Leon's brother Sam is staying with us right now, and it seems that whenever he visits, I make a serious error in philanthropic judgment. Last time, I invited a strange man into our home when I was alone.

This time, I was on my lunch break and chatting on the phone with Dirk--the latter making me a perfect target because all I wanted to do was get back to my conversation.

I was standing outside of the restaurant where I planned to buy my lunch, when an overweight African American man in his early fifties approached me. There were wet spots around his eyes, and I didn't know if this was an effect of the sporadic rain or because he was crying. I chose to believe that it was rain, because the thought that he had been crying and had chosen not to wipe away the tears or that he had wet his face in an effort to look emotional was just far too manipulative.

He was missing his front teeth, but everything else about his appearance suggested there was legitimacy to his story: he was well dressed, carrying a map, and polite. He told me that he was a repair man and it was his first day working at a nearby building, which he even named. He said that his truck had been towed and that all of his belongings and money were inside. He needed money to get home.

I chose to believe his story or, at the very least, to give him money so that he would go away. As I explained to Dirk--who, on the other end of the phone, started to panic because he believed I was in trouble or doing something remarkably stupid--my actions can be summed up by a combination of wishing that someone would help me if I were in the same situation and the belief that such a man is far more wounded by my not believing his story than I am wounded by believing it. That is to say, I give a guy $5, $10, or $20 and I might have just been swindled. I lose. But if his story was legitimate and I didn't help him, he is fucked.

This makes me a sucker, of course, and recounting the story to Leon and Sam over dinner only solidified this.

So this man needed money for bus fare, and I decided to help him out. I probably would have given him $10. But the first bill that I pulled out of my purse was a twenty, and he could see immediately that there was quite a bit of cash in my wallet that he might be able to get me to part with. A fool and his money, and all that.

Somehow, I decided to give him the twenty. I'm not sure what he said that upped the ante, but his next move was to see what else he could get out of this poor sap.

"Well, there are four of us," he said, "and I think it costs $8.90 to get home. What is that?" I told him that this was between $35 and $36, and this led to me extracting another twenty dollar bill out of my purse and handing it to the man.

"Then, after we take the bus, it's going to be another $4 apiece," he said. And, by this point, I knew that I had just been fucked, fucked, fucked. Even if the guy's story was legitimate, he needed nothing more than five bucks and every cent beyond that was him taking me for a ride. I apologized politely and told him that this was all I could do. He hugged me and left.

Unfortunately, my common sense was hindered by my desire to be charitable and the fact that I was distracted by a phone call. Sam, Leon, and Dirk all chastised me for this, but I tried to believe that this man would benefit more from the forty bucks than I would.

Of course, what really made the swindle for me was that this man offered to pay me back. He acted so desperate for this money that it would be worth $100 to him in the future, he said. So he asked me to write down my address so he could send me a check--changing his story from "shoot, I make $30 an hour; what do I care?" to "I'll just bill my company."

I told him that it was unnecessary to do this, but still I wrote my contact information on his map in the hopes that he might be true to his word. After doing this, I realized that I was probably setting myself up to be robbed. I mean, a chick that will hand a man $40, no questions asked, must have a pretty sweet house. But maybe when he shows up at our apartment building to burgle our home, he'll feel so guilty that he'll slip the forty dollars under our door.

Either way, I realize that I got Nigerian scammed--in person! I honestly didn't give him money because I thought there would be more money for me down the line, but that was obviously what he was banking on: find a sucker who will give you some money in the hopes of getting more down the line. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I really need to stop being so naïve, but at least I won't be tempted to give a beggar money for a couple of months in the hopes that all will even out.

Yesterday, a middle-aged man tried to chat me up while waiting for BART. He asked me how I was and when I returned the greeting, he said, "Fine, except I might be dead in an hour."

Obviously, I thought he was drunk, high, and/or crazy. He assured me that he was neither of the first two and then proceeded to tell me about this great "deal" he had and how he invested money in some guy's business.

"It's called 'furniture,'" he said, as though he expected me to believe he works for IKEA. It made me wonder if "furniture" is slang for cocaine.

So, he was going to go meet with this guy who had sold him low-quality "funiture" that the middle-aged man couldn't sell. And he thought he would face this seller's short temper. "And I'm going there alone," he said.

I started to tell him that he should take someone with him, all the while knowing that other people waiting for BART thought I was naive and didn't know when to ignore strangers. But he interrupted me, which is just as well because he probably would have asked me along. And it's just as well, because I have trouble saying no to people, even when they appear to be out of their minds and when I have a perfectly good excuse, like work.

When the train came, he told me that he'd see me later, by the grace of God or something. And then he went and sat in another car.

But while I was on the train, I kept thinking that it would have been such a fucking cool idea to ditch work and follow some guy on an adventure to a warehouse in East Oakland where there would be a shoot out over "furniture."

Cool and stupid, obviously. I need to start ignoring these people on BART.

On my walk to work this morning, I actually saw a woman SQUAT AND PEE on the sidewalk. I shit you not.

At first I thought it was just rain because it was kind of drizzling and she was squatting near a post under an awning. I thought the steady flow was just runoff. But then I got close enough to see that she had her pants pulled down, etc.

The woman walking in front of me looked back at me as if to say, "What the fuck?" She then laughed and said, "Is it really that bad here? Has it gotten that bad?" I just smiled and laughed a little, when really I felt kind of nauseous and embarrassed for that woman.

"When it rains, it pours," my coworker said when I told him the story. Apparently.

Joe stopped by the apartment yesterday while I was at work. Leon and Sam were there, and when Leon answered the door, he more or less told Joe off. Leon then called me at work to let me know what had happened but I didn't get the details until I talked to...Joe. He was at the BART station when I was getting back to Berkeley from work.

And even though Leon had warned me, I felt completely unprepared to face him. I just made up a lot of (legitimate) excuses to explain why I was not going to get on BART and accompany him to Target. He insisted and tried to pull me by the arm.

He told me that Leon "was very bad to [him]" and that it made him feel ashamed. Leon had told him off about hitting on me and Joe once again tried to dismiss his actions like they weren't serious and he obviously didn't deserve to be treated that way by Leon.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel sorry for him. He's really not unlike the homeless people that I regularly see on the streets of Berkeley. He doesn't have a home, he doesn't have friends, and he's completely reliant on the kindness of others.

But I also know that isn't my damn fault, and he should try to get a job instead of mooching off of everyone. He needs to take responsibility for his actions and not try to get people to pity him. I know his situation well enough to know that he is intelligent and capable, but he's choosing to work on his demo tape while some poor mission family in Florida pays his bills.

Anyway, I'm a bit worried that Leon and I have set up the good cop/bad cop dichotomy where Joe thinks that Leon doesn't like him but he can seek some sort of refuge with me. It ain't gonna happen, buddy. I may listen to your sob story in the crowded BART station, but it won't go any further.

(And yes, I know I said I'd just act like a crazy person but you should know by now that I am all talk.)

Joe was waiting outside my apartment building when I got home from work. I was beyond pissed.

I didn't let him in and said I had to meet Leon. Joe walked me to the point where I was meeting Leon and waited for him. Goddamn, I am not happy. Leon's going to go off on him next time, I think.

Joe tried to invite himself in, and I was saying no, no, no. He also wanted me to know that he was "just playing" last night. Riiight.

I was fairly standoffish (for me), but I still found it hard to be mean. But I'm not taking this shit.

No, you're not going to use our printer.

No, I don't want to give you my number.

No, I don't think we should hang out in the apartment you're trying to get.

Damn.

I consider myself a good judge of character, and thus yesterday, when I was walking home from work and a portly black student from Ghana pointed down Shattuck Avenue and asked, "Where does it lead?" I didn't hesitate to offer him some directions and advice.

He even asked if he could walk with me and I said sure. He introduced himself as Joe (his American nickname) and said he was studying music. I explained to him what the Gourmet Ghetto was all about and then stopped at the McDonald's on the corner of Shattuck and University to get myself dinner. He asked if he could join me, and I said I was just grabbing a sandwich. He asked if he could wait, and I said fine.

As I stood in line, he sat on a stool by the window, and I felt sorry for him. He said he was staying with friends he met on the internet, and I wondered if they had ditched him. He just looked so pathetic.

And he was friendly. After I spent my $2.18 at McDonald's, I continued to walk with him until I reached my side street. He said he wanted to continue with me and I said fine. I really didn't find any of this unusual, because he just seemed curious and lonely.

When I arrived at my apartment building, I pointed at it and said, "This is me." He said, "Oh, so you are leaving me here?" I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said I couldn't really show him anything else; there's nothing to show; if I had my car, I could drive him to Telegraph, which is worth his time.

"Where is your car?"

"Leon has it." I had already told him about my fiance.

"Where is he?"

"He's playing softball."

Somehow Joe suggested that I needed to eat my dinner and we could go inside while I ate it. I told him that I didn't want to invite him in because my apartment is a mess. He said he didn't care. I said I did, and I was embarrassed.

"You don't need to be embarrassed. I'm a friend."

So I led him upstairs and to my apartment door where I stopped and suggested we eat in the park across the street, because we had talked about the park and how nice it was. He told me to not be silly.

And I let him in.

( Read more... )

Allow me to paraphrase what I commented in my last post:

My office is full of cooped-up nutcases who think that the sky is falling. (I am obviously one of those nutcases.)

There are still police outside the federal building, but I think if we had anything to worry about, we'd know by now. Despite what Jeeves might tell you, the world is not ending. I repeat: the world is not ending.

Last night, our neighbors across the courtyard asked us to bring a bottle of wine and join them while they smoked up in the rain. We didn't take them up on the offer, largely because I'm an antisocial nut and the last thing I need is to make friends with people who always knows when I'm home.

But I wish Leon would've joined them, because I could tell he wanted to. Why should he be held back by his lame girlfriend? He also could've gotten high with the crazy, dishelved lawyer who lives two apartments down. When we returned home from picking up dinner, this man was decked out in his usual rumpled suit while he sat in the rain and chatted up our gregarious neighbors.

A couple of months ago, Leon talked to this guy about our plans to hang blinds outside our apartment and to make sure that this wouldn't bother anyone. The lawyer used the opportunity to bash our landlord Franco with a lot of racist remarks. He then made Leon promise not to repeat any of this to Franco. Leon told him yes "but I know where you live!" And they both had a hearty laugh.

The next day, the lawyer showed up at our apartment to discuss Leon's "threatening" remark and to again ensure that we wouldn't dare tell Franco. It was freaking bizarre. He's a little paranoid, no?

I've also noticed him rummaging in the dumster by the apartment building. It looks like he scatters all of his trash throughout the dumpster so it can't be traced to him or something.

Anyway, if this is the way this man usually behaves, I bet getting high with him would be incredibly entertaining!

But it wasn't meant to be this time. Perhaps soon, we'll go out into the courtyard with a couple bottles of wine and show that I'm not always as unfriendly as I seem.

On Saturday, a drooling, drugged-out homeless man accosted me and Leon as we were finishing our dinner. We were outside at a barbecue restaurant, when he hobbled up to us and asked us what we were eating. Leon offered the man his last pieces of bread, which the homeless man took, along with Leon's entire plate.

But there was no food on this plate--just the bones from Leon's ribs. So we watched as this drooling, drugged-out homeless man threw down the pieces of bread and discarded each rib, leaving a trail behind him as he walked. Leon, being the good person that he is, picked up the mess and told me that I couldn't throw away my can of soda. We'd wait until we were home and could recycle it.

I felt bad for the homeless man but he was also fucking scary.

He reminded me of another possibly drugged-out (but most likely drunk), possibly homeless man that Leon and I encountered a couple months ago.

We had gone to see a performance of the Kodo Drummers at UC Berkeley and were driving home when we noticed some nut in a wheelchair about three or four cars ahead of us. No, this man wasn't in a car; he was riding his electric wheelchair in one of the center lanes of the road. Cars were veering to avoid him, as he careened between lanes.

I thought for sure that some senile man had decided that it was perfectly legitimate to ride his Rascal through the streets and not on the sidewalk. But then we pulled up even with the man, and I could see that he was totally gone. He looked at me, and then threw back his head, laughing, "Ha! Ha! Ha!" It was a big drunken laugh.

Stopping at a red light, we watched this guy continue at full speed (all of 8 mph, I'm sure) straight through the intersection. A speeding SUV barely missed him, and a cop car drove right past as if this was totally normal.

We continued after him. When we hit Shattuck, we watched as he turned into oncoming traffic. I freaked out and called 911 on my cell phone and told them that if they didn't get a police officer out there soon, a man was surely going to die. I also discovered that 911 actually does put you on hold.

After Leon and I finished our barbecue dinner and Leon cleaned up after the homeless man, we were met by another homeless man at our car. He mouthed something at us, asked for spare change, and then stomped and yelled as we drove away.

We, however, were more preoccupied with whatever made the popping sound as we backed out of our parking space, and I verified that we had driven over some piece of trash. I smiled at a man, who was walking towards the nearby drug store, as Leon and I rolled our windows down to enjoy the beautiful spring evening.

During my lunches at work, I’ve recently taken to playing hearts on Yahoo games, which never fails to amuse. In one game, for example, some guy kept calling me a “cint,” which didn’t insult me like he had intended.

I was also amazingly entertained when I won a game and one of my losing opponents IM’d me and threatened to send me a “trogan.” Something like the following exchange took place:

Angry Woman: I hope you enjoy the trogan.
Me: I work at a dotcom so good luck sending that.
AW: No, you don’t.
Me: Umm, yes I do.
AW: Umm, no you don’t.
Me: Wow, it’s really flattering that you think my job is so impressive.
AW: Whatever bitch. Enjoy the trogan.

And it did flatter me. I know that I’m just a mere temp, and my status in the company is next to nil, but I briefly considered that I’m actually in a position that ‘net wannabes would lie about being in to improve their ‘net status. Granted, they’d be more likely to say that they are CEOs or programmers, but hey, it’s a start.

It’s much better than being an undergrad at a university that few have actually heard of. It makes me feel good for a moment.

I hate the way people drive in St. Louis.

Yesterday, I was driving on a fairly busy street, in the left lane. The light turned yellow, and I knew I had enough time to stop. So I did.

The light turned red.

This white van behind me, whose driver was obviously pissed as hell that I stopped at the light, refused to stop. He instead, sped off into oncoming traffic, ran the next two red lights, and finally stopped a little bit ahead, when it was evident that he couldn't go any farther (medians can be such a bitch!).

I'm always so annoyed when people break the rules and get away with it. So, naturally, I decided that I would catch up with him. This wasn't hard--traffic was congested where he was, and he was only a couple of lights ahead.

A few blocks later, I was in the right lane next to him. I flipped him off. This was weird because he was looking through the side window in the back at me. It's as if he expected me to do something, you know? I wasn't even trying to get his attention.

He flipped me off.

I continued driving past him. He caught up with me, and said something to the effect of, "Fuck you!"

I returned the insult.

I think he said something else, unintelligible.

I called him a redneck.

More middle fingers.

And then we parted ways. I'm awfully amazed that I didn't have a wreck during this, as all my attention was directed to the side of me, rather than straight ahead.

And it felt so weird to be confrontational like that, because I'm not usually that kind of person. I've flipped off maybe three people in traffic before. I usually don't get the opportunity and probably wouldn't use it, if I did.

But, yeah, the whole thing was surreal. And he had a child in the passenger's seat. I bet he's just Father of the Year. Geez, what a joke.