If you've read the post in this blog called; "Best Funeral Ever" you know the story of how my brother's funeral led to my family's spot on impersonation of the Jerry Springer show and drove a permanent wedge between my mother and her only daughter, or as we call her "That Junkie Whore". Surely you don't need to hold a degree in Jet Propulsion to know that our famuly didn't hold my sister in law "Joan" in high regard. In fact, it would be quite safe to assume that we would all wish to see her rot in the hottest part of hell!
*if you have read it, take a few minutes to read it now, otherwise this post won't make much sense*
So you could well imagine my surprise as the phone rang Monday night, and I found myself talking to the absolute last person I EVER expected to speak to in a civil manner again, Joan!
I feel a little background on "Joan" may be in order.
"Joan" is a CUNT, (not a word I throw around lightly, if I say it, I mean it!).
As long as I've known her, she's been a self absorbed, money grubbing shrew! Her kids are spoiled rotten (2 career parolees and a baby machine), and evidently a complete fucking idiot!
The entire time Bob and Joan were together, 3 questions trooped around steadily each time I thought of them; "What does he see in that bitch?", "What does she see in that Lying asshole?", and " What the FUCK!?"
I determined that she is an idiot, through observation. It basicly comes down to this, they dated 2 years before they got married, they were married nearly 10 years before he died, and in all that time she never once doubted that Bob was a decorated Marine, dishonorbly discharged and railroaded by the military system! He was like 5'5", weighed 125lbs soaking wet, and couldn't beat a Girl Sout in a fair fight. She ruled that house and never once in 12 years did he ever stand up to her.
After Bob's death she cleared a cool million in lawsuits and unbelievably managed to marry a man that puts up with being constantly compared to her dead "war hero" husband. And likely coming up short.
Anyway given that the last time I spoke to Joan, I was refusing to allow her into my uncle's house, and given the carnage that followed, I was shocked to the core of my being when I heard her voice on my telephone, nearly 8 years since we'd last spoken!
She didn't need to say who she was (Joan's voice makes Fran Drescher sound like Dion Warwick!), but she did, with Herculean effort I struggled to remain civil, since she was calling to convey her condolences. Too soon she began complaining that she sould've been notified immeadiately when mom passed, since they were "the best of friends" (Joan, she fucking hated you!), she complained about the way my stepdad handled the arrangements, information she could only have gathered from my aunt, the organ grinder of doom (my aunt gave her my phone # as well, just another reason I need to get the UnaBomber to send her a little priority mail).
I know Joan and her son visited mom several times after Bob's death, and that mom was polite and civil, because this was her dead son's wife, but I also know that mom never liked Joan, hated her after the debacle that was Bob's funeral. And the visits left my mother upset for days.
If Joan isn't the queen of denial, she's at least heir to the throne, evidently anytime someone spends more than a few minutes with her without beating her senseless with whatever blunt object is handy, they are B.F.F.
Before long she was talking about Bob again, mourning him, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, I needed to use the bathroom and I couldn't get her to shut up. So I went, then after washing my hands, I checked a pork roast I had in the oven, poured myself a beer and a bowl of popcorn and returned to find that sjhe hadn't stopped talking the entire 10 minutes I was gone!
I'm not fucking kidding here people! She never knew I was gone! So for the rest of the call I was resisting the urge to break out laughing!
She talked about her new husband, whom her youngest son found online, and how patient he was considering she still has all of Bobs things, his truck,clothes, Marine memrobilia, everything!
He doesn't complain much, though he'll occasionally say "You know I'm not Bob!" (you should thank Christ for that friendo).
You know I gotta wonder what's wrong with this guy, clubfoot, cleft palate, severe brain damage from a head injury, something. I sincerely hope ( for his sake ) he's deaf and blind! Or maybe he's laying the foundation for a future insanity defense (pretty smooth).
I was civil right to the end, even after she sent her love to my wife and brother (that pissed me off), after she told me to call her anytime (don't hold your breath bitch), she finally hung up. I laughed til I almost puked.
If she's so delusional she calls me back, I believe I'll unleash hell on her. Stay tuned. :lol:
-The Greeter
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Legend of cab 207.
I thought I'd relate to you some of my adventures, I'm hoping that whatever people check here for updates, as well as whoever happens across my blog, might be at least slightly entertained while I write these and try to break out of my funk.
So to whom it may concern, take a moment and have a look, I'll try to make it worth your time.
Cab 207 was the last company owned car I drove before I began buying my own cabs, it was hands down my favorite of all the "company cabs" I'd driven over the years.
I was the first driver assigned to this cab, I'd even driven the car back from the city auction where it was purchased.
It was a metallic blue 1990 Chevy Caprice with the 9C1 police package, never used as a police car, rather it was assigned to the city of Payson's (Arizona) code enforcement officicer.
As it was far nicer than many of our cabs, I was assigned more valuable trips and worked some of the high profile cabstands downtown. That's how I earned an $1,100 trip from Phoenix to Long Beach California.
$1,100 is way more than that trip is worth, today that trip by cab would run about $600/$650, but in Dec. 99 that trip was worth about $450.
I was on my way home from an especially aggravating 12 hour shift, my last trip had been an airport run so I cruised the downtown hotels on my way back to my comfort zone.
As I turned from 2nd street west onto Adams I was passing the south lobby doors of the Hyatt when I heard a whistle, before I knew what happened a drunk staggered in front of my cab, I barely stopped in time.
Oblivious to his near death experience he stumbled his way into the cab.
"I gotta go to Long Beach, how much?"
"What airline," I asked.
"No man, you don't get it, I need you to drive me to Long Beach, how much to drive me to Long Beach? I gotta be there by 10:30."
It had been a long, hard day, I was tired and just couldn't bear the thought of hauling a drunk 400 miles at 3 am.
"Long Beach'll run you a grand." I figured that would get this fool out of the cab, but no!
"I'll give $800 cash and pay for gas, there's a $400 bonus if you get me where I need to be by 10:30. Whadya say?"
"Pay my tickets?"
"You bet!"
"Let's get going, $800 cash up front!
Unbelievably, he peeled 16 $50 bills off a roll that wouldn't have fit in a 1lb coffee can, he topped off the tank, and we were on our way. True to his word, he paid for the gas when we stopped in Blythe for a top off and a stretch. When we hit heavy traffic he gave me the directions that got us to his destination with 3 minutes to spare. He peeled off 10 more $50s, gave a little salute, and stumbled into the smallish office building without a word!
I found a shopping center and slept in the lot for 6 hours, then came on home.
After paying the triple lease, I cleared $1,100 and change.
Only once have I made more money from a single trip, on a trip to Vegas in '04, but that's another story.
It wasn't all beer and Skittles in ol' 207 though, 2 incidents several days apart, nearly cost me my life.
In Feb 2000 I was stopped at a traffic light when 2 armed men entered my cab. After being beaten and robbed I was forced to drive the men as they went on an epic robbing spree.
Not knowing what to do, I wedged the radio mike under my knee so it was keyed, I tried to convey my location or destination (I found out later that my leg blocked the microphone and all my dispatcher heard was nothing but muffled voices)
After 2 hours, 3 dope dealers, and 7 mini marts, the gunmen directed me behind a Goodwill store and ordered me to open the trunk.
I knew I was dead, I just couldn't see how I was walking away from this.
Believing they intended to lock me in the trunk, drive me somewhere and kill me, so I launched a desperate, hal-assed, thrown together facsimile of a plan. As I unlocked the trunk, I stumbled into one of the gunmen, as they both proceeded to beat me I pocketed the keys and allowed myself to be forced into the trunk of cab 207! As they slammed the trunk I prayed that neither of these numbnuts knew how to hotwire a car! I never said it was a good plan, I just saw it as my only chance of survival.
Within a few seconds the were pounding on the trunk!
"Where the fucking keys!?!"
"I got 'em in here! Y'all didn't ask for them!!" I know, stupid!
I heard one of them rack the slide of a pistol, then:
"Fuck it, I'm gonna kill him right here!!!"
I realized 2 things at once, that my plan was about to fail miserably, and that Iwas laying directly over a gas tank 3/4 full. Now I was gonna die and fry! At least I tried!
But instead of gunshots, I heard sounds of an argument and a struggle!
All I could make out was something about attracting attention, then silence.
I was alive!!!!! It worked!!!!! WOOHOO!!!!!
There was still the small problem of being locked in the trunk of a cab, hidden behind a thrift store, in the middle of the night. And I'm clausterphobic on top of everything else! Luckily it was February so I didn't have to worry about broiling to death, had it been summer, I doubt think I'd have survived.
So I kicked and screamed and made as much noise as I could, when I was worn out, I lit a cigarette (* A safety note; If you ever find yourself locked in the trunk of a car, DON'T FUCKING SMOKE!!!!! The trunk only has so much air inside, and while there are drain holes in the floor, they are typically covered by mats or carpet, so ventilation is minimal. Don't be stupid! This public service announcement is brought to you by the The Greeter*).
I listened as the dispatcher tried to raise me, then broadcast the description of my missing cab.
Eventually, hours later, I heard a vehicle approach, a door opened and closed, and I again began pounding, kicking, and screaming!
"Hey, where the hell are you?!" a man's voice.
"I'm in here!"
"What're ya doin' in there!?"
"Well, I'm on my fuckin' coffee break! Could you call the fuckin' cops or something, if it's not too much trouble!!!"
A few minutes later I heard sirens, then helicopters, voices..
"Sir! Are you all right?!"
"Well, I suppose so, all things considered!"
"How did you end up in the trunk?!"
"It's a long story!"
"Well, Fire's coming, we'll break you outta there!!!!"
"Whoa Whoa, Whoa, call my dispatch, have them send the extra keys!!!!
You tear up this cab, I'm the one has to pay for it! I've been in here for hours, a few more minutes ain't gonna matter now!"
A short time later the road supervisor arrived and opened the trunk, I bounced up like a human Jack in the Box, it would be a few hours later that I learned that my rescue had been televised live via news chopper.
Iwas questioned by police, questioned again by the supervisor and owner of the company, finally I went home. Once there, I got to spend the next couple of hours arguing with my wife.
I was back at work that night.
About a week later, a man walked up to where I was cleaning the winshield of cab 207, and began beating me with a pistol, it went off and a bullet grazed my scalp. Later, I told my wife i cut my head after tripping over a curbstone.
More to come.
-The Greeter
So to whom it may concern, take a moment and have a look, I'll try to make it worth your time.
Cab 207 was the last company owned car I drove before I began buying my own cabs, it was hands down my favorite of all the "company cabs" I'd driven over the years.
I was the first driver assigned to this cab, I'd even driven the car back from the city auction where it was purchased.
It was a metallic blue 1990 Chevy Caprice with the 9C1 police package, never used as a police car, rather it was assigned to the city of Payson's (Arizona) code enforcement officicer.
As it was far nicer than many of our cabs, I was assigned more valuable trips and worked some of the high profile cabstands downtown. That's how I earned an $1,100 trip from Phoenix to Long Beach California.
$1,100 is way more than that trip is worth, today that trip by cab would run about $600/$650, but in Dec. 99 that trip was worth about $450.
I was on my way home from an especially aggravating 12 hour shift, my last trip had been an airport run so I cruised the downtown hotels on my way back to my comfort zone.
As I turned from 2nd street west onto Adams I was passing the south lobby doors of the Hyatt when I heard a whistle, before I knew what happened a drunk staggered in front of my cab, I barely stopped in time.
Oblivious to his near death experience he stumbled his way into the cab.
"I gotta go to Long Beach, how much?"
"What airline," I asked.
"No man, you don't get it, I need you to drive me to Long Beach, how much to drive me to Long Beach? I gotta be there by 10:30."
It had been a long, hard day, I was tired and just couldn't bear the thought of hauling a drunk 400 miles at 3 am.
"Long Beach'll run you a grand." I figured that would get this fool out of the cab, but no!
"I'll give $800 cash and pay for gas, there's a $400 bonus if you get me where I need to be by 10:30. Whadya say?"
"Pay my tickets?"
"You bet!"
"Let's get going, $800 cash up front!
Unbelievably, he peeled 16 $50 bills off a roll that wouldn't have fit in a 1lb coffee can, he topped off the tank, and we were on our way. True to his word, he paid for the gas when we stopped in Blythe for a top off and a stretch. When we hit heavy traffic he gave me the directions that got us to his destination with 3 minutes to spare. He peeled off 10 more $50s, gave a little salute, and stumbled into the smallish office building without a word!
I found a shopping center and slept in the lot for 6 hours, then came on home.
After paying the triple lease, I cleared $1,100 and change.
Only once have I made more money from a single trip, on a trip to Vegas in '04, but that's another story.
It wasn't all beer and Skittles in ol' 207 though, 2 incidents several days apart, nearly cost me my life.
In Feb 2000 I was stopped at a traffic light when 2 armed men entered my cab. After being beaten and robbed I was forced to drive the men as they went on an epic robbing spree.
Not knowing what to do, I wedged the radio mike under my knee so it was keyed, I tried to convey my location or destination (I found out later that my leg blocked the microphone and all my dispatcher heard was nothing but muffled voices)
After 2 hours, 3 dope dealers, and 7 mini marts, the gunmen directed me behind a Goodwill store and ordered me to open the trunk.
I knew I was dead, I just couldn't see how I was walking away from this.
Believing they intended to lock me in the trunk, drive me somewhere and kill me, so I launched a desperate, hal-assed, thrown together facsimile of a plan. As I unlocked the trunk, I stumbled into one of the gunmen, as they both proceeded to beat me I pocketed the keys and allowed myself to be forced into the trunk of cab 207! As they slammed the trunk I prayed that neither of these numbnuts knew how to hotwire a car! I never said it was a good plan, I just saw it as my only chance of survival.
Within a few seconds the were pounding on the trunk!
"Where the fucking keys!?!"
"I got 'em in here! Y'all didn't ask for them!!" I know, stupid!
I heard one of them rack the slide of a pistol, then:
"Fuck it, I'm gonna kill him right here!!!"
I realized 2 things at once, that my plan was about to fail miserably, and that Iwas laying directly over a gas tank 3/4 full. Now I was gonna die and fry! At least I tried!
But instead of gunshots, I heard sounds of an argument and a struggle!
All I could make out was something about attracting attention, then silence.
I was alive!!!!! It worked!!!!! WOOHOO!!!!!
There was still the small problem of being locked in the trunk of a cab, hidden behind a thrift store, in the middle of the night. And I'm clausterphobic on top of everything else! Luckily it was February so I didn't have to worry about broiling to death, had it been summer, I doubt think I'd have survived.
So I kicked and screamed and made as much noise as I could, when I was worn out, I lit a cigarette (* A safety note; If you ever find yourself locked in the trunk of a car, DON'T FUCKING SMOKE!!!!! The trunk only has so much air inside, and while there are drain holes in the floor, they are typically covered by mats or carpet, so ventilation is minimal. Don't be stupid! This public service announcement is brought to you by the The Greeter*).
I listened as the dispatcher tried to raise me, then broadcast the description of my missing cab.
Eventually, hours later, I heard a vehicle approach, a door opened and closed, and I again began pounding, kicking, and screaming!
"Hey, where the hell are you?!" a man's voice.
"I'm in here!"
"What're ya doin' in there!?"
"Well, I'm on my fuckin' coffee break! Could you call the fuckin' cops or something, if it's not too much trouble!!!"
A few minutes later I heard sirens, then helicopters, voices..
"Sir! Are you all right?!"
"Well, I suppose so, all things considered!"
"How did you end up in the trunk?!"
"It's a long story!"
"Well, Fire's coming, we'll break you outta there!!!!"
"Whoa Whoa, Whoa, call my dispatch, have them send the extra keys!!!!
You tear up this cab, I'm the one has to pay for it! I've been in here for hours, a few more minutes ain't gonna matter now!"
A short time later the road supervisor arrived and opened the trunk, I bounced up like a human Jack in the Box, it would be a few hours later that I learned that my rescue had been televised live via news chopper.
Iwas questioned by police, questioned again by the supervisor and owner of the company, finally I went home. Once there, I got to spend the next couple of hours arguing with my wife.
I was back at work that night.
About a week later, a man walked up to where I was cleaning the winshield of cab 207, and began beating me with a pistol, it went off and a bullet grazed my scalp. Later, I told my wife i cut my head after tripping over a curbstone.
More to come.
-The Greeter
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Hello to all my loyal fans
As if, after all this time there are any of you left.
I've been through a lot since I last posted, basicly another complete nervous breakdown complete with a voluntary 72hour comittal for psychiatric evaluation.
I was put on leave by Wal*Mart the 1st weekend of December after I almost throttled a woman who called me a "fucking retard", with all the trouble it caused me, I wish they hadn't been able to stop me.
Wal*Mart put me on leave, I really don't blame them, they couldn't very well allow me to continue working knowing that there was a real possibility that the next time someone might get hurt- or worse. That's bound to be bad for business wouldn't ya think?
So after Wal*Mart jerked me around for a couple of weeks, after careful consideration a talking to people whose judgement I value (and trust) more than my own, I quit.
Wal*Mart wasn't gonna fire me, if they had I could've gone after them with "The Americans with Disabilities Act". By putting me on leave, and leaving me there, they keep me from filing for unemployment and from filing lawsuits or complaints with the Dept. of Labor. I am nothing more annoying than a housefly to the fuckin' bohemoth that is Wal*Mart, but why should they put up with pestering me them when they can neutralize me so easily.
Fuckin' Pricks!
So now I'm in the process of trying to get back on disability, (tricky even though I've been on disability twice for the same issues) and functioning on a budget that's $900 lighter than it was last month, a budget that was barely adequate before.
And everyone telling me to "take it easy" and "relax" and "let things work themselves out".
Real easy to say when it's not you, not so easy when you're the one that's dealing with your mind trying to implode while deciding how to stretch $1200 cash to cover $2100 in bills!
I want you to understand, I was originally diagnosed as a Manic Depressive in 1989, but didn't start on medication until 1999, when my diagnosis was revised to Rapid Cycling BiPolar Disorder w/ Intermittent Explosive Disorder.
In 2004 I worked at a group home that paid me $7.10 an hour to sleep, it fit well with my taxi gig and provided the oppurtunity to get cheap health insurance, a job I'd had since December of 01. In March of 04 (on St Patrick's Day in fact) I was fired after a client physically attacked me, forcing me to defend myself in a manner that my employer found to be excessive. With my job went my insurance, my wife was able to get on with her company's insurance, but they refused to cover my pre-existng mental illness.
Without my insurance, between medication and therapy was gonna run nearly a thousand bucks a month. Looking at having our income cut by nearly 1/3, I made the first in a LOOONNNGGG line of bad decisions, I quit treatment. By December the lack of treatment was already taking it's toll, it's too bad that I was too busyto notice. Then I got shot, nearly killed, and fucked for life, and then, and then, and then.
And now here I am, it's January 11, 2008 and I'm trying to work miracles while trying to regain my will to live, which is rather tenuous at best right this second, and I can see where the trouble began, not that it does me any good now.
I recently had my diagnosis revised yet again to "a hard BiPloar I, Rapid Cycling w/ Intermittent Explosive Disorder and Schizo-Affective tendencies" I learned that the things I've been hearing all my life are auditory hallucinations, believe it or not, I had no idea, I thought it was normal. In fact as I type I'm hearing Secadas(sp?) (if you don't know what a Secada is, think"mono-tone crickets).
I don't feel any real sense of self worth, if it weren't for the feelings of a few people, I believe I'd kill myself, I just don't really feel like I'm worth saving.
It's not like I want to die, but I don't want to keep living this way.
Hopefully I'll get better, if I don't, we'll see I guess.
If there's anyone still reading this, we'll talk again.
-The Greeter
I've been through a lot since I last posted, basicly another complete nervous breakdown complete with a voluntary 72hour comittal for psychiatric evaluation.
I was put on leave by Wal*Mart the 1st weekend of December after I almost throttled a woman who called me a "fucking retard", with all the trouble it caused me, I wish they hadn't been able to stop me.
Wal*Mart put me on leave, I really don't blame them, they couldn't very well allow me to continue working knowing that there was a real possibility that the next time someone might get hurt- or worse. That's bound to be bad for business wouldn't ya think?
So after Wal*Mart jerked me around for a couple of weeks, after careful consideration a talking to people whose judgement I value (and trust) more than my own, I quit.
Wal*Mart wasn't gonna fire me, if they had I could've gone after them with "The Americans with Disabilities Act". By putting me on leave, and leaving me there, they keep me from filing for unemployment and from filing lawsuits or complaints with the Dept. of Labor. I am nothing more annoying than a housefly to the fuckin' bohemoth that is Wal*Mart, but why should they put up with pestering me them when they can neutralize me so easily.
Fuckin' Pricks!
So now I'm in the process of trying to get back on disability, (tricky even though I've been on disability twice for the same issues) and functioning on a budget that's $900 lighter than it was last month, a budget that was barely adequate before.
And everyone telling me to "take it easy" and "relax" and "let things work themselves out".
Real easy to say when it's not you, not so easy when you're the one that's dealing with your mind trying to implode while deciding how to stretch $1200 cash to cover $2100 in bills!
I want you to understand, I was originally diagnosed as a Manic Depressive in 1989, but didn't start on medication until 1999, when my diagnosis was revised to Rapid Cycling BiPolar Disorder w/ Intermittent Explosive Disorder.
In 2004 I worked at a group home that paid me $7.10 an hour to sleep, it fit well with my taxi gig and provided the oppurtunity to get cheap health insurance, a job I'd had since December of 01. In March of 04 (on St Patrick's Day in fact) I was fired after a client physically attacked me, forcing me to defend myself in a manner that my employer found to be excessive. With my job went my insurance, my wife was able to get on with her company's insurance, but they refused to cover my pre-existng mental illness.
Without my insurance, between medication and therapy was gonna run nearly a thousand bucks a month. Looking at having our income cut by nearly 1/3, I made the first in a LOOONNNGGG line of bad decisions, I quit treatment. By December the lack of treatment was already taking it's toll, it's too bad that I was too busyto notice. Then I got shot, nearly killed, and fucked for life, and then, and then, and then.
And now here I am, it's January 11, 2008 and I'm trying to work miracles while trying to regain my will to live, which is rather tenuous at best right this second, and I can see where the trouble began, not that it does me any good now.
I recently had my diagnosis revised yet again to "a hard BiPloar I, Rapid Cycling w/ Intermittent Explosive Disorder and Schizo-Affective tendencies" I learned that the things I've been hearing all my life are auditory hallucinations, believe it or not, I had no idea, I thought it was normal. In fact as I type I'm hearing Secadas(sp?) (if you don't know what a Secada is, think"mono-tone crickets).
I don't feel any real sense of self worth, if it weren't for the feelings of a few people, I believe I'd kill myself, I just don't really feel like I'm worth saving.
It's not like I want to die, but I don't want to keep living this way.
Hopefully I'll get better, if I don't, we'll see I guess.
If there's anyone still reading this, we'll talk again.
-The Greeter
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