Wednesday, September 29, 2010

9-29-10

The Market

Five years of design school and this is where I end up on my Sundays -- in the rain, working at a farmer's market. It's not so bad really, it's just that Sunday is when my friend Tyler shows up to work, and Tyler makes everything worse. Tyler's an idiot, but I thought I'd do the nice thing and find the guy some gainful employment. Even Tyler could work at a place like this without fucking everything up -- or so I thought.
 
My boss, Ulysses, talked to me the other day about it, "If that fucking idiot screws everything up again, I'm going to fire him! I've never fired anyone! But I will fire him -- after I ask my dad." Uly, as I called him, technically wasn't the boss of anyone, but he acted like it, and I suppose he did have powers of termination if it came down to it.

The rain came down as it usually does when it's winter in Portland. Everything was wet, it was raining, this is rain. Clouds, cold, gray, gloom, dreary, depression, do you get it!?
I needed to get my shit together fast, because this farmer's market thing was balls. My shit being my graphic design portfolio. The job wasn't so bad really, but when it starts raining every morning, it's just not worth it anymore. I was meant for better things than this. I'm a genius dammit!

I sat in my girlfriend's four door, waiting for the boss to show. I listened to a CD of Vivaldi. It was not my music, it was my girlfriend's. I had forgotten my iPod, but that didn't matter really, because that POS never worked in the first place. Fuckin' Apple, ruining countries, foisting crap on white rich brats. No, I'm just kidding, I love Apple. This is the kind of shit Tyler would say between crying and moaning over his book.

I saw him, Tyler, he was headed toward my car. He wore a newspaper on his head to stop the rain. I don't know why he didn't have an umbrella. I rolled down the window and said to him, "Why don't you have an umbrella?"

He looked at me for a moment like I was stupid, "I have a newspaper."

"Okay."

"Are you listening to Vivaldi? I didn't know you liked Vivaldi."

"I don't, it's my girlfriends."

"Oh."

He stood there for a few moments, alone, in the rain, saying nothing. He sniffled. That crappy green coat he wore all the time was soaked through, but only in the front strangely enough. He flipped the newspaper to the drier side. I rolled the window up and leaned back in the seat. I had an awful head ache and a sore throat, possibly a cold. It just goes to figure I'd feel like shit on a day like this. I opened the glove box and grabbed a flask from inside. I twisted off the cap and took a few gulps of high quality liquor. This helped, somewhat.

There was a rapping on the window. It was Tyler again. I took a moment to stare at him with open disgust, then rolled the window down and said, "What do you want Tyrone?"

"Who's Tyrone?"

"Nothing. What do you want Tyler?"

"Can I come in?"

"I guess."

He came around to the passenger's side and struggled for a moment to open the door. I waited for him to stop tugging on the handle long enough for me to unlock the passenger door. He flopped into the seat and tossed the wet newspaper behind him.

"It smells in here," he said, pinching his nose.

"Fuck you."

He picked up a Taco Bell wrapper (which was mine) and said, "Your girlfriend needs to clean her car."

"You want to go back outside?"

"No," he said, then stared out the window and became quiet.

We sat that way for a while, waiting for Uly to arrive with his enormous truck packed with fresh vegetables. Vivaldi entertained us with Four Seasons. I asked Tyler how his book was going, no just kidding, I didn't do that, fuck his book. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the window.

"Don't press your oily face against the window like that," I said, as though this wasn't common knowledge to him.

He moaned like a fucking baby and said, "I am so fucking tired."

"Huh."

He took his face off the window, wiped his drippy nose with the back of his hand, and said, "Been writing my book."

"Okay."

I saw Uly's truck pull into the parking lot. I grabbed the flask for one last dose then tossed it back in and slammed the glove box shut.

"Can I have some?" said Tyler as if on cue. Fucking mooch.

"No, I'm sick," I told him.

"I don't care."

"It's not mine, it's my girlfriend's."

"I still want some."

"Get out of the car."

He grabbed the flask and chugged several gulps, spilling some down his chin.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Tyler looked at me hurtfully and said, "I thought you said I could have some?"

Tyler always made my headaches worse. I rubbed my forehead, I didn't have time for this. I gave his shoulder a shove and said, "Just get out of the car."

"But it's raining."

"Yeah, I know."

"Maybe we should wait."

"No, get out."

"I read the weather reports, it said it would be sunny. So we could probably wait a few minutes."

"The sun is never going to come out, not today."

"How do you know? Let's wait. Ulysses can handle unloading by himself."

I stared at him for a moment. There was nothing to say to this. This was just Tyler being difficult. If he wasn't going to get out, then I was, because I was here to do my damn job, and I did just that. He followed shortly after. Tyler hated to be alone.

"I thought you were going to wait?" I asked him.

"The car smells," he told me, holding a new, dry, newspaper above his head.

Uly stepped out of the truck. He was an enormous man. Nearly seven feet tall and three feet wide, he could probably break your neck with one hand. He took a moment to hitch his pants, then looked at us and said, "I hate both of you and wish you were dead." Uly was a real nice guy (ha, ha).

"Good morning," I said.

"Hi Ulysses," said Tyler.

Uly looked at Tyler, shook his head, and said, "What are you doing with that fucking newspaper? You can't work holding a fucking newspaper above your head."

Tyler stared back, with much the same look he gave me earlier, and explained, quite simply, that it was raining.

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