Why yes, I’d love to hear about your goiter.

I’m not sure what rare quality I posess that make me a simpatico to tweakers and drunk people. They absolutely fucking love me. Is it my scowling face? Is it the fact that I am wearing headphones? What is it about me that screams: “QUICKLY, TELL ME ABOUT YOUR MEDICAL CONDITIONS.”


Upon what topic do you wish to converse, sir?

Regail me with the heroic tale of how you went to prison. Enrapture me with your complicated opinions regarding “those fucking fuckers” at the 7/11. Seriously, how I make it through the day without a thrilling lecture about how to exchange food stamps for liquor, I’ll never know.

I’ll admit it. I am slightly biased. I don’t like talking to anyone when I ride the bus, but it’s only the ones I want to talk to the least that have any interest in striking up a conversation with me.

The guy reading that book I really liked? Nope.
The girl wearing a t-shirt for that game/band/movie I loved? Not a chance.

No, it’s the 52-year-old man wearing a neon orange beanie, a wind breaker and tropical print “hammer pants” that’s going to make the move. The only person on the bus who wants to talk to me is a man who who reeks of stale cigarette smoke and malt liquor and who can’t wait to explain to me that the yellow stain on his ass isn’t really urine. Not really.


FOR SOCKS!

I am so happy I own a Blackberry. Earphones go in, music is cranked up and I am urgently typing something on my phone that I had no idea I needed to type just moments before. Sorry bud, I’d love to chat about methadone, but as you can see I am writing a very important e-mail to my friend Spartacus McJohnsonson regarding socks.

It’s apparent to me that with age, there comes a certain hardening of the heart. Younger Joe had a very hard time not being overly polite when accosted by random people. I used to feel guilty and obligated to humor them, but I no longer labor under that particular delusion. I will get up and walk the hell away. What is happening to the guilty liberal in me? I realized today–as an odoriferous man with no teeth made odd grinning, grunting gestures to me and tried to show me pictures of people he found amusing and/or was intimately acquainted with in the Busted Paper–I really don’t give a shit anymore. I stared at him hoping that he would stop talking, but as soon as I caught a whiff of him, I got up without ceremony and moved to the front of the bus (where I could smell him, incidentally.)

Hopefully this trend evens out a bit. At my current rate of emotional calcification, I’ll be voting chicken-hawk by 2012. Thankfully, I still hate Glen Beck, Christmas sweaters and country music, so not all is lost.

Yet.

6 Responses to Why yes, I’d love to hear about your goiter.

  1. You are a hot mess. Like that’s a newsflash.

  2. Joe No says:

    I’d love to deny it.

  3. dude, your wife has way more crazies come up to her. they apparently don’t detect her “bitch” shield.

  4. Joe No says:

    That’s because she doesn’t have a “bitch” shield.

  5. not to us common folk. but deep down inside of her cute and boobilous exterior, there is a “bitch” shield that all women possess. something must be must be done to fix hers, or else she will have to endure trivial but “nice” conversations with strange nerdy white men, or black dudes saying, ” dayyyammmm” and thinking they have a shot. she’ll be nice to anyone (which would have been a fantastic trait 30 yrs ago). i love her, and you. let’s get together soon. i think i’ve become an atheist. i’m sure we’ll have something to chat about.

  6. Joe No says:

    Aww, we miss you too! Marieke is in school and is a wee bit stressed at the mo, but I bet she’ll get used to it soon enough and will want to be social again. I, on the other hand, am around all the time. I’ll give you a call and we’ll meet up downtown for coffee with the rugrats.

    We always have plenty to talk about.