Words for My Enjoyment

I Can’t Hear You, Drugstore Standing Homeless Fundraiser Guy

October 20th, 2005

I can’t hear you, drugstore standing homeless fundraiser guy.

I can see you, sure, standing there with your little bell in your fancy white suit with a little pail that people can throw change into for your “supposed” homeless shelter fundraising event. You stand there, in front of my drugstore, every single day of every single week of every single month — and although I may be able to see you, I am a pro at pretending that I definitely cannot hear you.

I mean, don’t the people at the fundraising home base ever call you up and say, “Dude, you’ve been out there every day for the last year. Why don’t you come back to the office and do some real fundraising work.”

You either have short-term memory loss or a really bad ability to remember people’s faces because after the first time I gave you money, you pretended THE NEXT DAY not to know me. Sure, you said “God bless” and “The homeless need your help, dear friend” but let me let you in on something, pal ‘o mine — when I’m at a party and I don’t remember someone I always refer to them as “hey wanna meet my friend…FRIEND?” You totally don’t remember me from one day to the next and that sort of makes me feel cheap and like you used me after a night of pleasure.

I’m no philanthroputz. I know what’s going on.

So now I have enacted my new game plan since I constantly (apparently) have a need to go into that drugstore and buy the most random things on a whim (batteries, a scoop of ice cream, heating pads and powerbars seem to come to mind) which I would like to officially call: The I Can’t Hear You, Drugstore Standing Homeless Fundraiser Guy Plan.

We are obviously now locked in combat in a game I would ALSO like to officially call: The Passive Agressive Money Laundering Kind of Game, Game.

What did you say? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you because when I’m looking at my e-mail messages on my little phone device my ears get this kind of numb deaf feeling to them and it’s like the background noise you hear while watching an old Star Trek episode — you know, just space and the final frontier in the background. Or maybe I can’t hear you because when I walk I like to stare at my feet and internally remind myself that it’s my left, then my right, then my left, then my right. Or maybe I can’t look at you because that disease I have…you know, the one where men in all white suits holding coffee cans with a little slice in the top where money should be dropped, gives me an uncontrollable shortness of breath that disallows me from speaking, turning my head or moving my hand into my wallet?

Either way, I don’t even know what you’re saying on my way into the store. Sounds like blah blah blah or manamana to me.

On the way out of the store, is another story. At that point I’m often a captive of your ironic little game. You can stand there, right in front of the electronic doors and look me straight in the eyes and say to me again, “Sir…Friend… Would you like to help the blah blah blah of the blah blah blah with your blah blah blah?”

But alas, my FRIEND — I too have crafted yet another game to combat this behavior which I like to call: The I’m Eating A Butterfinger While Reading a Magazine While Counting in My Head to 100 While Swatting A Fly On The Side of My Head That You’re Not On, While Pretending to See Someone Past You In The Parking Lot Who I Know Which Is Illustrated By My Raising My Eyebrows, While Pretending To Unlock My Car With The Universal Remote Key Thingie From Way Too Far Away to Actually Work Game.

Oh, I can’t hear you. Not at all.

And until you admit to knowing me from yesterday, or take the time to remember who the hell I am, you ain’t gettin’ another pretty penny from this bank account.

No, sir.

Posted under It's True!, Stream of Consciousness. |