Fear and Loathing on State Street
Author: The Carrot
Email: stevem@shore.net
Date: 1998/09/03
Forums: alt.tasteless
The summer of my unemployed contentment is over. No more summer days of
lazing around the marina drinking a case of cheap but cold beer with Capt Moe
and his homeless pal Jim, maintaining a slight buzz from sunrise to sunset
while discussing everything from marine diesel mechanics to which pizza shop
has the fastest delivery. No more days of sailing off by myself for parts
unknown, or walking down sunny, treelined streets with my iguana perched on
my shoulder, simply enjoying the weather. No more hanging out on the deck of
Michael’s Harborside staring down at the harbor, getting drunk and trying to
score...on Wednesday afternoons, right after lunch. No more Friday night
cookouts with Paul The Teacher, smoking contraband Cuban cigars and making
fun of his girlfriend behind his back.
I fulfilled my fantasy of taking the summer off and living life to the hilt.
Now that the leaves are slowly changing and there’s a little chill in the
air, I have returned to work. It took me three days to find a job in the
financial industry in Boston, a job that pays well, has benefits, and let’s
me work with most of the latest and greatest technology. There’s only one
little catch:
I have become a "suit". Granted, it’s a role that I’ve played before and it’s
a role that I play well. I only stopped being a "suit" two years ago when I
decided to work for a small, so-called progressive company. With an alcoholic
as the owner, things got progressively worse until I was laid off, at which
point I took the summer off to relax (thanks to the advice of our own Citizen
Ted, who threatened to shoot me if I DIDN’T take the time off).
But now I’m back and I think you all may know me. You see, wearing a suit
and tie every day really brings out the worst in me.
I’m the guy with the Starbucks cup in one hand, briefcase in the other, who
jaywalks in front of you. I’m the guy at the subway station who forces his
way into crowded cars before the other passengers have had a chance to get
out; I’m in a hurry, you see. I’m the guy sitting in Post Office Square
eating his lowfat grilled chicken salad at lunch and drinking a bottle of
spring water, smiling at the ladies as they walk past. Sometimes (more often
than some feminists would like to admit) they smile back.
How do you suppose they’d feel if they knew that I was smiling because I was
imagining the looks on their faces while I fisted them with my unlubricated
hand? Do you think that most of them would still be smiling? I’m sure a
certain percentage of them would not only smile but give me their telephone
numbers.
Walking down Washington Street on a dark and rainy day is like being in a
crowd shot from "Blade Runner". Swarms of Orientals, blacks, and dirty white
people milling around, noise everywhere, some of it emanating from the
wheelchair bound ‘tard and his Casio keyboard who seems to be permanently
stationed outside The Corner. Food smells, people smells, exhaust smells
and people exhaust smells all fill the air. There’s nothing like being
surrounded by people to make me realize how much I truly hate my fellow man.
Oh, there’s some of you who are OK, who I enjoy spending time with, but the
vast majority of homo sapiens are sheer wastes of basic biological resources.
Who/what I saw/experienced today:
- My seatmate on the morning train, a well-dressed man in his late 40’s,
sniffled, coughed, sneezed, and dripped liquid snot onto his newspaper all
the way into North Station. As I got up to get off the train I turned to him
and said "You know, fully functioning adults know enough to take cold
medicine and carry Kleenex." He just glared at me while I followed him to the
subway station.
- I saw a person on Spring Street with Down’s syndrome walk by wearing a
baseball hat with the saying 'I live life as if today were yesterday' printed
on it. I had to hold my laughter. Either that poor tard has some very nasty
friends or he has a certain poetic fashion sense.
- As I walked between buildings I was accosted by an elderly homeless man
who, judging from the numerous bloody sores, appeared to have advanced skin
cancer. I ignored him since I didn’t have any SPF 15 with me at the time.
- A burned youth, complete with melted face and missing fingertips, hobbling
down the street using an old fishing pole as a cane.
- Two women discussing how much money their husbands made and how easy it was
to cheat on their husbands since they were always at work. And my mother
wonders why I’m not married yet...
- A bunch of street people were congregating near the Holocaust monument. For
those of you who haven’t seen Boston’s Holocaust monument, it consists of six
monumentally ugly glass towers inscribed with the the KZ numbers of the
Jewish victims. It’s so fucking ugly that I wish the Holocaust hadn’t taken
place just so I wouldn’t have to look at this piece of crap. Personally, I
would’ve just sculpted six ashtrays with stars of David on the sides, but
that’s just me. Anyway, these street people were sitting on the benches near
the monument. As I walked past, one of the girls starting sucking on the neck
of one of the boys; both of them were filthy, with BO that could be detected
at 10 paces.
"Human pigeons, that’s all they are," I said to the girl walking next to me,
nodding my head at the street people. She still had her work ID badge on and
I could see she was from a rival company.
"Yeah, haha." She laughed but there was a nervous twitter in her chuckle.
"Maybe Hitler was right about some stuff, you know, about how certain folks
are drains on society and should be removed," I continued. The two street
people making out were now almost dry-humping on one of the benches. "Or at
least sterilized."
I’ve never seen anyone cross the street as fast as she did.
- At lunch I walked down to the waterfront. There was yet another tard down
there (I thought abortion was legal in this state!), this one selling Beanie
Babies from a table with the sign made from a piece of cardboard that had
'Rick and Nick’s Beanie Babies' scrawled on it in Magic Marker. The Beanie
Baby selling tard had a normal-sized head but an incredibly small body and
had to operate its wheelchair by puffing into a straw. There was no one else
at the table, so I strolled over. The tard had a nametag that said RICK on
it; apparently Nick was taking a bathroom break and had left a physically
helpless retard to mind the store.
"So Rick," I said "What the fuck could you do if I decided to steal one of
these? Would you chase me in the wheelchair or would you try to take a swing
at me instead or what?"
"Nnnnggghhh!!!!" the little deformed man said, thrashing in the chair. How
the hell can you sell Beanie Babies if you can’t even talk? I walked away,
leaving the mishapped tard to worry about the possiblity of my return. Hell,
I should’ve just unplugged the battery on his chair.
The joys of the lunch hour!
I saved the best for last. As I was paying for my lunch I found two large
washers in my wallet; apparently I’d put them in my pocket when I was working
on my boat the other day and they’d somehow found their way into my
wallet. There was a homeless guy begging for change in front of me.
*Clink* went the washers as they fell into his mostly-empty cup.
"God bless you sir!" he cried after me, "God bless...hey! HEY! Mother fucker!
You think that’s funny!?!? That ain’t funny! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!!!!!!"
"Good lunch hour?" my network administrator asked when I came back into the
office. I guess she noticed my grin.
"The best" I told her, "the absolute best."
And I meant it.
- The Carrot
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