It is El Warmo in here. I have to put up the window AC units soon. It's nearly midnight and i'm sitting in my living room mopping sweat from my face. My allergies are kicking in too. I could really use that seminar.
(If you don't catch the Rubin and Ed references above you really need to see it. Let me know and I'll lend you a copy.)
Today Richard Guhn came back. Actually he came back on Saturday, and Monday, and Tuesday, and again today. We will probably see him tomorrow. It took him three days to wash the windows. I'm afraid he's officially back.
He asked me if I am the devil again. He said that in the past several months he worked for some lady who turned out to be the devil and so he had to come back to Utah. I asked him if he would leave and never come back if I was the devil and he said "probably". So I have the basis of a plan. The problem is, how do I inform him that I am Satan himself without coming off like a total jerk? Or worse, what if he goes nuts and stabs me in the eye or something? You never know with the homeless. You just never know.
He insists on talking to all the customers. He tells them the most outlandish things. You don't have to talk to the guy for more than 15 seconds to know he's insane.
Today he told a customer that he wrote a book in 1981 that predicted an increase in the price of diesel fuel relative to the price of gasoline due to an increase in diesel powered passenger vehicles. Don't bother looking for it on Amazon. Trust me. It isn't there.
I think that our problem is rooted in our proximity to the bus stop. All sorts of wierdos wander over from the bus stop. What is it about wierdos and the bus? It's like riding the bus is a prerequisite to being eccentric. It's true. Maybe you could extrapolate from that, and say that the vehicle you drive has a direct relationship with your mental health. Hmmm. . .
I drive a 1963 Ford Galaxie. It's kind-of the ultimate "Googie" car. (Thanks for the education on Googie, Carina. Now I know the name of the style I like so much.) Anyway, what does that say about me? Or what does riding scooters say about me?
Am I just a few steps from riding the bus? Am I likely to have a psychotic break and handcuff myself to the monorail at Disneyland? Could be. I just pulled that monorail thing off the top of my head. What does that say about me? Maybe I am the biggest wierdo of them all.
I used to wonder if everything and everyone in the world were just an elaborate put-on that God was using to test me. Kind of like Jim Carrey in the Truman Show, but I thought of it first. As a child I was pretty convinced it was true, but I just knew that if I asked someone God would step in and say, "Okay, show's over. You blew it." So I never asked anyone, and went on with the show. I should have cashed in my chips before the stakes got so high.
Is it all just staged?
Are you the devil or one of his minions?
By the way, remind me to tell you the "conversation over" story. It was pretty funny.