Bad Luck or Lingering Darkness?
I'm beginning to think my bad luck is getting worse. It seems like something bad is happening to me every week now. I guess it has been a while since the first really bad thing that happened to me. The instance I am making reference to is the old lady at Westport Inn.
I'm sure everyone who reads my Livejournal knows about this already, but this one is for the books. There is an old lady and her husband that come into Westport Inn on a regular basis, and they are racist. I'm not 100% for sure if it is racism or fear that they avoid me, but I think it is racism. They used to be kinda chummy with me, until I told them that I'm Filipino. Since then, when I ask if I could do something for them, they say it's alright and get the waitress to do it for them. Well, I was upstairs cleaning the tables like a good worker, and suddenly, the restaurant gets quiet. I look down at the other side of the building, and miss old lady is choking. I didn't want to do anything about it, so I just watched for a while. Nobody did anything, so I decided I should walk there, all the while praying that somebody would get there before me. Unfortunately, I got there. I came up behind her, and attempted the heimlich (sp?) maneuver. Her old saggy boobs were not to my liking. The old man was going nuts. Claiming that I was hurting her. There was a black lady at the round table next to theirs saying I was doing it right, and trying to calm down ole' whitey, but he wouldn't have it. Old lady passed out on me, and I laid her limp body on the ground. I was thinking, "damn it, now I have to do CPR." As I started, old man was saying I was killing her, and yelling racial obscenities to me and the black lady. As I revived miss old lady, she coughed some steak bits and white zinfidel wine in my mouth. I felt like I was gonna throw up. Vickie, the bartender, was nice enough to give me some Captain Morgan's to rinse my mouth out. Anyway, old lady went on with her business, but she had to be helped out by my white co-bus person. On her way out, she looked around as if embarrassed, and whispered thanks to me. The white man, just looked at me like he was disgusted. They came a couple weeks later, and still pretend I don't exist.
Two Saturdays ago, was another strange event. After work, I was driving home, and I received a text message from Miss Jessica. I was about 2 blocks from my home at the time, and I was driving only 20 mph. I looked at the text message for a brief second, and looked back at the road. A dog was running in front of me! I slammed on my breaks and hit the creature. I got out to check if was alive, and as I walked up front it was already hobbling away towards Mr. Jones' house. (I know everyone in my neighborhood due to a paper route and family connections.) I got back in my car and parked it. I also told Jessica that I just hit a dog. I walked over to Mr. Jones' house, and tried to find the dog. There was a bit of blood, and I found the dog hidden away under the stone porch. Right then, I knew it came there to die. It's animal (at least for cats and dogs) instinct to find a quiet secluded place to die. I tried to call the dog out. It was breathing heavily, and I couldn't crawl in to get it. Mr. Jones came out at that time to ask what was up, and I told him what was going down. Jessica told me to call animal services at about this time, but I lied to her and told her we already were (sorry Jessica). The truth of the matter was that Mr. Jones and myself didn't think the dog was going to live for a second, so he didn't want to call them up at the time. We looked in, and the dog had stopped breathing. We got out a gardening tool, it is like a hoe but with teeth instead of a solid plate, and we pulled the dog out by the collar. Although it had a collar, it had no identifying tags. I went home and showered. Jessica later asked me if I took pictures, claiming that Brenda wanted to know. I was a little upset by this question at first. I thought she was implying that I was some weirdo. Later, Jessica told me she was wondering if I was lying to her.
Last weekend wasn't a brush with death, but just a series of unlucky things. At Westport we hired a new bus person. She seemed nice. She wanted to know what to do, and tried really hard to learn how. That Friday went well, despite her being new. Of course, her true colors were shown the next day. She came in at 10 am to play in the little gambling room we have. She played and played, until 2 pm. By then, her foot some how managed to start hurting her, and she couldn't work that night, which starts at 3 pm. She was fired. We called in my brother. Working with Chris is one of the few things I like to do with him. He knows what he is doing and works really hard at it. Anyway, the hostess broke a glass, so I had to clean it up. I ended up cutting my hand. It was one of those tiny cuts that bleed profusely. It was bleeding for over 10 minutes, and then the hostess was cleaning a plate, and she dropped it, and it knocked over a salt shaker, and the salt got into my wound. If you have never put salt on a wound, do it. It disinfects it, stops the bleeding, and burns like hell.
This week was going pretty nicely. I got to see lots of Dan, saw Sweeney Todd with friends, and bought some neat-o things. Once again this weekend is proving to be bad for me. I got a new bus person at Westport. She is as lazy as the mice in Speedy Gonzales cartoons, I had to show her continually where everything went and where to find things, but she did remember where she had to go to go smoke. Thank goodness for that. Last night, Chris woke me up at 3 am. I went to bed at 2. He wanted me to take him to Hardee's, but I was like fuck that. My bad sleeping abilities are going to be the death of me, as I could not go back to sleep after that. We ended up going to Denny's at 4 am. We played cards for a good while, and we left at about 6. We played Super Smash Brothers when we got back. He is 1 game ahead, but he was 4 at one time. My unluck is killing me in that game too. Fucking bob-ombs appearing in front as I'm in mid-swing. It's bullshit. Then, I worked at Hardee's 8-11. I didn't feel much like talking the first while I was there. I was a little grumpy from my not sleeping, and the sleepiness of course hits me when I have something to do. When I got home at 11, I showered and tried so hard to sleep, but I couldn't do it. Work was crappy. We were steady, but the people kept coming in until really late. I got out at about 10:30. Now, I want to sleep really badly, but I can't Chris has turned 21 today (Jan. 6th), and I have to stay awake to drive them from bar to bar, until they are done.
I'm hoping that this flux of bad luck will finally come full circle, and I get some good luck going. Unless it is the second half of BLOLD, and I have this terrible shadow of badness following me. I hope it's not that case.
I'm sure everyone who reads my Livejournal knows about this already, but this one is for the books. There is an old lady and her husband that come into Westport Inn on a regular basis, and they are racist. I'm not 100% for sure if it is racism or fear that they avoid me, but I think it is racism. They used to be kinda chummy with me, until I told them that I'm Filipino. Since then, when I ask if I could do something for them, they say it's alright and get the waitress to do it for them. Well, I was upstairs cleaning the tables like a good worker, and suddenly, the restaurant gets quiet. I look down at the other side of the building, and miss old lady is choking. I didn't want to do anything about it, so I just watched for a while. Nobody did anything, so I decided I should walk there, all the while praying that somebody would get there before me. Unfortunately, I got there. I came up behind her, and attempted the heimlich (sp?) maneuver. Her old saggy boobs were not to my liking. The old man was going nuts. Claiming that I was hurting her. There was a black lady at the round table next to theirs saying I was doing it right, and trying to calm down ole' whitey, but he wouldn't have it. Old lady passed out on me, and I laid her limp body on the ground. I was thinking, "damn it, now I have to do CPR." As I started, old man was saying I was killing her, and yelling racial obscenities to me and the black lady. As I revived miss old lady, she coughed some steak bits and white zinfidel wine in my mouth. I felt like I was gonna throw up. Vickie, the bartender, was nice enough to give me some Captain Morgan's to rinse my mouth out. Anyway, old lady went on with her business, but she had to be helped out by my white co-bus person. On her way out, she looked around as if embarrassed, and whispered thanks to me. The white man, just looked at me like he was disgusted. They came a couple weeks later, and still pretend I don't exist.
Two Saturdays ago, was another strange event. After work, I was driving home, and I received a text message from Miss Jessica. I was about 2 blocks from my home at the time, and I was driving only 20 mph. I looked at the text message for a brief second, and looked back at the road. A dog was running in front of me! I slammed on my breaks and hit the creature. I got out to check if was alive, and as I walked up front it was already hobbling away towards Mr. Jones' house. (I know everyone in my neighborhood due to a paper route and family connections.) I got back in my car and parked it. I also told Jessica that I just hit a dog. I walked over to Mr. Jones' house, and tried to find the dog. There was a bit of blood, and I found the dog hidden away under the stone porch. Right then, I knew it came there to die. It's animal (at least for cats and dogs) instinct to find a quiet secluded place to die. I tried to call the dog out. It was breathing heavily, and I couldn't crawl in to get it. Mr. Jones came out at that time to ask what was up, and I told him what was going down. Jessica told me to call animal services at about this time, but I lied to her and told her we already were (sorry Jessica). The truth of the matter was that Mr. Jones and myself didn't think the dog was going to live for a second, so he didn't want to call them up at the time. We looked in, and the dog had stopped breathing. We got out a gardening tool, it is like a hoe but with teeth instead of a solid plate, and we pulled the dog out by the collar. Although it had a collar, it had no identifying tags. I went home and showered. Jessica later asked me if I took pictures, claiming that Brenda wanted to know. I was a little upset by this question at first. I thought she was implying that I was some weirdo. Later, Jessica told me she was wondering if I was lying to her.
Last weekend wasn't a brush with death, but just a series of unlucky things. At Westport we hired a new bus person. She seemed nice. She wanted to know what to do, and tried really hard to learn how. That Friday went well, despite her being new. Of course, her true colors were shown the next day. She came in at 10 am to play in the little gambling room we have. She played and played, until 2 pm. By then, her foot some how managed to start hurting her, and she couldn't work that night, which starts at 3 pm. She was fired. We called in my brother. Working with Chris is one of the few things I like to do with him. He knows what he is doing and works really hard at it. Anyway, the hostess broke a glass, so I had to clean it up. I ended up cutting my hand. It was one of those tiny cuts that bleed profusely. It was bleeding for over 10 minutes, and then the hostess was cleaning a plate, and she dropped it, and it knocked over a salt shaker, and the salt got into my wound. If you have never put salt on a wound, do it. It disinfects it, stops the bleeding, and burns like hell.
This week was going pretty nicely. I got to see lots of Dan, saw Sweeney Todd with friends, and bought some neat-o things. Once again this weekend is proving to be bad for me. I got a new bus person at Westport. She is as lazy as the mice in Speedy Gonzales cartoons, I had to show her continually where everything went and where to find things, but she did remember where she had to go to go smoke. Thank goodness for that. Last night, Chris woke me up at 3 am. I went to bed at 2. He wanted me to take him to Hardee's, but I was like fuck that. My bad sleeping abilities are going to be the death of me, as I could not go back to sleep after that. We ended up going to Denny's at 4 am. We played cards for a good while, and we left at about 6. We played Super Smash Brothers when we got back. He is 1 game ahead, but he was 4 at one time. My unluck is killing me in that game too. Fucking bob-ombs appearing in front as I'm in mid-swing. It's bullshit. Then, I worked at Hardee's 8-11. I didn't feel much like talking the first while I was there. I was a little grumpy from my not sleeping, and the sleepiness of course hits me when I have something to do. When I got home at 11, I showered and tried so hard to sleep, but I couldn't do it. Work was crappy. We were steady, but the people kept coming in until really late. I got out at about 10:30. Now, I want to sleep really badly, but I can't Chris has turned 21 today (Jan. 6th), and I have to stay awake to drive them from bar to bar, until they are done.
I'm hoping that this flux of bad luck will finally come full circle, and I get some good luck going. Unless it is the second half of BLOLD, and I have this terrible shadow of badness following me. I hope it's not that case.