Episode 3: The Nervous Breakdown Part 2- The Harry Potter Party
Thursday morning, I convinced Alan to get breakfast with me, by suggesting that we put together a local route and hit some accounts in our area, afterwards.
He agreed with my work-related plan, and we went to eat at local restaurant called Millie’s. The t-shirts that the wait staff were wearing, offered, “Service, with a Fuck You”.
Allan asked me if I was planning to go to the Harry Potter Party.
“Hell no,” I said, spearing a home fry on my plate and dipping it in runny egg yolk, “I’m not going. Furthermore, I looked up the character that they assigned me. “it’s some kind of hideous, goblin.”
Alan laughed.
“Is that what they think of me?”
“I don’t think your character is a goblin,” Alan chuckled, as he looked it up on his phone.
“Ok,” Alan said, taking a sip from a glass of orange juice, “I guess he is, a half-goblin.”
“I’m not a fucking goblin!” I insisted loudly, as people at the tables around us turned to look at me.
I looked out at people walking by on the sidewalk down Silverlake Blvd, which was already getting busy before 9:00 am.
“Whatever,” I said. “Why? You’re not thinking of going, are you?”
“Of course, I’m going,” Alan said.
“You are?” I was surprised, “but you don’t like, Harry Potter, do you?”
“No,” he said, “but who cares, it’ll be fun. And besides, Madison will be offended if we don’t go. It’s good for company culture.”
“That’s below the belt.” I rebutted.
“Anyway,” Alan continued to pester me, “there’s going to be attractive women there. I know that I’m quite pretty, but you don’t actually want to spend the rest of your life with me, do you?”
When Alan and I went around to dispensaries, they would often, if not always, assume, that we were a gay couple. It was entertaining to us, and we usually played into in.
“I can’t help it, if we make a cute couple.” I said.
“Seriously though,” Alan wiped his face and hands with a napkin, “I think you should go with me.”
“Well, I’m not,” I stood my ground.
“Well, you should,” he countered.
“By the way,” I said, “what the hell is Emma’s problem, thinking that I’m going to make fun of her boyfriend for being short? I mean what I am, a monster?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“I mean for Christ’s sake,” I ranted on, “I, myself, am short! Why would I mock another short person? So that I can feel bigger about myself, because I can lord an inch and a half over someone else?”
“Well to be fair,” Alan pointed out, “that is, kind of what you do, to me?”
“Touché.” I said, “And, I want to thank you for that, by the way. Before you moved out here, I was the shortest person in Los Angeles.”
“Listen,” Alan savaged me with his command of Jewish-guilt, “I never go out anywhere. You’re always trying to get me to go ou,t and the one time I’m actually willing to take a night off and do something, you refuse?”
“Well… I…”
“And you’re going to leave me to fend for myself with a bunch of Harry Potter weirdos?”
“Jesus, you’re laying it on thick.” I rebuked him.
“So, you’ll go then?”
“Maybe if you squawk like a chicken,” I qualified, “in public, making a complete fool and spectacle of yourself in the process, then maybe… I’ll think about it.”
“Baghhok!!! Baghhok!!! Baghhok!!!” Alan suddenly and loudly cawed, a screeching and woeful birdcall, catching totally me off guard.
I cheesed out, as the entire neighborhood of Silverlake turned to look at Alan.
“I have to admit,” I commended him, “that was, pretty embarrassing.”
“Thank you,” he said proudly.
“Your impression was high in quality, if not in accuracy,” I continued to praise him, “I don’t think it sounded like a chicken, but perhaps, the sorrowful, shrieking mating call, of the wandering albatross.”
“Great,” Alan said, “I’m going to text Madison to let her know that you’re going to her party.”
“You set me up!” I accused him.
“It’s too late to back out now,” Alan said smugly, “I already hit ‘send’.”
After breakfast we hopped into Alan’s car to conquer our route and get some low-hanging wins, by pushing flowers, shake, and other SKUs of edibles to existing customers.
“Try and use your mighty enzymes this time, Maltman,” Alan said in a dramatic, cartoon villain’s voice, as we passed the intersection of Maltman Ave and Silverlake Blvd. “You’ll never break through my impenetrable wall of starches!”
Alan would pretend to be the arch-nemesis of ‘Maltman’, a fictional superhero that he created, inspired by the street name. Every time we drove passed this spot, Alan would add a new chapter to the saga of Maltman.
We parked in front of a little store by the highway entrance. They had taken one small order of our desserts before, but weren’t a great customer, and hadn’t bought shake or flowers from us yet.
We got buzzed inside a metal gate which was in a stucco hallway, outdoors.
Inside we signed in, and then they kept us waiting for over 30 minutes in the lobby, even though there was only one customer the entire time that we were in there.
I was getting irritated, and Alan was about to get up and leave, when they finally let us into the back to the see the manager.
“Hey guys,” the manager said, as soon as we walked in the budtending room, “I don’t need anything, I’m set.”
“Oh ok,” I said, and took another swing, not willing to waste all of that time and not get an audience, “well, we do have some new products that we wanted to show you, if that’s ok with you?”
“Your sales rep, was just in here earlier today and tried to sell me some stuff.” The buyer looked annoyed, “and it was old and dirty, and frankly, I don’t think that we’re going to be carrying your stuff anymore, at this store.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“What sales rep?” Alan asked him confused, “was his name, Teddy?”
“I don’t know what his name was.”
“Was he a young, tall, skinny white guy with a beard?” I described, “kind of looks like Jesus, but lazier.”
“No,” he shook his head, “this was an old black guy. And he looked like he was homeless. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before hanging around the corner; panhandling, and smoking crack.”
Alan and I exchanged a puzzled look.
“He, doesn’t work for us.” I clarified. “I don’t know where he got our products, but he’s not our employee, can I promise you that.”
“I was kind of surprised that you guys would have hired him,” the store manager said, as he eyeballed us skeptically.
“Hi,” Alan introduced himself and reached out to shake the manager’s hand, “My name is Alan, and I’m the CEO of this company. And let me just assure you, that we would never hire a crack smoking, homeless person.”
“Ok,” the manager shrugged, unimpressed.
“Well, you have a nice day sir,” I said, taking the hint, and shuffling Alan out the door, “you have our number if you need to re-up on anything.”
We got outside and I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t understand what had happened.
“This is a fucking disaster!” I panicked.
“Let’s drive around the neighborhood,” Alan suggested.
We trolled around a few blocks between the dispensary and our house.
“Hold on,” Alan said, and pulled over to the side of the road, “I’ve talked to that guy before, his name is Willy.”
We got out of the car, and I followed Alan over to a pile of garbage bags where an old homeless man, sat cross legged on top of a pile of black trash bags.
“Hi, Willy,” Alan said in a friendly voice, as we approached him, “it’s me Alan, I gave you an IPA the other day.”
“Oh yeah, howchadong, Alex?” Willy coughed.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were darting around his skull in wild and erratic directions as he spoke. “Y’all eeenteer, jacadoo,” He said, “what know a man o’ God, would o’ say. When you sayir one while y’all been hidering out in the silver spoon’s an’ paddle, an be the left of flippin’ Margaret’s secon’ cousin. Ya’ feel what I’m puttin’ out there, didjya?”
I turned to Alan, “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with this.”
“Let me try,” Alan said quietly to me, “I’m like, the hobo whisperer.”
“So listen, Willy,” Alan approached him, “I was wondering if you knew where we could find any pot butter or weed edibles?”
“This feller Dolla Jamez, wat bin hollering at me, said he don had da good shit, n’ that he don found justa sittin aroun’, justa clear as all day by da gutta outside some of these nice fancy houses don gotdwotch outchherhaeeee.”
“You said, your friend found some weed and edibles in the garbage?” Alan clarified.
“He don foun’ it, n’ solitame. He sell me wat they don spent onda butter, n’ is all oily, endagreasus, but I know’s how to dry it outchaussza it’s just like ol’ cackalaky, back in da tabaccy fields, way ouwwwert in da o’lina’s, bakyhen ayzzz wern’ nottabuttaboy.”
“Are you following any of this?” I asked Alan.
“justsakitup, rea’ nice,” Willy continued, “owt in da sun on dem funny pages, n I lit them set. Y’all need da weedz? Cuz dos cruiezt, stack o’ them, hatcvhahk,” Willy coughed up a nasty loogie, “ya’ know wat I’m sayin’?”
Jesus, I thought, a whole fucking homeless ecosystem, and micro-economy, has been created from our garbage.
The real problem though, and what made me immediately very, very worried, was that one or more homeless person knew that we made cannabis products at our house. What if one of them got busted and was looking for a get out of jail free card. We would be, their bargaining chip.
We decided to head straight back to the house.
On the way home, I freaked out on Alan.
“This is a fucking nightmare!” I sounded the alarm, “we need to like… move out!”
“That might be overreacting.” Alan said.
“This house is ruined!” I asserted.
“This is all fucking Johnson’s fault,” Alan concluded, “he was supposed to deal with the waste. That’s supposed to be his fucking job! I’m managing the business and the commercial kitchen and you’re doing sales, and what he is doing? He’s drinking beer all day and telling his friends what to do? But what work is he actually doing himself?”
“I mean, he does do, some things.” I pointed out.
“All he does is yell at people!” Alan yelled at me.
“It doesn’t really matter, whose fault this it,” I charged, “we need to figure out how to solve the problem. Our house, the place where we live and work, has been compromised.”
Alan drove on in silence, but the tension followed us around, like a black cloud hovering above our heads.
“Where is Johnson?” Alan grilled Teddy who was standing out front on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
“Woah, ok,” Teddy smiled and backed out of Alan’s way, “I think he’s in the backyard.”
Alan stormed passed Teddy into the house slamming the door shut behind him.
“Glad, I’m not Johnson right now,” Teddy laughed and made eye contact with me as I went in the house after Alan.”
“Are you a fucking idiot?” I heard Alan screaming across the house, tearing Johnson to shreds.
“Hey, just calm down, a second.”
“Johnson, you stupid, fucking, imbecil.”
“First of all,” Johnson barked back, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, and second of all, don’t talk to me, like that!”
“Shut the fuck up Johnson,” Alan kept his foot on the high moral ground, and continued his onslaught, “you could of fucked our whole business, because you’re too fucking drunk, and lazy, to do your job and get rid of the waste, like you’re supposed to!”
“I don’t want to be yelled at.”
“I don’t give a fuck, what you want.”
I was tempted to let them battle it out, but I knew it was up to me to keep things from coming unglued.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled my courage and opened the screen door, willingly dithering outside and into the line of fire.
“I’m not going to stand here and be talked down to. I don’t have to take this.” Johnson said indignantly.
“Don’t mean to intrude on this constructive conversation,” I interrupted them, “but we have a much more serious problem right now.”
They both seemed to stand down for a minute as I started to talk.
“Half the fucking hobos in Los Angeles know that we have a bunch of weed in this house. We’re going to get robbed, or arrested!”
“I’m not actually that worried,” Alan said, “it’s just a couple of homeless guys. I think if we just stop throwing out,” he glared at Johnson, “shit we’re not supposed to, then we’ll be fine.”
“The cops, could be on their way here, right now,” I was starting to lose it, “we should get everything out of here, now!”
“You’re being paranoid.” Johnson said, “I agree with Alan, who the fuck cares if I homeless guy knows we had edibles here. For all he knows, we found it in the trash ourselves.”
“That doesn’t really make sense,” I contented.
“Maybe Gabe is being paranoid,” Alan agreed with Johnson, “but it’s an unnecessary risk. Do even realize how fucking stupid it was, to throw felony drugs out in our trashcan on the curb, in a neighborhood full of homeless people! Trash is public property Johnson; anyone can take it.”
“I know that!” Johnson snapped, “I don’t need you to lecture me.”
“But I’m even more worried about what this is doing to our reputation as a company.” Alan stayed on the offensive, “A dirty, drug addicted, derelict was representing our brand to customers.”
“So what?”
“So what? So what, Johnson? I’m the CEO of this company, that’s what.
I’ve got my own money in this, and I take it very seriously.”
“I’m so fucking sick and tired of hearing about your ten grand!” Johnson spat back, “do you want your money back?”
“No, Johnson, I want you to do your job! This is a partnership, and you’re not carrying your fair share of the weight. Gabe will back me up, on this. Am I right, Gabe?”
They both turned back to look at me.
“Hey guys,” I put my hands up, folded together in prayer for peace, “let’s dial it back for a second please?”
“Fine.” Johnson said and stormed off, “I’m out of here!”
“Of course you are,” Alan heckled after him, “enjoy getting drunk while we’re working!”
Alan flashed me an angry look, as he himself was storming away, “Johnson needs to go.”
Whatever is going to happen will happen, I told myself, I have no control over anyone else’s behavior.
Get a grip on your business plans.
As I stood in silence in the backyard for a moment, contemplating how things had all gone so terribly wrong, I realized that I still didn’t have a costume for the Harry Potter Party, which was later that night.
I refused to play the goblin that Madison had assigned to me. Instead, I decided, I would make up my own fan-fiction character in the Harry Potter universe.
I got caught up with the basics of Harry Potter on Google and discovered the perfect costume idea right away. In the Harry Potter world, there were the magic users, and then there were the ‘Muggles’, who were just, the normal, regular people that didn’t use magic.
I’ll be a Muggle! I thought.
The best part, was that Muggles dressed just like non-magical, everyday people. I wouldn’t even need a costume! All I needed, was a name and a backstory.
“Alan?” I cried out as I climbed up the dropdown staircase into the attic. “Alan, are you up here? Are you ready to go?”
“Uhgnhhhh.”
“What did you say?”
“Muhgahhn”
“What are you doing?” I reprimanded him, “it’s time to go to the party. You need to get dressed.”
“I’m not going.”
“What do you mean?” I berated him, “stop fucking around and get ready.”
“I can’t go,” he said, “I think I might have food poisoning from the sushi last night.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” Alan said, “I feel really sick.”
“Liar!” I accused him, “nice try. Now get your shit, we’re going to the party. I wasn’t even going to go, but you talked me into it, and I already went to all the trouble of getting ready, so now you’re coming with me.”
“What trouble did you go to?” Alan acted surprised, “you’re not even wearing a costume!”
“I made up an entirely new character, with a backstory and a history, idiosyncrasies, etc.” I said, “it took me all afternoon.”
“What is your character?”
“No,” I said childishly, “I’m not telling you. I’m saving it as a surprise for the party. You can find out if you come.”
“Dude, I understand why you think I’d be faking it, but it’s no joke, I really do feel sick right now.”
“Whay, whay,” I pretended to wipe my eyes with my hands, “I’m not falling for your bullshit.”
“I can’t go.” Alan said.
“Fine,” I said, “I’m not going either.”
“You have to go,” Alan said.
“Why?” I refuted.
“One of us has to, to show our support for our employees.”
“You do know how much I hate you, right now?”
“It’s not going to be that bad,” he insisted, “I really do wish I could go.”
“I really wish you could too,” I said, “but you’ll never fit through the front door if your nose keeps growing at this rate.”
“Seriously,” Alan said, “I feel like I’m going to die. That sushi is really doing a number of me.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I shook my head in disgust, “just… save it.”
“I think I might have salmonella.”
“You’re too far gone, now,” I observed, “you might as well, just end it.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” Alan said.
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed angrily, as I made my way back down the stairs out of the attic. “You suck, Alan!” I screamed back up at him.
The party wasn’t that far away, so I walked by myself, irritated with Alan, for what I felt was kind of a set up.
He knew all along he would never go to a Harry Potter Party, I thought, he tricked me, into going in his place!
I walked up to the outside of Madison and Reggie’s apartment building. The porch was flooded with people drinking and smoking in Harry Potter costumes. I could see through the window that the apartment was packed too. As far as I could tell, there were multiple people dressed as duplicate characters, like Harry Potter, and Professor Dumbledore.
On the other hand, I seemed to be the only, Muggle there.
If anything, I thought, I have the most unique costume here. I should win a costume contest.
As I walked up to the porch, I saw Emma standing on the path next to a group of people. She was wearing a grey derby hat and a light blue, ruffled gown.
“Oh, hey Emma,” I nodded to her as I walked up the path outside towards the porch.
“Oh hi, Gabe,” she dragged out her words as if they were painful to say, “what are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a Muggle.” I said.
“Ok.”
“I have a backstory.” I added.
“Whatever,” she said, “hey while you’re here, let me introduce you to my new boyfriend, Bret. Bret, this is my boss, Gabe.”
I was confused and kind of looked around awkwardly for him. I even implausibly glanced down at the ground, as I tried to figure out how I could somehow, be missing her tiny boyfriend.
Then, I looked up…
I saw Bret, towering above me. He was a tall and skinny giant, maybe 6’4’ with a pretty boy haircut. He looked like he could be a male model.
“You tall, tall, asshole!” I took him to task, denouncing him from atop my soap box.
“What?” Bret looked stunned.
“Hey!” Emma snapped, “I told you not to say anything about his height, didn’t I?”
“How dare you be sensitive about your height!” I carried on, pointing up at Bret, “That’s fucking outrageous, you tall, ungrateful, jackass. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be short? Can you even imagine? Let me give you a clue. You’re the one who got the girl. Think about that one, for a second!”
“Being short isn’t the ONLY reason, you didn’t get the girl, Gabe.” Emma stared ice-daggers through my soul.
“Don’t mention Bret’s height, are you fucking kidding me?” I continued to rant, “That’s like saying, ‘no one say anything about money around Winchester, he’s really sensitive about being rich and white. And oh, by the way, don’t bring up big dicks to Bill, it makes him really uncomfortable that God has blessed him to be superior to other men.”
“Very funny.” Emma said dryly, without laughing, as we stood there silently, for an uncomfortably, long moment.
Bret stared down blankly at me; his pasty, skeletal, vampire face, betraying no emotion.
“Well, it was nice, to meet you.” He said.
“Ok,” I said, “really nice to meet you, too.”
I reached up to shake his hand.
“I’m going to go, inside now.” I made my way passed them to the porch and through the thicket of people into the apartment.
”Hey, it’s Gabe…” I heard somebody yelling, “that fucker, didn’t wear a costume!”
Reggie was sitting on a couch with his arm around Madison, amongst a sea of people and noise. He was dressed like a steam punk, wearing a Victorian looking jacket and vest, with his blond hair, spiked, sticking straight up in the air.
“That’s not true,” I pushed back, “I’m wearing a costume.”
“Yeah,” he said dismissively, “well, what are you supposed to be, then?”
“I’m a Muggle.” I answered.
“Lame!” He shook his head, “that’s so lame.”
“No,” I countered, “it’s not lame. You don’t understand. I’m a fan fiction character from the Harry Potter universe. I have a detailed backstory, enemies, quirks, idiosyncrasies, the works. I’m like, super dynamic, right now.”
“Well, who are you then?” Reggie interrogated me.
“I’m Nathaniel Tandlebuam.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“Nathaniel Tandlebuam, I’m Harry Potter’s, third cousin’s, neighbor’s, dentist.”
“That’s dogshit.” Reggie reproached me.
“And my character’s mania,” I explained, “is that I won’t say any words, that start with a lowercase, ‘j’.”
“Anyway,” Reggie called me out, “aren’t you supposed to be professor, Filius Flitwick?”
“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t want to dress like a fucking goblin.” I said.
“Why not?,” Reggie mocked me. “You look like a goblin. You’re short enough.”
“Fuck you,” I said, “who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Gellert Grindelwald. Duh!”
“Does that make you feel important?” I asked him.
“Why did you even come to a Harry Potter Party, if you don’t know anything about Harry Potter?” He asked me.
“I’d tell you, but the answer has a lowercase ‘j’ in it.”
“Boo!!!” Reggie shamed me, as Madison looked over at me from a side conversation she was having. She soon joined in with Reggie.
“Boo!!!!!” They both chorused.
In a stunningly short amount of time, pretty much everyone had picked up on it, and got in on the action.
“Boo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The entire party, scorned me.
“This is all your fault!” I scolded Alan, “you did this to me.”
“Thanks for asking how I’m doing, by the way.”
“Fuck you!” I said, “how are you doing?”
“I feel terrible,” He said, “to be honest, I’m a little bit scared.”
“Nice touch,” I said cynically, “that detail, really sells your story.”
“I’m being serious.” He protested.
“Ok,” I made a face. “Do you want to go to the hospital? Should we have them send in an emergency evac team? Should they send the helicopter?”
“I’ll wait and see how I’m feeling tomorrow.” Alan said.
“Well, how convenient.”
Fed up and tired, I climbed back down the stairs and went into my room for the night.
The next morning was Saturday and I slept in, until 7am. I went out to get a cup of coffee and noticed the pot was empty.
That’s strange, I thought, Alan usually has a pot of coffee started by now.
It was creepily quiet this morning. The packagers had the day off and Alan almost never slept in.
I started a fresh pot as I yawned.
I was suddenly startled by a thunderous crash and the sound of Alan crying out loud in anguish.
“What the fuck?”
I ran into the hallway to find Alan on the ground, twisted into a ball on his side, with his hand on the small of his back.
“Jesus man,” I said, “are you alright?”
“No,” he murmured in anguish, “I need a minute.”
“What the fuck happened?”
Alan, slowly sat up on the floor.
“I got up to use the bathroom,” he groaned, “and I stepped over the entrance to the attic. I didn’t realize that the stairs were retracted, so, I just dropped down to the floor, like a sandbag.”
I looked up, as Alan pointed to the attic door above our heads, and the wooden staircase that was still folded up against the door on the ceiling.
I started laughing uncontrollably, as I pictured Alan, hazy, and weary, first thing in the morning, like Mr. Magoo, stepping blindly into disaster and plunging to the floor.
“It’s ok,” Alan said, “you can laugh at me. I can appreciate how funny it is, that I could have died or been seriously injured.”
“It’s even funnier when you put it like that,” I cackled, “you’re like a stand-up comedian.”
“Would you like me to do it again? Since you seem to be enjoying my crippling pain so much? Would you like an instant replay?”
“That sounds great!” I said, “that’s very considerate of you.”
“The next show’s at noon,” Alan said, “but make sure to get your ticket in advance so that you don’t have to wait on line.”
“Do you want to get some breakfast?” I offered, “we can go sell some shake afterwards?”
“No,” Alan shook his head, “I need you to drive me to the hospital.”
“Are you really hurt, that bad?” I wasn’t sure if he was serous. He looked shaken up and was sweating profusely, but he didn’t seem to be broken from the outside, looking in.
“No,” Alan said holding his side, “it’s the sushi. I think I have food poisoning.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“For the last fucking time, I’m not making it up!” Alan was getting emotional, “now would you please give me a ride to the fucking hospital?”
I drove Alan’s car and parked in the lot at the Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center.
“Wait here, a second,” I jumped out of the car and ran towards the entrance to the Emergency Room.
I returned a few minutes later and opened Alan’s door for him, as I stood waiting with a wheelchair.
“The royal chariot awaits, your Highness.”
I wheeled Alan inside and took him to the ER admittance desk. After he was checked in, we went over to the waiting room.
“It’s probably going to be a long time,” Alan said, “it doesn’t make any sense for you to wait around for me, I have my laptop with me. I can get some work done. Just pick me up later.”
“Ok,” I said went back out to the car.
I got to a red light about halfway back to the house. When the light turned green, I stepped on the gas, but the car didn’t move.
What now?
I checked to see if the transmission had slipped into neutral, but it hadn’t.
The car behind me started honking.
I put Alan’s car in park and turned it off. I tried to start up the engine again but it choked, and wouldn’t turn over.
The car behind me started honking again as I put the hazards on. I rolled down the window and stuck my arm out, waving them by, as the driver honked at me, one more time, for good measure.
I took out my cell phone and called Alan.
“Hey, I’ve got bad news.” I said.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me, how I’m doing?” Alan leaned in hard on his guilt card.
“Ok, how are you?”
“I just saw the doctor,” Alan said, “I have severe food poisoning. He told me that I would have died, if I hadn’t come in, when I did.”
“My God,” I said, “that’s crazy. I’m really sorry that I didn’t believe you.”
“I told you, I wasn’t faking it,” Alan reminded me.
“Don’t you want to know, what the bad news is?” I asked him.
“What’s the bad news?”
“Your car broke down.”
As I waited on the sidewalk for the tow-truck that Alan called, I got a call from a customer on Pico Street, in downtown LA.
“Hey Eddie,” I said, “how can I help you, my friend?”
“That shake you sold me, is fucking garbage!” He swore.
“Woah, woah,” I tried to calm him down, “can you back up a second, please?”
“You need to make this right, bro.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I need you to bring some better shit in here, today.”
“My car just broke down.”
“I’m not fucking around.” He said.
“Ok, ok,” I said, flustered, “just give me a little bit and I’ll figure something out.”
The tow truck came and left with Alan’s car. A few minutes later, my ride showed up.
“Thanks for coming to get me, at the last minute.” I told Hanson, as I got in the car.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t busy, mother fucker.”
“Thank you, at any rate,” I said, “listen, I also need to stop at the house and then make an emergency run to Pico St.”
“Hmm,” Hanson said, “you do, do you?”
“I would really appreciate it Hanson,” I said, “it’s been a long, few days.”
“Ok,” Hanson said, eerily agreeably, “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
“But…”
“Of course.”
“We need to have a talk,” Hanson looked serious as he drove back towards the house.
“Ok,” I said finally, “what do we need to talk about?”
“Well,” Hanson smiled deviously, “I know that you ratted me out to Alan.”
“What are you talking about?” I played dumb.
“Don’t insult me, by lying,” Hanson said, “I know what you told him. I know that you complained about me, and that you told Alan that I make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Alan told you that?”
“He threw you under the bus and sang like a canary!”
“To be fair,” I said, “I do say the same things to your face, everyday.”
“Yeah, but you tattled on me,” Hanson said sadistically, “and you are going to have to be punished.”
“Basically,” he added, laughing, “I’m going to make you, my bitch.”
A few seconds later, I felt moisture on the side of my face, and I looked over to see him blowing spit bubbles at me again.
We got back to the house, and I ran as fast as I could into the garage where I scrounged for the best quality trim I could find. We were running pretty low again, and we didn’t have anything in stock that was very great quality. I grabbed the nicest looking half pound of shake I could find and ran back out to the car.
Hanson dropped me off at the door as he went to circle around the block until I was ready to be picked up again.
I went inside the store. It was dark and the walls were covered with chalkboard material that was plastered with graffiti style letters and characters. The room was an open floor plan, with a video game lounge off to the left of the cannabis area.
I walked over to the bud counter where the manager, Eddie stood waiting for me, looking livid. He was about my height, skinny, and dressed like a thug. He wore long baggy, black sweats, a wife beater, and gold chains around his neck.
“Holmes, that shit you sold me, is fucking bullshit.”
We’re off to a great start. I thought.
“It wasn’t that, bad.” I cautiously challenged him.
“Bro, what the fuck do you got for me?”
I put a bag of shake down on the counter.
Eddie’s eyes went from mad, to furious.
“This is the same shit, motherfucker!”
“This is all I have right now.” I appealed to him, “if you wait a week or two, I can get you something else.”
“Motherfucker, a customer called me today, and said he bought this shit and had it tested in a lab! He said it was totally bunk! Are you trying to hustle me, holmes?”
“No,” I said, starting to get nervous, “of course not!
“What is this, oregano? Is that, what you’ve been selling me?”
No, I argued, as a pit was growing in my stomach, we make it from trim, the same stuff we use to make our butter.
“This guy said he was going to sue me and turn me into the city. Bro, you don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with.”
“Hey, take it easy,” I said, “I’ll make it right.”
“I’m a mother fucking, gangster bro!” Eddie menacingly beat his fist against his chest. “You ever hear of the Mexican Mafia, esse? We’ve got bodies everywhere, in every city, and we don’t play around when people fuck with us. If I lose my store over this, bro, no joke… I’m going to find you, and I’m going to come kill you, and then I’m going to kill your whole entire fucking family.”
“Woah,” I said, “there’s no reason to-“
“Get the fuck out of my store!” he threatened me, “get out now, before I put one in your fucking head.”
Holy shit, I thought, as I quickly bailed from the store and then ran around the corner. I called Hanson to pick me up a few blocks from where I was at.
Rattled, I opened the door, and frantically jumped into the car.
“Hi bitch,” Hanson laughed menacingly, “are you ready for some more pain?”
I got back to the house and ran in to the tell Johnson what had happened.
That was fucking insane, I thought, I’m never selling shake again!
“Johnson,” I bellowed as I ran into the house, “Johnson!”
“What’s up?” he said, as he emerged from the master bedroom.
“The guy at Greenfingers on Pico just threatened to kill me and my entire family!”
“What?” Johnson laughed, “why?”
“Because he didn’t like my shake.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” I said, “he threatened to kill me.”
“And you believe, that this man, is actually going to kill you?” Johnson asked patronizingly.
“They made a copy of my license when I joined their collective.” I said.
“So?”
“They can find us.”
“It’s not like he’s actually going to do anything.” Johnson snickered at me condescendingly, “it’s only shake, bro.”
“He sounded pretty serious.”
“I don’t care,” Johnson said, “we need to talk about Alan.”
“Maybe you’re not hearing me, our lives are in danger.”
“I’ve had enough of Alan’s attitude,” Johnson continued, “we need to send him back where he came from.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am not going to be lectured and talked down to, like a little child.”
“Oh my God,” I said, “just leave me alone, please.”
“I need you to back me up.” Johnson said, as he cracked open a beer.
“Before you get too drunk,” I said, glancing at his beer, “you should know that you’re going to have to pick up Alan from the hospital, later.”
“Why is Alan in the hospital?”
“Food poisoning.” I said, “he nearly died.”
“What happened to his car?”
“His car, did die.” I replied.
“Fuck that,” Johnson farted to emphasize his point, “I’m not picking him up.”
“Well, someone needs to get him later.” I pointed out.
“You can take my car if you want,” Johnson said obstinately, “I don’t give a fuck. You need to choose whose side you’re on. You’re either with me, or you’re with him.”
“Why don’t you just take it easy?” I entreated him.
“I’m just saying,” Johnson glowered at me, “You can’t have it both ways.”
For the rest of the evening, Johnson continued to harass me, lobbying me to get rid of Alan, even as he grew increasingly intoxicated, from a never ending supply of beers, that he kept stocked in the house.
Finally, Alan texted me that he was ready, so I took Johnson’s car to go pick him up at the hospital. I was tired when we got back to the house, and I went straight to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up in a state of extreme panic, anxiety, and depression, as I saw Emma and Madison, labeling brownies at the kitchen table. They both avoided making eye contact with me.
That’s just great, I thought, I’ll never feel comfortable here again!
I had no privacy. My two best friends, and business partners, hated each other, and were both pressuring me, to side against the other. My shake-king fantasies, had been shaken to the core, and I was still concerned that I could be butchered by the Mexican Mafia, at any moment. Meanwhile our location had been compromised to God knows how big a community, of LA’s homeless population.
I took my coffee outside to have a cigarette. I had quit smoking but recently started again, both under the burden of an escalating series of stresses, and in part, from being in the enabling environment of living and working with other smokers.
I made my way out the front door, across the lawn, towards the wooden gate to the backyard.
I took in the fresh air for a moment.
I just need a little peace and quiet, a little privacy. I thought, as and I unlatched the door and went into the backyard, bumping into Johnson immediately, over by the garbage.
He was emptying a large number of beer bottles into the recycling bin.
“We need to talk.” Johnson said.
Fuck here we go, I felt like the world was closing in around me, and I couldn’t breathe, I can’t take being in the middle of this anymore. I just can’t listen to any more of Johnson trying to convince me, to get rid of Alan.
Johnson though to my surprise, didn’t again mention, soliciting my help to overthrow and behead Alan. He lit into me, instead.
“I heard you agreed to sell brownies to Tony for $3.00/unit,” Johnson lashed out at me, “why don’t you just, give the fucking brownies away?”
I couldn’t help but see the irony of the situation, as Johnson dressed me down.
This is how you’re going to lobby me, to choose you, and vote Alan out of the business? I wondered, you’re not making a very convincing argument.
“Don’t laugh,” Johnson continued to bully me. “You’re not allowed to make deals anymore without my supervision.”
“You can’t do that.” I retorted.
“You can’t be trusted on your own to make good decisions.” Johnson added.
“Since when do I answer to you?” I threw my gauntlet down on the table.
“We’ll go get Alan,” Johnson said, “let’s go talk to him.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, confidentially, “would love for him to weigh in right now.”
“I talked to him already this morning by the way,” Johnson taunted me, “and he agrees with me. We can’t afford to sell desserts for $3 a piece. There’s not enough money in it. I’m not working for free!”
Alan is in on this with Johnson? This sudden, startling news, felt like a sword through my guts.
“Tony took a large volume order,” I defended myself, “that saves us on some other costs. Plus, we won the shelf space. We have his whole edibles counter now.”
“You see, right there,” Johnson said snidely, “this is exactly why I’m going to have to baby sit you.”
I didn’t say anything. With all of the other terrible things that were going on, this was the last conversation that I was expecting to be having right now.
Out of all the insane horrors that had been going through my mind, the one possibility that had never even occurred to me, which somehow I had overlooked, was one of my greatest fears- Johnson and Alan teaming up against me. Becoming the third wheel again.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
This is the straw that broke the camel’s back, I reflected sadly, and I am, that camel.
“Stay here,” Johnson said, “I’m going to go get Alan, we’re going to talk about this now.”
Johnson opened the screen door and marched back into the house.
“Alan? Alan, are you, in there? Gabe and I need to talk to you about something important!”
I needed a minute to process things. My mind was overloading and in a state of meltdown.
I don’t want to talk right now, I realized, Johnson can’t make me talk, right now.
Driven by an animal instinct for survival, I ran into the backyard. Throwing my coffee mug into the bushes, I leapt onto the pole that was supporting the defunct, storage shed.
I wasn’t a great climber, or very athletic, but I willed myself to squiggle up the pole until I was able to reach the platform and pull myself up the rest of the way over the edge and into the decerped shed.
“What’s this?” I heard Johnson’s voice, “I think I found a clue.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Alan was in the backyard now too.
“It’s his coffee mug,” Johnson said, “I think he’s hiding in the backyard, somewhere.”
“Why would Gabe be hiding?” Alan asked suspiciously, as if to imply that Johnson was withholding something.
“I think he’s probably stressed,” Johnson admitted, “because I’ve been giving him a hard time recently.”
“Gee,” Alan said, “I wonder if that has anything to do with it?”
“What did you do to Gabe?” Alan demanded.
“Nothing really,” Johnson said, “Gabe is a man of peace, and he’s sensitive to all of the discord in this house.”
“I think that’s correct.” Alan agreed.
“And Gabe is right,” Johnson said, “we need to fix this. Let’s say, you and I bury the hatchet and figure out how to work together for the good of Gabe and the rest of the company.”
“That’s all, I’ve ever wanted.” Alan said.
“Gabe?” Johnson called out, “are you in the storage shed, bud?”
“No,” I shouted back down.
“What you doing, up there?” Johnson called up.
“Can’t you people just leave me alone, for five minutes?”
“Are you ok?” Alan asked.
“I’m fine.” I said.
“Why don’t you come down from there, so we can talk about it?” Johnson pleaded.
“No.” I said, “just fuck off, for God’s sake.”
“Listen,” Johnson said, “I’m sorry about earlier, about what I said, and about giving you shit in general lately. Alan and I just talked. We just shook hands and we worked everything out. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I sighed and poked my head out of my hideout.
“I’ve been thinking,” Alan said, “you really need a vacation.”
“No.” I sneered, “I’m not taking a vacation.”
“Why not?”
“There’s too much to do,” I said, “besides, if I feel like I’m keeping this dream together with my energy. If I leave, something bad could happen.”
“That’s stupid.” Johnson said.
“I’m not going.” I insisted.
“Hey man,” Alan suggested, “why don’t you come inside the house, and we can talk about it?”
I took a deep breath and I climbed back down from off of my pedestal.