(photo by Malcolm)

“And remember, my friends, future events such as these will affect you in the future.”     –Criswell, narrator for Plan 9 from Outer Space (Ed Wood, director)

Saturday, July 25
A resident at my mom’s nursing home, whom I will call Theodora, generally greets me by saying, “Help me,” or “Help us.” On Saturday she said, “Hello.”

“Hello,” I said.

“Help me,” she said.

I wheeled Mom into her room, and we drank coffee and she nibbled on a Choco Leibniz cookie—the chocolate had melted a bit in the car. Then we went for a spin around the floor. As we wheeled into the day room, Theodora looked at me and said, “Help me. If you help me, my brother will help you . . . with money.”

This is the first time she’s offered me a bribe.

Monday, July 27 (aka “Ass Crack Monday”)
It was a trying day at the office. My email had been crashing throughout the day, first every 20-30 minutes, then every five minutes. I contacted our help desk, but nothing was resolved. In my field, you are paralyzed without email – all documents and constant client communications are received via email, and so on.  You get the picture. I am currently operating through Citrix.

5:35 p.m.
Standing on the corner of 40^th Street and 3^rd Avenue, starting my walk across down to Port Authority Bus Terminal (“PABT”), a man standing next to me bends over, and ooh la la, an ass crack is revealed! I look away, longing for days of yore when people kept their derrieres to themselves and such a sight was a non-occurrence. When I arrive at PABT, an announcement over the loud speaker from “Big Sister”—always a soothing female voice (maybe she pops Soma)–informs us there was an accident on Route 495, causing delays, and that she thanks us for our patience. 45 minutes later, an express bus arrives to haul us, a sweaty, seething mass of humanity, towards New Jersey. I thought to myself, The world is your ass crack (in lieu of oyster).

Tuesday, July 28 (aka, “Piss in Bushes Tuesday”)
Another trying day at the office. Hard drive switched out twice, still no dice. Back on Citrix. I am on the verge of a complete mental breakdown, but I solider on.

The bus ride home is pleasant and uneventful—no accidents today. Walking toward my car at the de facto bus stop parking lot, I spy a man behind the bushes taking a piss. It’s still light out at 7 p.m. I think he sees me, but he continues his business. Exiting the parking lot, I see him standing at the bus stop. You know, Shoprite is directly across the street, and they have public restrooms. Perhaps I’ll tell him next time.

Wednesday, July 29 – 8:25 a.m.
On the bus, we are approaching the “tear drop” toll booth. I wonder what weirdness the universe has in store for me today.