On Being Who I Am

Often, people of the community, call and ask questions about jobs, eviction, hemorroids, electricity bill, hospitals, even natural remedies. I answer the best I can, offering jobs that they do not want to consider (why clean an old man, when you can collect wellfare?); phone numbers they have called before (that stupid thickhead of a social worker did not give them money to pay the 4 bedroom apt they’re saving for the kiddies who will come next year); medicine they refuse to take (my old pharmacist who works as a janitor in florida told me is no good); explanations they do not hear (yes but they forgave bill of my disabled neighbor); healthcare answers they avoid (dunno how I got crabs, my wife very faithful), and literature they do not read (I quit smoking, but then I restarted because I got fat).
I answer, because people have problems. Some have lost their way, some have lost their identity, some have lost their mind, and all of them are trying to play me. they know the answers, they know the shortcuts, they know the obvious, but it still suits them to have me as a burrowing rat, thinking i am opening new tunnels and gateways for these people, or gnawning at the nets they have entangled myselves in.
And i absolutely love it. As tired and as heavy as I am with other people’s problems, I loathe thinking about mine more.
Who has the time to call that gym i have not set foot in in 7 years and cancel the membership? Complaints about the foot canker await to be resolved.
Why should I ask my boss for a raise, when I can yell at the social worker on behalf of the 70 year old mother who wants her foodstamps back, even though she has more money than me?
I love being thanked profusely, while I modestly answer: “It is just part of the job ma’am”. It is a great rush to feel needed and appreciated, and forget about my own inability to balance my checkbook.
It is wonderfully boring to look my girlfriends in the eye and pat their hands while their boyfriend complaints circle my head and avoid my ears.
It is a lot of fun to compare withered blue veined and spotted skin with my own smooth and silky texture. I feel tall and strong, while they hang by my elbow, and look up to me. Ah, there is always a caller with such voes that mine seem far away, and it is such a delight to benevolently rebuke their childish beliefs and opinions, to assure them that I will do my best, to fight with the system to do that best I promised, and to deliver.
And then, I find out that to the family’s big delight, they have bought a huge house with cash in hand, and IRS swoops on them for tax evasion. Can I provide an official disability statement from a doctor?
I go to my little apartment and stay in my little bedroom, thinking about problems, solutions and charity, and keeping the winter blues away.


One thought on “On Being Who I Am

  1. Me kujtove citatin “We love people for what we can do for them”.
    Dhe kur duam ata, duam veten dhe kur ndihmojme ata na duket sikur ndihmojme veten. And yet..”no good deeds will be left unpunished” keshtu qe ata marrin e ne japim nga ajo qe ndoshta s’e kemi as per vete (ose me mire s’duam ta kemi per vete- por qe edhe na mungon ndonjehere).

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