Swamp & Circumstance

I don't usually like to write about my current life. My life is like the lives of most people, in that it resembles a game of pick-up sticks. I'm afraid anything I say about it will throw the delicate balance off and the whole mess will come tumbling down.

Also, a lot of my current life, like the current lives of most people, consists not of detached documented fact and learned history, but of rumors and speculations, guided by feelings that reek of self-interest and last night's chili. I don't know what's happening or why. I don't know if they're out to get me or if it's my neighbor they want.

Sometimes, though, my current life gets all up in my face, and I feel compelled to stare it back down while typing about it with one hand behind my back.

So, lately, on Sundays I've been opening the Real Change office to vendors, for two hours. This has been going on ever since last fall. It is a fact that Anitra "As Seen On The Amy Goodman Show" Freeman and I come to the office Sundays. I sit behind the desk selling papers to the vendors. In case you haven't heard yet, your vendor pays 35 cents for this paper. At the same time that I'm handling the papers, Anitra is usually on a computer alternately killing Balrogs and writing devastating critiques of the political views of sadly misinformed people, while being on call to run to the back for supplies.

A typical exchange. Me: "WE NEED SUGAR, ANITRA! CAN YOU GET SOME SUGAR? PLEASE!" Her, from across the room, "JUST A MINUTE, I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!" Ten minutes later, the vendors have sugar for their coffee. I drink mine black. Life goes on.

That's the documented and certain core of my Sundays. What else happens is morass. Swamp and circumstance.

This past Sunday started well. Everyone was psyched that Real Change had been written up twice in the mainstream news last week, once for rocking in general, and once for rocking specifically because our writer, the lovely and talented Rosette "XXX Cupcake" Royale, won a major national award. For his writing! Vendors were selling Real Changes out of their right hands, holding Rosette's picture on page B1 of the Seattle Times in their left.

Before I could start selling, one of the staff phones began ringing. We let it go to voice mail. It rang again. So Anitra picked it up. As I run back and forth I see a look on her face that tells me something bad has happened. I'm wondering what it could be. Did someone get arrested? Am I going to be arrested?

A week earlier a vendor was badly beaten. What now? While I'm trying to figure this out, I can't just ask Anitra what's up. I have to be all about, "5 papers is $1.75," "8 dollars and a nickel gets you 23," "I'll take badge numbers for chores in 7 minutes 33 seconds," and, "Don't use the microwave until the coffee is done; the fuse will blow."

It's especially disturbing that the phone that rang too much that Anitra was on was our vendor coordinator's phone. I had heard that Michael had been hit by a car recently. I thought he was OK. Was I wrong?

Finally, Anitra came off the phone, and walked to the front of the office, and told us that Michael had died in his sleep.

Michael had been vendor #9347 before he was hired to be vendor coordinator. His two pet rats are sharing our director's office because the place where Michael has been staying wouldn't allow them. One time I had a bird in the office. A couple of years ago at a staff and vendor retreat, Michael and I were paired off during one exercise to tell each other our life stories. We both ran overtime. Ever since then, I've known him forever. Everyone should.