Admitting the fact that my attitude can be abrasive as a brillo pad on a pink bottom, is a real hard thing to do.
Now that is over, ruminations, my dear man, ruminations.
Ruminate this, Motherfucker.
There was at one time, a visitor to our island who always stayed at "Hotel Hell". Mr White. He is (was) a interior desinger from San Fran. A genuine, dyed in wool, 3 dollar bill. Queer doesnt begin to describe him. In the words of Freddie Mercury... "bring me another boy, this ones broke!" His adventures in gay debachuery were legendary. His stays were marked by expensive changes to his room, altered menus for his dining pleasures, constant, constant verbal abuse of waithelp, staff, and management. But, (and he found all he could) he spent huge wads of cash. (As well as huge wads of jizz, from the housekeepers tales.) Once, his highness had come in over the holidays (Xmas) and his "personal assistant" - a middle aged, portly lady, had placed the christmas tree in the room for the royals enjoyment. For god knows what reason, he went ape-shit that it was in the wrong location. Fire the lady on the spot. Took her return ticket. (asshole of the year, we have a winner)
As it would go, the staff heard of this lady and her plight. A bunch of do-ggoders and the like collected some coinage and got her a fare home to the mainland. She was stoked, thankful.
Best part to come.
All I could think about was how much a fucker this guy was. I mean, you got $, you got your boy-toy harem. Do what floats your boat, but hacking people up verbally and just for entertainment, WTF? Fantasy of having to deal with this cretin on the fire-side of my life was often thought of - (die motherfucker, die!!!) - Not. but it did cross my mind.
Our station responds to my "hotel hell", so chances are it could happen. Years of this shit went on.
Then, on a sunlit, gorgeous afternoon, the alarm came in - "unresponsive person, Ladder X, 2259 XXXXXX ave" Hotell hell. Off we go. Victim is in the presidential suite. Up, in, gear at the ready.
There, in the fading light of the afternoon was Mr. White, AIDS/HIV victim, breathing his last breaths of this world. His complexion was pock marked with sores, scabs, and pus. He looked, and smelt, like shit.
I couldnt think of how much pain this guy put people through, in his life.
I couldnt feel anger anymore.
After watching him die, I felt a great deal of pity.
Sometimes, you wish for shit, and you really dont want to have it granted.
Aloha.
1 comment:
Amazing. Very human of you. I had a girlfriend once. Very fickle. We spent 3 years together, on and off. Always she'd break up with me. Wanted her freedom, wanted some other guy, whatever. She was a sweet girl, but she didn't manage my feelings very well. When she'd dump me, she could be quite cold about it. Tore me up every time. During one of our 'on' periods, she cheated on me. She was dusted before that, which made it worst. Always thought I'd be the one to take her virginity. But I didn't leave her. Our relationship seemed to improve after her betrayal. She was all about pleasing me. Eventually we settled into a genuine relationship. Things had never been better. Then I met another girl and realized I'd never gotten over my girlfriend's infidelity. Broke up with her. Thought I'd feel victorious. Thought I'd say, "See how it feels!" But I just felt bad. I reduced her to what she had reduced me to on so many occassions. It just felt bad to see her like that and I couldn't take any pleasure in it. I suppose that's a good thing.
Your response to Mr. White shows that you have a lot of heart.
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