Tag: Non-fiction

Even Meth Heads call their Mom…

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… if only to ask for money.

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call my mom. I’ll give you a dollar; don’t even need to touch it. “ This comes from Chris, the Chicago Bulls hat with misshapen teeth and meth sores.

I dial the number for him, put the phone on speaker. “It’s 3am in Ohio,” Chris’ mom tells him.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says. “I didn’t realize.”

“Did you get the hundred-dollar MoneyGram I sent you? Can you come home? I’m worried about you. Have you talked to your dad? Did he send you any money?”

“Not in a while.”

“Okay, here’s the code:”

Chris’ Mom gives Chris the number for the MoneyGram. Chris writes it on his palm using the pen I lent him.

“Thanks, Mom. I gotta work in the morning, but I’ll call you at lunch.”

Chris played online poker until the US government shut it down seven years ago. Now, he teaches tennis and plays poker in Vegas, but one-tabling live is not the same context or variance as twelve-tabling on the web.

I suggested he go international—like to Cali Colombia, where he can play online again and live like a king for $1k a month. As a bonus, I told him about two ¿cartel members? who lose $1k per day in the only non-profit casino I’ve ever heard of. (A money-laundering front for the cartel? Probably.)

Chris calls his friend Red. Red’s got something for Chris. Chris writes an address on his palm next to the MoneyGram code and the “HoHoHo” he doodled while chatting with his Mom. I don’t know what Chris is going to pick up, but my money’s on meth. When he asks me for $3, I don’t know why I give it to him. Maybe it’s pity. Maybe it’s hope.

I wish he would go to Cali. The cocaine cartel in one of the most dangerous cities in the world would probably be safer company.

How to celebrate in a predatory place

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(On New Year’s Eve in a Las Vegas Casino)

How does one celebrate in a predatory place? I evidently celebrate by feeling sad. The band didn’t play Auld Lang Syne as their first song of the New Year. Unacceptable, but not why I feel sad. I feel sad because I spotted a little girl. She’s celebrating New Year’s in a casino, which feels icky to me, bordering on harmful. My being here doesn’t feel icky, however. Is there a difference?

Maybe. Perhaps it’s bad to teach a child to associate predation with celebration, while I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I chose to be here. That’s one difference. It’s not particularly strong—it doesn’t justify the existence of casinos in general, but it explains a bit of the ethical difference in my gut.

The girl and her family stepped away. A mother and her two young children arrived. One, a baby boy in a stroller surrounded by stale cigarette smoke—you should have seen his thousand-yard stare.

“People say to me, “thank you for your service.” I say, “You ruined my country.”

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“People say to me, “thank you for your service.” I say, “You ruined my country.”

or

Talk to the man in the reflective vest in line behind you at Whole Foods.

A non-fiction monologue. Not verbatim, but accurate.

I been a marine for 27 years. I went away to war and the country was Leave it to Beaver. I come back and the country’s run by bullies. It’s the fat girls who became HR directors.

People say to me, “Thank you for your service.” I say, “You ruined my country.”

Twenty-seven years ago, war starts and all the strong men go away. Who stays back? Weak men. Now, the strong men come back and they’re messed up in the head. Who’s in charge? The fat girls who were bullies in high school. These are the people who speed up to get in front of you on the sidewalk just so they can slow down. Me? I’m married to a 32-year old Indonesian woman. Muslim, never been with a man.

I said that to my HR director. I said to her, “It’s the fat girl mentality running this company. That’s why our turnover’s so high.” Since I said that, our turnover rate plummets.

I say to my boss, “I don’t care if it’s PC or not. I say what I think” and he gets that.

I been a marine for 27 years. I been burned, cut up. I say things, people get mad. People say they’re not politically correct. I say, “Maybe not for your country now, but my country’s older than yours and there’s still some of us left.”