Friday, October 25, 2013

Call Me Baptist

I walked into a little Mexican market where I buy my brisket with pickle taco and the place has been renovated in light of the economic boom. Gone are the candles of La Virgen De Guadalupe replaced by grotesque Bud Light models with fake tits.
The woman behind the counter said, "I thought I recognized you..."
I figured she was going to say I looked like Val Kilmer or Cris Angel.
"You play piano at the old age home."
"Yes, ma'am."
"My aunt loves that song you play..."
"Cuatro Milpas...?"
"Alla en el Rancho Grande?"
No....It's 'Oh, Suzanna'. She always claps."
'Oh Suzanna' repeats endlessly and monotonously but I play it pretty good with full chordal harmonization of the chorus like I'm Liberace or something. They are a forgiving audience at the rest home.
"Right. From my cowboy songbook. Ma'am, I have a question."
"What is it with this new case of glass bongs."
"New owners."
She nods toward a man I hadn't seen before, stocking cigarette lighters. I shrug at him and for some reason have already lost my temper because in Texas ordinarily one must always say, "Sir..." when engaging a man in conversation. But I had always liked walking into this building with fire code violations, signs in Spanish, no pornography, broken glass in the parking lot, beer on ice, an old woman who spoke Spanish no matter what you looked like. She charged too much for tacos but they were good and hand made so no one said anything. Now there is some kind of Generic Fried Chicken being built in a corner. The step that would almost break your neck has been fixed. I don't like it...but I really hate and am offended by an entire closed case full of glass pipes and we live in Seattle. I repeat: I'm annoyed and offended by the whole new management and this "new owner" is not Mexican. He looks like a guy who would never eat the fried chicken being served at his new store.

"What's the deal with the glass bongs?" I make an effort to sound funny. "Is there some kind of big demand for glass pipes in a town with a population of 600? You could sell a pipe to everyone who lives here."
I'm not even joking, the case had about 100 glass pipes and you would have to drive a long long way to find a town this blinking yellow paved road...tumbleweeds...feed store. But we're all working under a drug policy. And it's offensive. And furthermore it's a big city attitude that I can immediately smell like shit on a heel and my fur is up on my back. To me it's very obvious that this case full of bongs is The Devil and it has been brought uninvited to my church and I'm grinding my teeth from anger. You could say, "It's his store and he can do what he wants." But I'm pretty fed up with that kind of flimsy cowardice. The easiest way to explain my feeling is that it doesn't work. Laissez fair culture has led to Miley Cyrus grinding her 20 year old pussy and rapping about a date rape drug. Everyone is offended and nobody has the balls to put her on their knee and spank her. So we have a diarrhea culture devoid of morals and taste. SORRY IF THAT DOESN'T WORK FOR ME. IT DOES NOT FUCKING WORK TO HOPE AND PRAY FOR EQUALITY AND DECENCY. Furthermore; I don't care that it's his store. That doesn't mean shit to me. I mean, give me a break, I'm in Texas, blatantly stolen from Mexico in 1847...nothing is sovereign here except that which you defend with rifles. People had all kinds of criticism for Communism because in theory maybe it was noble, but in practice it was a mess....WELL THAT IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT CAPITALISM. IT IS NOT A SUCCESS except on paper! You are living in a fantasy world if you do nothing about The Devil in your church.

The guy doesn't acknowledge me. Like the cashier in Austin who was baffled by my comments about the synthetic pot he was selling. I was cashing my $22 haul for getting a displaced vertebrae rebuilding my ego in dusty decay, and saw the colorful package that I knew was junk and grabbed my check back. "You want to sell that junk I'll take my business elsewhere." and I was starving, had no cash, homeless, no gas in the van complicating my life with petty morality, police waiting to execute me in the street and dump my body in a lake. I was reminded of this so I stop being light-hearted since I'm now loaded with cash, comfortably housed, fattened up, full tank...make $22 an hour to listen to crappy country songs on the radio. In fact, I was on the clock while standing around looking at glass bongs in a mini market.
"It's really grotesque to show up in a little town and turn a little mini market into a Venice Beach head shop. Did anyone ask you to sell 100 glass pipes here? Huh?"
Again, the guy keeps stocking his fake leather wallets.
"Do we live in Austin now? Do you have that Salvia crap too? That Special K junk? You know, the synthetic pot that has kids puking in their shoes?"
No one answers me. They ignore me and I completely forget that I'm supposed to be driving toward a location to do some kind of bullshit with radios. Mentally I've snapped to an antagonistic Oggy who for some reason is defending the purity of some piss ant little store in the middle of no where.
This is a crazy statement because there is no synthetic pot in sight and to burn anything in a gas station parking lot is plain dangerous. But I'm offended by everything that is taking place here. This was a store I could count on to be authentic and suddenly they are trying to make a buck off of Chinese glass bongs and hookas. Everything I love about rural Texas is being pissed on. A coworker starts to push me toward the door.
"Settle down, Oggy."
Fortunately, there are no security guards and the pipe welders all ignore me indifferently. I grumble as I walk toward my truck..."Unsophisticated Motherfucker can get on his magic carpet and fly back to Bagdhad!" I say in a rude attack on the new owner's heritage.

It set a bad tone to my day so I reflected on it and decided my anger is really displaced toward the adults in 1977 who let corporate America ass fuck coastal New England to save a few dollars on a bicycle. The 1976 USA Schwinn that I got at Gallagers and learned to ride on soon became a Chinese Huffy bought from Bradlees and everything else went down the drain, everywhere I've been in America has the same moral decay and the same cheap and lazy pragmatism, people making excuses, scratching their asses, obeying the bank, ignoring the flames at the furnace. And the question is, "What could they have done...?" and I was surprised that the answer had already been demonstrated by my sociopathic alter ego in the morning...simple...defend with your teeth that which you love...go down with the ship or keep it afloat...don't let some cunt walk in with promises of jobs and turn a wetland in Newington into a neon arcade. It's not complicated; if you don't like something then burn it in the parking lot until it goes away. That's Democracy. Don't be deluded that a vote once every four years is your citizenship duty. That's what assholes think. Thoreau talked about Higher Laws and those are the ones I obey. For 6 years I've been trying to rid the world of those supermarket gossip rags at the checkout aisle. But I can't win. They keep coming back. I feel I may snap one day and do something radical because I would definitely sacrifice my life if it would mean the end of those magazines. I just can't figure out how to actually permanently destroy all of them at once. And I have a particular hatred of that synthetic marijuana and the fuckwads who sell it next to the beef jerky and legal speed. I really hope I got my message across because I feel unrestrained rage at anyone who sells that junk. It's irresponsible to sell it and I'm feeling lately that it's irresponsible to let them sell it.

Later, I thought, Jesus, this is how some lunatic Baptists think.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.