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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