Damn, it’s been a while. Nearly a month in fact. I don’t have a real legitimate excuse for being negligent with my postings. I mean staving off the insanity of existential crises, coping with being in the shit, and trying to get through this backlog (still) of video games could qualify, but usual suspects don’t count in my book. A book that I wish I could spoil by ready the synopsis on Wikipedia, but unfortunately it’s yet to be finished.
So much has happened post Hang-Up-Gate in August. Well not really. I’m still broke, still looking for that golden goose, and remaining ghost af. I had all this shit I was gonna talk about and now that I’m finally birthing this piece of writing I’m going blank. Typical. Let’s start with tonight then. Judging books by their cover…rarely a fruitful endeavor and as much as I claim to never hold anyone against the backdrop of another, I fell victim to it. As you all well may (or may not) know, I do ridesharing stuff on the side. And by ridesharing I mean trying my best not to get the shitfaced-white-girl-wasted clowns in my car. So far so good. Anyway, I find myself in front of a bar where the app directed me. No patrons in sight. Surely they’ll be here in a few minutes. Nothing. Then comes a call saying they’re half a mile down the way. Awesome.
I make my way down and enter the turning lane adjacent to the real location only to have 3 dudes hop into my car – in the middle of traffic mind you – and we were on our way. Now I try my best to avoid the area I happened to be in because of the clientele. Fortunately enough for me, I didn’t have too many rough encounters with the legions of douchebags and bros that roam the area looking for unsuspecting women with low standards. I believed that my luck ran out when these dudes hopped into my car. This was solidified when the 4th word out of one of the guys in the back happened to be “nigga.” Sigh. Granted these guys were of Middle Eastern decent, I can’t let that slide. The guy in my passenger seat immediate apologizes after I mentioned that wasn’t cool and the other dude apologized. Great, respectful people. I can dig it. Then the ringleader says “I’m sorry my nigga. Ah shit my bad.” So close, yet so far.
I’m thinking this is a bust and about ready to just pull over. Not because they’re being obnoxious wanna-be urban kids. Mainly because I was already reluctant to the idea of being out tonight trying to counter my poorness. But they did shape up fairly quickly and we started getting along by shitting on one of his buddies because why not. I ended up talking to some random guy on speaker phone that apparently had no money to hangout according to the ringleader. And I repeated that on speaker phone. Oops. But the coup de grace; the Mexican standoff of the rating game. I pull up to some seedy bar on a main street, turn on my hazards and the dudes thank me for being chill and loved the tunes (not to brag, but my tastes are fairly on point). So after shaking the ringleader’s hand I go to rate him and he stares down at my phone. There was an awkward pause as my hand hovered over the 4 star, unintentionally of course. I was planning on giving him the 5 despite their tipsy asshatery. So I hit the 5 and tell em to have a safe night.
Then I drive off and ponder switching that to a 3 or 4, then I say fuck it. The ride was 93.45% fine, give em the 5. Back at my usual spot, I just happen to check my earnings and noticed that it was higher than the projected. I check the app and find that the Brown Bros gave me a sizable tip which ended up being the only one for the night. Huh, go figure. Shoutouts to my Brown Bros, hope y’all get laid.
But yeah I’ve been ghost to just about everyone except maybe 5 people and even then I show up every other week. The grind is ass, but if #JOB2017 is to be a success, I’ve no other choice boyos. I spent the previous 2 weeks being emo. I literally can’t afford to be feeling some type of way anymore. I would get into the shitshow that is retail, but I rather not entertain that basket of madness. It is what it is. Eye on the prize and all that. What I will say is that it’s further solidifying my aversion to having children. And not because there’s some serious Bay Bay’s kids coming through, but just the amount of money, patience, and time that’s gotta be spent on em. I legit think I’m too selfish to facilitate that without being salty. Outside of pettiness, this world is pretty ridiculous on the whole. Not sure I’m down to bring a new life into this mire of madness.
Small clones aside, I’m the worst when it comes to asking for help. I really am. There’s something in me that resists all forms of questions that are indicative of seeking respite from a situation. Couple that with extreme introversion and you’ve got a man whose middle name should be Quiet Desperation. Or Death at the 11th Hour. Second one sounds like a metal band. I might copyright that. Anyway, receiving help is hard. I want to do it on my own with no handouts, no cheat codes, no external advantage. But holy shit this year. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m embarrassed and thankful for the lovely souls in my corner. Special shoutout to my faculties of self-control and delayed gratification. There’s been so much shit I want to buy; nothing worst than wanting something you know you can’t have (without serious consequences anyway).
With all the bullshit of adulting and the trappings of becoming established, I can say that I’m making this uncharacteristic risk of mine work. Definitely ain’t perfect, definitely ain’t pretty, but it’s definitely surviving through the strength of street knowledge. Seriously though, the damn thing is getting done. Just following the M.O. of a real N.I.G.G.A. like 2pac said. Goals ain’t gonna accomplish themselves, ya dig?