xtitsx: (Default)
( 23 Jun 2017 04:00 pm)
for the past year that we've lived in Fort Worth there has been an older Mexican guy who comes through our parking lot once a day pushing a little cart selling snacks.
you hear the motherfucker coming because his cart has been rigged with sleigh bells; ching-ching ching-ching ching-ching ching-ching.
this is not uncommon in the kinds of shithole neighborhoods the PSE and i live in.
there is often an Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart to be found.
the PSE and i almost always ignore the guy because i don't think his ching-chinging is for us.
fat little Mexican children often go running after him and whatever a 160 pound 10 year old is doing, i want to do the opposite.

one day, though, the PSE and i were out on our balcony watching traffic in the parking lot below when the Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart came trespassing through and a Black guy in his twenties went running after him.
the Black guy made a friendly comment to us as he went running so, on his way back i asked “what'cha get?”
i expected it to be a bag of Takis or maybe an ice cream sandwich if the sweaty entrepreneur has refrigeration in his cart but the Black guy came back with a Styrofoam cup full of creamed corn.
i asked him what the fuck he was eating and he smiled and said it was delicious so, okay, i guess the PSE and i had to give the stuff a try.

the PSE put on a pair of pants and some shoes and went out into the parking lot calling after the Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart “ay, wey!”
the PSE doesn't actually know what “ay, wey!” means, but she's heard enough Mexicans say that to each other that she figured it ought to apply.
the Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart stopped his cart and, through pointing and grunting, the PSE was able to place an order for whatever the fuck he was selling.
the Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart sold the PSE a Styrofoam cup full of creamed corn sprinkled with powered spice for $3 which seemed like a lot.
i suspect she had to pay a higher price, on account of being a gringa.

the PSE brought the experiment back to the apartment.
i was reluctant to try it because of the circumstances, but i tucked into it eventually.
it wasn't quite good, it was hot corn on a hot day from an immigrant with a push-cart, but it wasn't bad, either. mostly it was weird.
the lesson here is that if an Older-Mexican-Pushing-A-Ching-Chinging-Cart comes ching-chinging through your neighborhood, give him a try after a year or so of ignoring him.
but don't expect to do it more then once.

the other day the PSE and i had to go to Wal-Mart for reasons that were unavoidable.
as we rounded a corner to the frozen food aisle we were hit by the stench coming off of a pair of father-and-son Juggalos.
the son was maybe sixteen, which would make the father about thirty, i guess.
it's hard to tell poor people's ages on account of how hard their lives are.
both father and son were wearing catching extra-baggy jean shorts down to their shoes, and extra-baggy red shirts down to their knees.
i didn't think anybody dressed like that anymore except for Kevin Smith, but he does it for different reasons, i suspect.
what was really noteworthy, though, about this horrible duo was their stench.
the PSE and i could smell them from no less then a hundred feet away and it was so offensive that we had to turn around and leave the aisle without getting the frozen pretzels we were after.
it stunk of b.o. and cigarettes and cat piss and all the worst life decisions.
it's a smell that i suspect is unique to the lowest of the lumpenproletariate.
i don't think a middle-class person could produce a smell like that if they wanted to.
this is the kind of stink that comes from generations of poor breeding.
whoop whoop!

the other night i took a walk over to the Credit Union across the street to take a few hundred dollars out of their ATM.
i almost never use the ATM because it's old as shit and it doesn't take deposits and the PSE and i are in the habit of just going into the branch whenever we have business to transact which is fine because they are almost never busy.
but because it was nighttime and the Credit Union was closed, the ATM would have to suffice.
when i went to the back of the building where the ATM is, though, i found the whole area covered with a tarp.
i assumed they were in the process of finally installing a modern ATM that wasn't made in the late 1980s and walked back to my apartment without the cash i was after.
the following day i got dressed and went back to the Credit Union to make my withdrawal inside the branch.
when i walked in, the Credit Union had the distinct and overwhelming smell of pussy.
i approached the teller on duty -a bald Black woman with some kind of elephantiasis causing her right arm to swell to three times its normal size- and asked for the cash i was after.
as she was counting my twenties i asked her what was up with the ATM around back.
she told me that sometime last week a pair of thieves crashed their truck into the wall encasing the ATM machine, popped it out and drove away with it.
they were gone in under two minutes.
the Credit Union has surveillance video of the whole thing but apparently the cameras were installed at the same time the ATM was and you can't make a damned thing out.
the criminals got away with the heist, it would seem.
“when will you be getting a replacement ATM?” i asked.
“so they can teal that one too!?!” she said, full of Black lady sass, “nuh-uh!”
i collected my cash, thanked the teller, and walked back across the street to my apartment silently applauding the industrious thieves and their perfect crime.
good for you fucks! you've earned your haul!

a few weeks ago the PSE drove down to Austin to see about a Drug Study.
[more on that next week.]
while she was in town i asked the PSE to stop at our favorite Austin restaurant, the Italian Market, to pick me up some carry-out.
the PSE called in an order after she left the Drug Study and fifteen minutes later she turned up at the Italian Market to pick it up.
she announced herself to the carry-out desk and they presented her with a receipt to sign.
the receipt had her name on top but it was in the amount of $235 and it was already paid for.
i assume some other PSE in the Austin area was in charge of ordering lunch at the office that day.
any normal person would shrug and take the good fortune.
sure, it could be that Office PSE ordered $235 dollars worth of shit the real PSE and i don't eat, fish or tripe or olives-in-oil, but you've got to figure out of $235, there would have to be a few things the PSE would enjoy.
the PSE might have even stumbled into a feast that could last for days.
but, because the PSE is an asshole she told the kid at the carry-out counter that he was mistaken, that she had just come for a bruschetta and a salad.

i don't even think the PSE's decision was about right and wrong.
i don't think the PSE took the time to weigh out who, if any, would be getting screwed if she decided to make off with the lunch order.
if she did she might have found that it was not okay to nick the free lunch.
the Italian Market isn't a chain they're a local company and it probably isn't okay to steal from them if they're the ones who are going to take the hit.
i get that and i can respect that.
i would have been fine if the PSE came home and told me that she thought about it and opted not to take the free lunch because of issues of morality but i don't think it came to that.
i think the PSE told the guy at the carry-out counter that it wasn't her order because she is a square.
the PSE just doesn't have it in her to work the angles.
it's one of the fundamental problems i have with the PSE.
it's not the biggest problem in our relationship, i can live with it, but, if given the choice, i would always prefer to date a girl who is always on the jazz, looking to work a con.
now i feel like i got screwed out of a $235 free lunch.

//[ab irato ad astra]

September 2017

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