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Monday, December 24, 2012

The Devil You Know Part 5


Sue has had it, through her sobs I listen to her, all she wanted was to go away for a day, have fun and show me her home in the Bronx. “Goddamned Motherfuckers,” she screams into the air. 

There are large groups of people hanging out who begin to laugh and mock her. “Sue, get in the car and we will figure it out later,” I say gently taking her elbow. “Where the fuck am I supposed to sit? “Where the fuck am I supposed to sit?” She screams again towards the groups of people hanging out. “Boo Hoo Hoo,” screams a male voice back at her from the crowd. “You better control your woman Faggot,” someone screams at me from the group. “Get in the car,” I hiss at her, all I need now is to take on a group in a fight in front of McDonalds, in the Bronx.

“I want to go home,” Sue sobs. “Get in the car and we can go,” I say opening her door. “No, I want to go home!” she screams. ‘We are going home,” I assure her. “To Albany?” she sobs. “Yo, is there a problem going on over here?” one of the guys from the group asks as he begins to walk towards us, the rest of the group starts to snicker. Sue turns on him and starts screaming “Someone took my mother fucking car seat while I was in McDonald's for five minutes!” The guy stands still but pushes his head back as Sue approaches him. “But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you!”  Sue raises her hands as if to pound on him and I rush forward, grab her hands and pull her back. I figure we have about one minute to get out of here before we will have a real bad problem on our hands.

“Get her Faggot,” a male voice screams. I grab Sue and drag her back to the car and make her get in. “How am I supposed to drive?” she sobs and pounds on the steering wheel. There is really no way to drive the car without a seat and I look around about fifteen feet from me there is a milk crate. I close Sue’s door and walk over and grab the milk crate and run around to the passenger side and climb in. “Here sit on this I instruct her.”

Sobbing, Sue sits on the milk crate and starts the car. She backs up, turns around and pulls out but not before giving the finger to the large group of guys, who break into hysterics the minute she does it. They mime “Boo Hoo,” as we drive away. ‘Keep driving,” I tell her as she cries openly. Twenty minutes later we find another milk crate in the gutter and I sit on that for the long drive back to Albany. This experience has sobered us up, and I do my best to cheer her up on the way home and make her laugh.

The next couple of days we laugh and tell everyone the crazy story of us driving to the Bronx and getting our car seat stolen. It’s been chalked up as “Just one of those things.”

I am offered a job at the flower/balloon delivery company called Balloon-Age. My friend Marcie’s Mom owns it and I spend the first several weeks dodging giving her my non-existent driver’s license. “Tomorrow,” I tell her as I climb into the driver’s seat of the van.
Balloon-Age will deliver anything for a buck and they do. Marcie’s Mom gets the idea to also offer singing telegrams and brings on a girl that tap dances and changes the lyrics of songs to fit someone’s name into it, she rides along with me in the van. I am told, that I will do the role of the Singing Gorilla, Good Humor Man or any other male role that she can sell to have her flowers/balloons delivered. We get several calls for a male stripper and Marcie’s Mom tries to entice me with the pay of $35.00 per strip if I’ll do it. After the fifth call she turns down, I decide to do it. A call comes in later in the day for a male stripper, it’s for a Bachelorette party and I am asked if I can dress as a cop. We only have the Gorilla or the Good Humor Man costume so those are her choices, Marcie’s Mom answers back while she gives me a thumbs up.

I am a nervous wreck, I weigh about 150 pounds soaking wet and I haven’t really been working out. I am driving the van dressed as the Good Humor Man when I pull up to the hotel with the party in it. I walk into the room shaking, flowers in one hand, poem with Bachelorette’s name in the other hand. The place is packed and the Bachelorette’s Mother and Grandmother sit on either side of her. Everyone coos in excitement. The minute I finish my song, I begin to strip. Well strip is the wrong word; I am more like Coco in the movie fame except for crying, I am on the verge of tears and I really don’t want to take anything off. I look and feel pathetic and the look of anticipation that all the women had when I arrived is now gone and replaced with a look of “What the fuck?”

I finish my strip and the Bachelorettes Grandmother says “That’s it? And then they all go back to talking as if I am not there. I bend over and grab up my clothes but I am reminded by the piece of paper near my clothes, I am still supposed to get the Mother of the Bachelorette to sign the form to say I was here. I have to wait a good five minutes before I can get the Mother to turn around and sign, she shakes her head as she signs.

To be continued……

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent. 

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