El Perro Sucio!

There’s this guy at work, let’s call him La Boya. A week in and, already, this man has changed my life. He’s kind of an anomaly, really.

La Boya is probably in his forties. He is from Puerto Rico, but has lived in New York for at least ten years. He looks like he knows how to dance, and he works harder than most other people in our produce department. People around work call him El Perro Sucio (“the dirty dog”, for all you ignorants out there), and I don’t know why just yet. To be very honest, I’m not sure I want to know. Also, La Boya keeps a machete next to the front seat of his car; just in case, I suppose.

He’s been very nice to me so far. I think it’s because he sees that I work hard too. But this is my favorite part: He’s constantly telling me to walk more slowly, chin up, chest out, and take a deep breath through my nose. He tells me this every time I see him. At first, it made me feel weird. Does this guy think I look stressed-out? Does he already know I sometimes hate myself? Am I sweating a lot or something??? But I’ve been doing it the last few days now, breathing in heavily through my nose (like really deep breaths, the type everyone takes when you get on top of a mountain), and guess what! It’s a fucking magical experience!

We work in produce. And I’ve got it figured out: What’s the point of working with fresh fruit and vegetables all day if you’re not going to stop for a second and enjoy it? Because (I’m quickly finding out) when you’re walking around breathing in the scent of fresh broccoli and oranges and pineapples and whatever… it’s really fucking easy to feel good. It feels like my brain is opening up a little wider.

Anyway, my bones hurt. It feels like I have two broken wrists, even though I don’t. But it’s okay. I get through the day, and I feel good about it. I feel good about doing more work than most of my “colleagues.” I feel good about being fucking exhausted when I get home. I feel good about going to bed at 10pm. I feel good about the smell of fresh fruit. I feel good that this is the road I am taking back to Portland. I guess maybe it’s possible that four months of hard work isn’t as bad as it seems, especially if it’s interspersed with good social things.

Also, I went on a date the other night too, with a great girl that I will see again this weekend. Okay, this was one of those non-date dates that I’m way better at than actual, real dates. We went to her house, got drunk on wine, took bong hits, talked a lot, hung with her roommates, and then the two of us spent 14 hours in her extremely comfortable bed, just… messing around and being cute. And she’s fucking cool. I look forward to being buddies with her.

And I have been meeting some good people who are involved in a local punk rock scene. This massively fat dude was sitting in his car at my job, playing some good tunes. So I asked, and he told me who they were (The Crusher), and proceeded to tell me a story that was quite possibly too weird to be a lie:

“I was hanging out the other day with, of all people, Hillary Duff. You know, from the Disney channel and shit? She was all like, ‘This band is so great!’ And I thought it was funny because she’s on the Disney channel and shit. You know?”

I said, “Wow.”

Anyway, this guy gave me a flier for some twice-monthly punk shows he throws at some bar near my house. It sounds fun. Maybe I’ll buy a cheap bass and join a punk band for a while? Four months?

Point is. Maybe working can be good. Because I’ll have other good things to keep me busy. And yeah, this chick I was talking about is a tattoo artist. But no, I mean, she’s like… brilliant. Talented enough that I probably trust her to give me any tattoo she wants. And I’m already thinking it’s time to put Yoda on my body somewhere.

Rambling. Point is. Job = not so bad. Machete-wielding zen masters = RADNESS. Pretty girls = good good. Local punk rock = sucks but may be kinda cool too, especially if I join a band. Four months until PDX = way easier than I previously imagined.

Huzzah!!


Oh yeah, this is a song by that band, The Crusher. They really are pretty great. Check them out, yes?

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
This entry was posted in Going Home, Music and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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