Basically, I've neglected the portrait lately and so I'm gonna mix one in. If you've been keeping up, and by keeping up I mean if you read the last post, then you know I have a job. While the job is at this point drastically insufficient in terms of its monetary value, it is possibly the sweetest gig on earth. And when I say the sweetest gig on earth, I mean it's the best job I've had outside of playing baseball. Outside of playing baseball, I've had precisely two jobs in the last ten years. One was working in a warehouse in the armpit of California, Fresno. The other is at Image Health in Roseville California. For any who are even remotely familiar with central and northern California geography, a fair comparison of the two jobs is the comparison between the two cities. Fresno, a place that I have openly referred to as the dingleberry of California offered a similarly grand employment opportunity. Roseville may not be Bel Air, but next to Fresno it seems like an all inclusive, paid vacation to a twelve star resort in the Bahamas. Or a cruise around the world on an opulent and eccentric Russian billionaire's Yacht. With the girls included.
Ya, next to Fresno, Roseville is something like that.
And the job is pretty sweet too. Apart from the perks, which include me dropping thirty pounds and building muscle that would have otherwise taken me four to six months and hundreds of dollars worth of supplements to acquire, I work with cool people and at the service of cool clients. If you remember the post, 'A cut above the rest', my employment in Fresno began with me cutting my finger and getting eight stitches. Somehow, it got worse every day after that. I worked with a group of ten that had a collective IQ somewhere in the neighborhood of my bank balance. Did I mention that I'm flat broke? Ya, so the Fresno crowd didn't get jokes. Nor did they crack jokes. And they breathed out of their mouths. The Image Health group are at least in triple digits for the most part and are generally a jovial bunch. And things just keep getting better.
So my boss, Rachelle, who I have openly characterized as some mutant hybrid of Mother Theresa and Demi Moore has welcomed two of her children to town. One of whom is a seventeen year old high school senior named Jacqueline who is very lovely and nice. The other is a fifteen year old named Alex. And this is where things get better. After school, Rachelle drags the yard monsters to work where it would seem that my job (barring any pressing matters that have to do with the business we conduct at Image Health) is to hang with the young man.
This kid is a character. Since my maturity level hovers somewhere in the pre-pubescent range of ten to thirteen, we get along well. Before they came to town, Rachelle related an anecdote to me that pretty much summed up Alex's deal. At a Subway sandwich shop, the kid saw a bearded old freak and asked this guy if he would take young Alex as his padawan learner. That's Star Wars for you commies out there who don't know great American cinema when you see it. It's this kind of smart assedness that makes me feel at home with the youngster.
I don't think he is literally smoking any weed yet, but he has that stoner look to him. And he has the kind of witty disposition that would otherwise make me suspicious of indulgence in the alternative medicine that makes us giddy and hungry. I mentioned to Rachelle that I didn't want to be responsible for corrupting her young son. She told me that it'd be more likely that he would corrupt me. Well then. I might have gone a little too far today when I told him that one of my old room mates tried to pay his rent by pawning off a hooker on me for his rent. Don't worry, I didn't accept those terms and made clear to Alex my opposition to such licentious bartering. I did relay my colorful response, however, and in hindsight it may have been better to edit the response. I mean, the kids are from Utah, where there may be hooking, but I imagine it's the sanitized hooking that can only be found in the most conservative locales. I hope the kid doesn't respond to his first proposition by telling the girl he wouldn't give a squirt of piss for her.
But I digress. It isn't that there is really any tedium at this job at Image Health. But whatever monotony there is is now lessened by the company of my bright eyed and fresh faced friend. He doesn't have red hair, but I think ginger ale may be his new nick name. BTW, we are gonna make a movie about some of the characters we deal with at Image Health. Dancing Dan is for sure gonna be portrayed by Alex with a goatee sharpied in and a generous amount of flour across his face and chest area. We're just thinking in rough terms at this point, but Dancing Dan is gonna be the staple of this piece of art. And maybe I'll get Rondell to come and play Nike. Oh, it's gonna be priceless.
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