Carny Trash Goes Bindlestiff

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

The day did not begin well for me.  After being denied yet another chance at even obtaining employment, I got back in my car and it did not start.  Cue panic mode, seeing as how I was in Perth-fucking-Amboy.  After the fifth or so try, the car did in fact start, and I headed back to the house in great disappointment.

It seems that no matter how hard I try, there are no employers interested in hiring someone with a positive attitude and eagerness to learn new skills when their resume is fairly empty and they are already in their 20’s.  Also, though I am aware that the jobs I have held thus far have always paid me in cash, that does not invalidate the experiences.  If a location no longer exists, how am I expected to provide a contact for reference?

When I walked out of the interview, irritated that I was wasting my time and gas, all I could think about is how much easier things were hustling with Jon and performing with Outlaw Cirkus.  Sorry I can’t put that on the application because they’re dead right now, but I am sure that you will be able to reach them later in the evening.

As I am driving down Route 1, my car decides that it doesn’t want to go any faster than 25 m.p.h. which is just fan-fucking-tastic.  Quickly I discover that as long as I did not come to a complete stop things seemed alright, though it does this on two other occasions before I could actually give it gas and get up to correct highway speed.  Lurched up the hill towards the house at 5 m.p.h. before the beast literally died.  The electronics still worked at that point, but I was too tired to ask anyone to take a look at it.

The following day I got in for shits ‘n’ giggles and found that nothing worked.  For sale: 1991 Ford Taurus paperweight.

Hoping the rest of my day would go better, I sent Jon a text explaining my situation and nervously awaited his reply I as did a costume change.  Dressing up for interviews is understandably necessary, but I am far more comfortable as myself, even if at times that is slightly exaggerated for fun.   The plan was to travel into the City and hit up Unimax before heading over to First where we’d be seeing the Bindlestiffs.  Due to time constraints that included walking down to the end of the street where Jon came to my rescue like a knight in Chevy armor, and cruising up to Newark in order to hop the PATH into the City, I would have to skip Unimax and get what I wanted elsewhere.

As we are on the PATH it dawns on me that I am sitting there with my best friend who looks incredibly amazing, and I realize that he is the only one who supported me when I decided to volunteer for the Bindlestiffs last year.  He was there with me now to see their show and I could not have asked for a better date.  Our hands intertwine as we depart the train, walk up the stairs and are sharing a blunt minutes later as we duck down side streets that wind through towering buildings.  While distracted by the scenery, I am caught in his arms and drowning in a kiss that takes my breath away before we resume walking up Astor, then cut through St. Marks and eventually came to First, easily finding the theater.

We waited a bit in the lobby before the doors were open, where Jon was entertained by the amount of people filing in and whispered suggestions of thievery into my ear while surveying the growing crowd.  Though I would usually encourage such behavior, I gently reminded him that I used to work for the people we were there to see and requested that he respect the space.  Flashing a toothy smile, he kissed my forehead and ensured that he would resist temptation for my sake, then linked his arm with mine and escorted me into the theater.  Even though pretty much every seat was filled, I felt quite comfortable due to the fact I had Jon right next to me, still holding my hand.  The show itself was great even though I am always ready for one more act.  Jon expressed his enjoyment of Kinko, and who wouldn’t love a masturbating, drunken clown wearing a noose for a necktie?

We were waiting to speak with Stephanie when she suddenly blurts out “Oh my goodness, is that Lenore?” It seems they thought I disappeared due to not having a number to reach me, and so I promptly gave her a business card.  Jon was delighted to introduce himself and engaged her in a conversation where he managed to mention all of the performances I was doing in South Jersey, which she seemed delighted to hear.  Eventually we moved on to chat with various other people, with Jon in rare form as he passed out cards and encouraged everyone to check out the website.  The evening had been wonderful, though it made me miss working for them, as they had treated me with respect and were never bothered by my tattoos or piercings.  It did feel good to reconnect with that part of my life though, especially having Jon there for every riveting second.

The walk back to the PATH felt much shorter, but that was mostly due to smoking the remainder of the blunt without caring if we were in the middle of the street or not.  Seated close to each other, Jon is smiling and telling me that he was having a great time, but hoped I was not in a rush to get to bed any time soon.  There was never a hesitation of going along with whatever he had planned, and as much as my curiosity demanded answers as we rode along the highway in his Chevy, I fall asleep for a while and when I wake up he is helping me to my feet.

When we reach the sand it is obvious we are the only people there, and I decide that was a good moment to tell Jon exactly how I had felt, because every ounce of my soul knew I had the one thing I wanted more than any else.  The Costello to my Abbott.  The Laurel to my Hardy.  For the longest time my greatest desire was to have a male counterpart; someone that gave me that feeling of completeness I had often found myself yearning for, and I just could not shake the notion that there was more for me.  There was someone out there who shared my passions and interests who could look at me with love in his eyes no matter how I chose to alter my appearance, or what I shoved up my nose/down my throat.  Though unsure of exactly when this feeling started, it has lasted with me through the time I wasted with the Asshole and others who were not right for me.

For five years we had developed a relationship that defied social standards and the definitions of love often dictated by greeting card companies.

“I have what completes me”, I said, the words falling out of my mouth without even thinking about saying them.  “You are my other half, someone who loves me, even in the morning when I am still half-asleep, leftover makeup on my face and my hair a mess, yet you think I am beautiful anyway.  You are everything I wanted and possibly more.”

My heart was beating so fast I felt like it was going to explode, his lips and hands easily finding mine as the first hints of daytime began to creep into the sky, and just as I was being taken in by the moment, I was being woken up by an alarm at five o’clock in the morning.

No idea what is going on with my car, but it is supposed to get looked at tomorrow. If it can be fixed, great; if not I am going to have to find something else and that is an entire production I would rather avoid at the moment.  Since my insurance company decided to dump me, I now have to find a new one, and I am worried about having to pay more since my funds are not what they used to be.  This all happened because I was trying to do the ‘right thing’ and get a job where I could use the experience for future references or whatever.

This whole situation has become a huge annoyance and I spend my time dreaming about the days of riding the PATH into the City for my amazing job with the Bindlestiffs, cruising around with Jon during the day and performing with Outlaw Cirkus at night, or wandering the streets to hustle, spange and otherwise prey on the marks or rubes.  Pursuing variety arts always seemed like the natural option, and it still does, so I wonder why I am wasting my efforts when I know what I should be doing.

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