7 June 23 Wednesday

Gloomy ass day with nothing to show.

Time to hit the office.

I’m just getting settled at my favorite table when Morris arrives.

Back when we first met he said call me Morrie. So I call him Morris. He’s accepted me calling him Morris. “I call you Morris,” I explained, “because Morris is a dignified name while Morrie sounds like a twelve year old. Or a Dog. Or a Cat. You call your Cat Morrie.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Okay.”

“Why would I call my cat Morrie? I mean, if I had a cat.”

Normally I’d call a dude by the name he offered me. But something about Morris compels me to straighten him out. I don’t know what it is. I’m trying not to work his ass. I mean I like the guy. It’s just that I feel the need to fuck with him a little. Every time I see him.

Morris bares a striking resemblance to the late actor Henry Gibson

“Are you saying you’ve never had a cat?”

“Never. I’ve never had a cat. We had a dog. But never a cat.” After a pause he says, “I’m too old to have a cat. I’m eighty. I just turned eighty.”

He’s told me he just turned eighty about a dozen times. He likes to talk about turning eighty because it’s one of the things he’s proud off. Maybe because he’s in good shape for his age and he isn’t suffering from dementia.

“Yes,” he says. “I turned Eighty. I just turned eighty.”

“You didn’t just turn eighty.”

“What?”

“You’re not eighty. You only think you’re eighty. You forgot how old you are.”

“What?”

“You are not eighty. You’re seventy nine. You’ll be eighty next year.”

“What?”

“God damnit. You heard me.”

Now he gets it. He smiles. It takes him a while to catch on to my act because he has no sense of irony. He likes to talk about himself. Lot’s of people talk about themselves, especially if they’re offered the opportunity. Morris talks incessantly about himself.

He’s got plenty of money, him and his wife. They have two homes here. A home in Mexico. A home in Italy. I never once asked him about his properties. He likes to talk about his homes. And the traveling he does between his homes.

It’s always him and his wife. He’s not the kind of guy to hang out at Starbucks. He’s only here at the office because his wife works part time at the boutique across the parking lot and he stops in here and waits for his wife to get off work.

They’ve been married going on sixty years.

I ask him why his wife works. “She doesn’t need to work. Why does she work?”

“She doesn’t need to work” he says. “That’s for sure.”

“Okay, so why does she work?”

“She likes to stay occupied. I like to stay occupied.”

Morris is a part time Life Guard at my gym. (where I met him, by the way) He likes to brag he’s the oldest life guard at the gym. “I passed the test,” he brags. “They didn’t think I could pass the test but I did. I swam–“

“Twelve lengths of the pool. Then you held your breath underwater for a minute. Then, you dove to the bottom and brought up a thirty pound weight.”

“That’s right.”

“But the thing is, Morris. You didn’t pass the test. You only think you passed.”

“What?”

“You failed miserably. You almost drowned. They had to fish you out of the deep end. You’re not a lifeguard, Morris. You only think you’re a lifeguard.”

He smiles his smile. Before, I would’ve gotten at least four what’s before getting the smile. He’s catching on to my act. But slowly.

Now he’s staring out the window across the parking lot at the gourmet foods boutique where his wife works part time.

“You like to stay occupied too, don’t you Morris?”

“What?”

“Don’t what me. You like to stay occupied. That’s why you work as a part time lifeguard. You don’t need the money. Do you need the money?”

“No, no. I don’t need the money.”

“But you take the money.”

“Well…”

“Why not give it to a homeless dude.”

“What?”

“There you go again with the WHATS.“

“A Homeless dude,” he says.

“Yeah…like me. I’m a homeless dude.”

“You’re not a homeless dude. You live on a boat.”

“You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered. You’re name’s Don and you live on a boat.”

He pops up. “There she is. I gotta go.”

I’m staring out the window in the direction where he’s staring. I don’t see anybody. I’ve never seen his wife. I’ve know him for over a year and I’ve never seen his wife even though they’re inseparable.

He’s starting toward the door.

“Hold on a minute, Morris.”

“huh?”

“Hold on a minute. Are you sure she’s out there. I don’t think she is. I think you’re imagining things.”

“What?”

“You’re not married, Morris.”

“What?”

Two whats. Two to go.

“You are not Married. You’ve never been Married. You’re a homeless dude.”

“What?”

Three down. Four’s a charm.

“You live in a 1997 Dodge Caravan. You park around the neighborhoods like some pathetic shambling wreak of a man. You are a Bum. A homeless van-dwelling demented eighty year old…”

He’s smiling. Shit. I almost had him.

Negativity Wednesday

I say “Negativity” because I’m feeling it. It’s one of those glum days. A glum Wednesday. I’m kind of pissed at everything. Like Wednesday for instance. The spelling of it. Why do they spell it that way? It should be Wensday. Or Whens Day. That’s the way people say it. They don’t say Wed Nes Day.

So why are we forced to spell it that way?

The Government does it just to trip us up….Shit!

Here on the dock the wind’s blowing like hell. The sun finally came out but it’s cold as shit. What a fucked up Summer so far. And it’s not even Summer. Why do they wait for June 20 something for summer to start? Who’s idea was that. Make it June first. That way people will know. Shit. This is why we need Artificial Intelligent robots. To straighten out all the lunkheaded rules human’s made up.

Only don’t call them Artificial. You don’t want to piss them off.

I’m not getting anywhere in life. I mean, I’m at the end of life and I’m not getting anywhere in life. What the hell is wrong with me. I need a death pill. A death pill like I wrote about in my book. I could use one right now. Maybe three death pills. One for now and two for later.

It’s one of those crappy middle of the week days. A WED NES DAY for Christ’s sake.

My back hurts. My knees ache. It’s only four p.m. but I need a drink. Hell, it’s five o’clock somewhere. I’ll pretend I’m in Borneo.

What just happened?

I’ll be damned. I never would’ve believed it.

There she is! She’s crawling out of her boat.

The old lady.

I’ll be damned…

I was sure the old girl was toast.

But there she is!

Messing with her tarp.

She’s hanging in there!

All this time I’m thinking they took her to a rest home.

Or she croaked.

Man, you gotta have faith!

I’m gonna go see if she needs anything.

She doesn’t need anything.

She says she’s doing fine. Just another lovely day, she says.

Man, I oughta be ashamed of myself.

I mean look at her.

Carrying grocery bags. She’ll trudge along all the way to Molly Stones. Trudge all the way back. I oughta give her a lift. Offer her a ride. Maybe I will. Forget the nap. Offer the old gal a ride. Unless she needs the exercise…

Man, I need to shape up.

The Old Lady made my day.