Bits and Pieces

The first business I ever recall being involved in was probably around 1979 while I was attending the Burgundy Farm Country Day School just outside of Washington DC. I was in Kindergarten. Burgundy Farm is a “progressive independent” school on a former dairy farm that had classrooms actually built inside renovated barns. To a kid my age this place was kind of a wonderland. The classes were held inside, but with all the doors and windows open it seemed like outside, and everything we learned pulled art and creativity into it somehow. There were farm animals and a stream running through the campus where we often found crayfish and I distinctly remember once building a fort out of fallen leaves and sticks that you could climb inside of – it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my life. Us kids used to get bused in from miles around in our parents hope of us getting our first prep for the real world. If we were lucky the bus driver would stop at a 7-11 during one leg of the trip and we’d rush in like sex starved sailors at port to buy whatever candy we could afford. My favorite thing to buy was this mini hamburger shaped thing that was actually bubblegum.

In unrelated events, this was also the time of my life when I was convinced I was a robot pulling a big scam on everyone else around me who thought I was just a normal little boy. I confided this in one of my classmates once who responded by telling me he was an alien but I could tell he was a big fat liar.

– Continued from part 1 –

I looked back and said “I think that was it back there…”

“Yeah, I’m just looking for a place to pull over.”

Usually a comforting thing to hear except when the street is full open parking spots you are being driven right past. This was the worst excuse ever.

“I can just jump out at this light, no problem” I said.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll get you there” she replied and kept driving. Driving away from the hotel. About four blocks away she made a left and started driving up a hill “Since we’re over here I just want to show you something” and kept driving up the hill, away from my hotel. Half of me was trying to figure this out, perhaps there was a good view from somewhere on this hill, maybe there was some area of the city that a traveler might never see? The other half of me was quietly freaking the fuck out and knowing that something was very wrong and getting worse by the minute.

I didn’t really know if Tabitha was her real name, she and I had traded only a few e-mails over the previous weeks. I never asked for her last name and mostly just talked about the details of my visit. I’d been introduced to her after mentioning online somewhere that I was planning to visit Cork on my next trip to Ireland and was hoping someone might have some recommendations. A few people suggested things to see or places to stay, and someone suggested I meet up with a friend of theirs who could show me around. The introduction was brief but as the date of my trip got closer we talked more frequently. Mostly loose planning– I’d email her once I was settled in my hotel and we’d meet up for drinks later that evening. It wasn’t a date, simply she and some friends often met up near where I was staying and I was welcome to join them in wherever the evening might lead.

My first job, the kind with assigned hours and a regular paycheck was at a crab restaurant out on Anna Maria Island. I was a dishwasher, and I’d either just turned 15 or was about to. I performed a bit of circular logic explaining that I needed to get the job so that I could afford to buy a scooter, which I obviously needed to have in order to get to the job without having to get a ride from someone else. Thinking back I don’t know how anyone bought that half assed story, but they did and I went to work. The job was a nightmare, and it literally gave me nightmares, but I got paid and saved up and was able to buy the scooter of my dreams. It was a red 180cc Honda Elite and it maxed out around 45mph.

I’ve been very guilty my whole life of spilling my guts in public. Initially it was kind of a self defense mechanism, I thought if I broadcasted all my dirty laundry then there was nothing anyone could ever pull out from my past and embarrass me with. I never had to live up to anyones expectations if I was diligent about making sure they had none. I couldn’t disappoint anyone if they didn’t expect anything in the first place. That was my plan and it worked pretty well for many years. I’d proclaim ‘my life is an open book’ and pride myself on answering any question at any point, and regularly over shared. I had dreams of being the front man in some band and writing beautifully vague songs that eluded to all these stories, but until then I’d have to settle for simply writing or just telling them to people on a regular basis. I was pretty mopey most of the time and thought I could get some good sympathy points by talking about how bad off I had things. I didn’t have any money for that thing everyone else did. I wasn’t cool enough to be a part of some scene. I wasn’t good enough at that thing everyone else was. I didn’t get the girl. I didn’t save the day. These were common themes for me and I’m sure there are some horribly embarrassing high school notes out there somewhere that I wrote to cute girls who I probably had no business bothering with my shit. I’d totally post them on my blog if I still had them.