In a way, I felt a little bit like I went to therapy today. I met with one of the great storytellers of my Universe. A car salesman.
Not my car salesman, as I’m in no position to haggle anyone down to my next car. I can’t afford a skateboard right now.
I had two skaeboards in my life, when they first came out before they were a sport. I was in grade 7, but I don’t want that sidetrack right now.
It happens to be April 20th, which is scarier for me in bill payment terms than it is for being the stoners self proclaimed high holiday. Pot day. Weed celebration day, and I’ve never been a part of that because up until recently, I was a secret drug user. I didn’t openly admit to weed.
So it was a regular work day, except I had to meet with one of the clients that I let down recently with my not answering the phone trick. They call it ghosting these days, but they’re usually referring to the guy or girl after a first date. Not calling back now has a nickname.
It’s a horrible habit and one I can’t always break, but I am getting better – or I am falsly convincing myself I am because I’m still self medicating with a variable dose of the stay focused drug I should have found when I was 27.
Of course, I would be dead by now if I had I’m sure, and although I’d love to say I would have died a happy success if I’d discovered the secret drug that allowed me to work full 12 hour days of focus on a project, which is the case, but —
Yeah… the but. I like the good effects, and the bad effects I don’t care. I didn’t buy these drugs in a tiny orange pill bottle with a label and a complementary print out from my pharmasist which could be pages of warnings. Like my Paxil had.
Perscription drugs are scary shit.
The side effects reside over the wall.
My morning appointment was to meet with a long time client at his car dealership. He is a known personality in the Toronto area and has been doing radio spots and his radio show (now streamed with video) for decades.
I wasn’t going to discuss my semi regular dissapearing act, and he was content not to ask, letting me know he understands and is supportive. Before long I was confessing stuff like I did for my therapist.
That is the magic of a good storyteller.
I ended up not asking for any money, and doing some nice work on his web site.
Cool guy. Good story.
end of Part 1
