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Visions of Decay
Overnight Conversations with Working Americans: Lancaster, Pennsylvania 6/19/2022
© 2022 James LaFond
Three monologues while drinking beer and rum
Becky, Nurse:
The usual insanity as health care continues to fail. We lost five patients from strokes already this month. Once the fourth booster was administered they started dropping, one, two, three, four, five—totally predictable. The vaxx is just thinning them out. They are elderly. But still, it bothers you when you know they’re going to stroke out over this and we just keep rolling. Sorry, I’m hoarse, but my patients are elderly and I have to wear a fitted N-95 mask, which means they can’t hear me unless I yell.
Emmy, Physical Therapist:
I haven’t been boosted yet and my Supervisor is telling me that if I don’t get boosted with this shit that has done zero to protect the va¤▓¤▓inated that I’m going to have to wear a fitted mask and a face shield and get tested. The entire thing is such bullshit and we just keep rolling onto the end of healthcare. We’re trying to keep people alive forever and they are miserable.
Steve, Maintenance Technician:
Bert, you know Bert is a brother and his entire mind is dedicated to pussy. He has an attractive African American wife who seems to like him.
We have to pull over so he can meet some chick and I’m like, “Why?”
“Bitch is bringing a sandwich and a blow job.”
“You mean the Spanish bitch?”
“Mexican, Dominican, whateva the fuck she is; she bringin’ a sandwich en a blow job or she in trouble.”
So we’re driving down the highway, and in the far lane, on the other side of Bert who is in the passenger seat, is this ugly land whale, an immensely fat bitch whose shocks are about to break in that little car. She is making eyes at Bert and Bert puts up his phone umber on a piece of paper and this woman texts him. Look, I like big girls, but this is like a five hundred pounder—very unappealing and I say something as Bert is texting and he’s like, “Big bitches need love to, en I dare fer ‘em.”
The texting develops and it turns out that this bitch is married and has a kid and the kid has some kind of terrible terminal disease and she needs to have sex and Bert is going to nail this land whale while her child is dying for whatever reason.
Downs syndrome, Bert is there. He says, “I love dem big fat pussies cuz dey so wet!”
This is the man that can do no wrong, that is born a saint and will ascend into Heaven based solely on his innate racial perfection!
Dianna, the dispatcher is calling him, getting drunk and calling him while she’s drinking wine at eleven at night. Dianna has sex with many of the contractors, drivers and technicians. She’s almost 50, was the high school cheerleader hottie, and is the only woman in an all male work place loaded with losers: drug addicts, skeevy types, dirt bags, coke heads, pill poppers, most of them straight up idiots. She is a sweet lady with terrible taste in men.
Jerry the coke head and her go down to the Ocean on vacation and he beats the shit out of her, gets arrested for it, and that comes back to the work place, all that drama.
She starts fucking Alvin, a contractor who runs half the crews, and you can tell he is doing it to get more bookings and working her and then leaves her in the lurch. We are at a meeting and she’s bubbling, her little feet tapping, tapping, tapping and she just explodes, an eruption of dramatic insanity, she starts to scream, “Fuck you, Alvin! You think you can fuck me, and then fuck me over! It’s not happening—get the fuck out of here—blah-blah-blub-blub-blub…”
He calls HR and we get audited and it’s a total pain in the ass…
[Author says, “Bert should be running HR.”]
Yeah, right, he’d get a complaint from a female and would be like, “Baby, you be comin’ in hea’ dressed all fine…”
Now it is a matter of time before Dianna fucks Bert and then more drama. Bert is already starting to go off on customers about perceived racial slights. He’s like a one-man reparations social debt finder, everything is about him being owed because of those ancient racial wrongs. On top of all this, he’s, well...he’s stupid.
We get to a job site to repair a roof leak and the man on site is like, “OSHA is here, you have to tie off, anchor the ladders,” the whole nine yards—shit we would never do.
And Bert is all indignant, “Fuck OSHA, I don’t know no OSHA—dat bitch can go back where she come from!”
The guy is just trying to let us know to come back tomorrow. There is no way you can do work when OSHA is there. The safety rules are off the chain and they’re out to fuck you. I say, “Bert, we have to go. We can’t play with OSHA.”
“Fuck OSHA, who da fuck dat bitch think she is!”
“Bro, OSHA is the FBI of this shit, fucking Federal Government, they can arrest us, fine us out the ass”— ‘Even raise your child support,’ says the smartass Emmy—“we have to leave or we could do time, man!”
This is the quality of men—and one woman—that I work with, putting the scotch tape, across the back of the bandaid, that my half-ass, shady company is trying to apply to the bone bleed of American infrastructure. And its only getting worse—parts are drying up and I’m saving units I’m supposed to scrap and salvaging parts, which mind, you, as the supply chain fails, is against company policy!
Emmy: And the heroin addicts down at Nora’s house are pissing on the sidewalk and passing out on Steve’s car...our taste of Baltimore keeps getting stronger…
Finding Juju Quartermaine
author's notebook
plantation america
son of a lesser god
night city
search for an american spartacus
orphan nation
the lesser angels of our nature
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