shameadar

We got there and right away it was reminiscent to the first day of Jr. High or the first day of High School. I began to get paranoid that not only was it a one year old class but it was a one year old class for walkers. Hazel sat on the floor between my legs with her pink onesie which has a flower patterned cut out in the shape of Minnesota sown on to the middle front. Over that were her gray cat patterned pants and finally pink socks and knock off pink swirled crocks. The more people showed up the more I went inside myself.

Some of the parents or nannies had multiple kids so besides there being one year old walking and running all over there also were older jealous kids, one in particular who wanted to run around without concern for the younger.

At toy time when Hazel was standing over the container and attempting to hand out toys the other kids ran around her without acknowledgement. Soon the devil child came over and yanked the container away from Hazel and she fell back and the container landed on her. Before that a kid stole her piano and then another kid wouldn’t let her share after she attempted to duet with him. I know they are only children.

Not to mention the boy with a rash on his face that made me worried he had hand and foot disease.

 

 

I turned off of Rhone and onto seventeenth. A bright yellow Mini comes rocketing towards me. She veers to the right and attempts to pass me before realizing there isn’t enough room. She throws her hands up and continues talking in her sealed automobile. When we approach the stop light she speeds around me and into the left turn lane. As is customary, I flip her the bird and she says oh yeah, really, you are flipping me the bird!? And she turns her head and continues talking but I can only see the back of her head. The light changes and we both turn onto 99 headed south and she rides other peoples ass until they pull over and let her speed away while I stay stuck behind a bus but where do I have to go?

 

A similar instance took place earlier in the week and both instances happened while Hazel slept in the back of the car, so the possibility is that I am just zoning out listening to talk radio and driving real slow. Out of nowhere, a moving truck is on my ass but this is Belmont where there are too many businesses and crosswalks to be concerned with getting anywhere fast. This time I push back and continue to slow down until the man is honking and throwing his arms in the air. Hazel harumphs from the back seat. As we pull to the light at Chavez, he flies around me and into the turn lane and waits beside me. All I can see is the side of his head with black hair, a goatee and glasses.

 

Yesterday was a day without any anger. It was seventy-five and sunny.

He has a red face with a round nose, puffy cheeks, dull grey eyes, and a thinning hair line. Sometimes he wears a worn out hat. He wears gym shorts, nylon strapped sandals and an unzipped sweat shirt with his bare chest exposed. From our window we can see him sitting on the curb, facing our building, putting the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling, and exhaling. His phone is held in his other hand and after each puff he scrolls from left to right. His phone aggravates him but then his face becomes blank as if you select all and delete. He doesn’t work and he walks to get wine before noon. A couple weeks ago during the Belmont Street Fair, he stood up, unzipped his shorts, yanked out his red polish sausage sized dong and began peeing. He was in front of the white truck which separated him from children, adults and vendors. When he finished, he zipped up and sat down. A few moments later he attempted to stand up but fell backwards onto the sidewalk. At that point my Mother in law had stopped watching so I told her.

We were at the Goodwill Bins and they had just wheeled out the shoes. I found some Nike Air golf shoes which attracted my attention. I found some Frye boat shoes and Sperry’s which pushed me into the middle of the regulars who dig like maniacs and fill shopping carts to send back to their poor families I would guess. I had finally made it to the middle when this trashy lady moves towards me like the Tasmanian Devil. She has no concern for what is in her way. Shoes are flying around when she bumps into me. She says,

“It is the name of the game. You have to move fast.”

I don’t say anything to her but continue looking. The shoes I don’t want I throw at her arms and after a moment she says,

“What? I was trying to be nice to you and you throw shoes at me? Typical white man.”

She then continues towards me and asks me to move but I hold my ground and bend my knees to make myself more stable. She picks up shoes and whacks me in the chest with them until we cuss each out and another lady tells this lady to shut up. Once I am removed from the situation I realize how stupid it is to let myself get mixed up in child’s play. I calm down and continue looking for other articles of clothing. She is organizing her shopping cart full of shoes with a buff African man and a scraggly white man. She points me out to the African and he calls me over. He asks,

“You hit her?”

This makes my temper flare and I say yeah,

“I threw a shoe at her.”

He tells me you don’t hit women even tho I would have no problem with smacking her. He tells me next time I should fight him and not a woman. They both agree I am not a man. I tell her she is white trash.

It has been over an hour and my heart is still racing. I feel like an idiot. After the first incident a decent older lady walked over to me and said,

“You is always trying to start fights. Every week it is someone new.”

This makes me feel better but I am still weary about the men she gathered to make believe I am a woman beater. I feel like next time I go in I am going to get jumped by the shoe gatherers.

I am at the bus stop out side of Walgreens and across the street from Arco. I hear an angry horn and someone yelling,

“Get off your phone! Honk! Honk!”

I look toward the gas station and see a brand new bright yellow SUV type vehicle. The driver is trying to pull into traffic with one hand holding her phone to her ear.

“Honk! Honk! Get off your phone!”

The girl pulls out into traffic hitting the side of a silver car then pulls back into the gas station lot.

Two passengers in the back seat. We stop at a red light on West Burnside. The area is saturated with homeless. I pull into the left lane because you can’t turn left off of Burnside on this side of the river. There is a youngish homeless man squatting against a tree on the island median. He is moving his arms around in ritual, in prayer. I remember smirking at him and laughing to myself. This kid must be fucked up I thought. Then SPLASH! He threw his strawberry soda at my car and it splashed onto my face, arms, hands, steering wheel, dash.
“You mother fucker, asshole, piece of shit! What the fuck are you doing?”
I stick my head out the window in an attempt to gain eye contact.
“What the fuck. You worthless piece of shit.”
“It is a Burnside hello.”
He says monotone and with irony.
The passengers asked what happened and I tell them. They try not to laugh but I know it is kind of funny and if my wife was here she would laugh so I don’t blame them. The rest of the drive I mutter obscenities under my breath. I drive a little faster and pretend to hold my composure. After dropping them off at their destination I cruise back to the scene. While I am driving there I picture getting a handful of stones and chucking them at him from across the street. When I get there and find a spot he is no where to be found. I walk around and look at the homeless sleeping in doorways and the homeless waddling around with backpacks and no shirts. I look for a homeless that is moving his arms in a prayer fashion but this doesn’t exist. After fifteen minutes I get in my car and drive home.
Along time ago I was drunk in Santa Cruz carrying a bag of Taco Bell and an extra large soda. This Homeless lady walked up and asked for money. I told her I would give her five dollars if she did something to my friend Chris. She kept trying and Chris kept resisting until finally she snatched my Taco Bell and began booking it. I was right behind her and I threw my soda and it hit her in the head. She instantly dropped my Taco Bell and I picked it up and walked back to our hotel.

She looked like a house wife lesbian, with short blonde hair and a white sleeveless blouse. She opened the front passenger side and sat next to me with her oversized leather purse. There were small beads of sweat running down her neck and ending on her breasts but I couldn’t see them. I asked her how she was and she said we need to move cause she needed to get her son to band practice. She wanted to know what you buy a fifteen year old for his birthday. Michael Jackson’s dad would have told her a prostitute but I said maybe another guitar or video game. I am sure he doesn’t read. I casually stopped and accelerated through the traffic over the Morrison bridge that is high and arching so at the highest point you get a good view of Mt. Hood. She asked if I did this for fun. I knew what she meant before she went further. Did I have a real job and do this on the side? No, this is all I am doing right now. I work part time hours. Do you go to school? No, I just finished last year. What did you study? Fine Art painting. Do you have a studio? No. She is digging and digging for things to get out of me but I give her nothing. Finally she says well at least the convenience of this job will give you time to find your passion. I stayed completely silent at that moment. I didn’t twitch or make any sudden movements and soon it was as if she never said it. Sometimes I wondered what would happen if I told people my dreams and passions. Would they think I was just as unreasonable? Would think I am a slacker that doesn’t give a shit about anything but has high lofty goals? I think their view would stay exactly the same. They would think I am delusional which I admit I am. I am lost, without direction, passion or purpose. I am careless as my Mother once told me. All I really need is space and time. We crossed the overpass and she got out of the car and I could feel the heat blanketing in. Bye now she said and then I gave her five stars.

Belmont is filled with restaurants, bars, record shops, boutiques, cafes, grocers, optometrists, a methadone clinic, speaker shop, framing store, bikers and entitled pedestrians who cross without looking. Around 23rd avenue if traveling west the road turns right and leads you to Morrison where you head down the hill, past the aforementioned and towards the river. This white van that had an advertisement for glass replacement was riding this guys ass and because of this I became an ass and sped up just enough to trap him. When the lead car tried to blink over to the left in front of me I didn’t let him do that either so the van clicked over behind me and rode my ass. I rolled down the window and flipped him the bird and then we sat next to each other at the red light and I could feel his glare through his closed window, through my closed window, through my wife’s pregnant self and into the spot right between my eyes. His glare was telling me I wasn’t a man unless I disobeyed my wife’s orders and rolled down her window where we would more than likely get red faced and sneer at each saying things that were offensive to the human race and which we really didn’t mean but since our hearts were pounding so hard with the adrenaline rushing there was no way to stop until we went too far. When I rolled down the window I looked around my wife’s head and his head pointed down towards me. He said,

“You flicked me off?”

Stating and questioning simultaneously.

“Yeah.”

“You are driving like an asshole.”

I say.

“I have a lot of work to do. We are in a hurry.”

“Drive forty on a different street. You are going to cause an accident.”

“Mind your own business.”

He says then looks down and either sees my wife’s bulging belly, realized he was in a company vehicle or simply nodded quietly while we took a left and continued on our way.