reference desk while patrons put their hands over their ears.

            “I’m getting my retirement date tattooed backwards on my forehead,” Jill finally said. “That way when I look into the mirror in the mornings, I’ll have something else to smile about.”