The Continuing Story of Gina and Lori

During an article I wrote concerning abortion, I mentioned two ladies (if you can call them by that term) named Gina and Lori who used to come into the GNC ( General Nutrition Center) store I managed. I didn't go into my entire association with them because I didn't want to stray too far away from my topic. 

However, I thought now would be a good time to tell the rest of the story. As I mentioned before, Gina was an obnoxious, abrasive, in- your- face women who hurled acidic insults at me whenever she and Lori came into my store. I got the none too subtle impression she thought of herself as a hysterically funny person; a female Don Rickles. Unfortunately, she was sadly mistaken on that point. Except for her best friend Lori, who laughed raucously at Gina's tasteless, lame brand of comedy, no one else who visited my store considered her to be God's gift to comedy either. Both ladies were high school dropouts. 

And while Lori was attending a city funded continuing education program, Gina was trying to enlist in the Army. Gina's problem was, as the recruiter told her in no uncertain terms, before entering the armed forces, she have to get her G.E.D as well as shed thirty pounds. After much foot dragging Gina finally earned her G.E.D, but losing the prerequisite weight was a feat she just couldn't achieve. She would joke about being cursed with a slow metabolism. But the more obvious reason was her love of doughnuts. Everyday I saw her carrying a bag of freshly baked sweets she purchased from a bakery located a block away from my store. Gina never offered anybody one of her precious powdered treats. Not even Lori whom she referred to as" My dearest friend." I always found this particular dynamic to their supposed deep and abiding friendship rather amusing. 

One day, I saw them walking together down the street. Gina's beloved bag of doughnuts was held on the right of her as Lori walked on the left side. Suddenly, Lori noticed an expensive pair of shoes in the display window of a fashionable women's clothing store and walked around Gina to get a better look at them. Immediately, Gina quickly moved the bag to her left side. I watched the entire incident from my store shaking my head in disbelief. Gina could not bear to part with one miserable, measly doughnut and offer it to her" dearest friend." Yet, at the same time, she was also anal enough to wonder why it was so difficult for her to lose any weight. 

 Eventually, I found a better paying job with good benefits which meant leaving GNC, the abrasive Gina and her faithful friend Lori far, far behind. About two years later I ran into Gina. Although I attempted to avoid eye contact with her and beat a hasty retreat before any words could be exchanged. Gina (to my misfortune) recognized me and I was lulled into a narcoleptic stupor with tales of her so called life. Poor Gina still couldn't get the Army to take her into their fold; she remained thirty pounds overweight. The recruiter finally laid down the law telling Gina it had been two years and that until she got serious about joining the Army, buckled down and lost the weight not to waste her time. 

 Gina was also jealous because Lori had graduated with a degree in electronics, which meant that she was enjoying a career while Gina was still drifting. She was mad. She was bitter. Gina felt life was passing her by while blinded to the fact it wasn't bad luck or cruel fate that befell her; it was poor decision making which proved to be her undoing. 

 As for Gina's one woman peanut gallery, I found her working at a local mall as the manager/machine repair person of a video arcade. We were having a pleasant conversation(Gina wasn't there) when all of the sudden Lori noticed a group of teenage girls dressed provocatively and began a tirade about how they dressed like "little whores". This coming from a woman who once bragged about the sexy outfits she wore to the clubs and the variety of "one night stands" she enjoyed. Now all of the sudden Lori is the Queen of Morality? As the saying goes," People who live in glass houses should get dressed in the basement." Or is it " shouldn't throw stones "? Anyhoo, even if Lori had gone through a moral rebirth, so to speak, because of her past she had no right to be anybody's judge and jury. But I held my tongue and said nothing. I knew I'd be talking to a brick wall in any event.

A Moral Dilemma: Doing What's Right.

During the summer of 1990, I began working for a now non existent sandwich company as a route driver. The money and the benefits were substantial enough to make the decision to leave the other McJob I was at(a well known storage company) a particularly easy one. As I said, the money was good and having tangible medical benefits(as opposed to being constantly promised them)was a definite improvement. Plus I enjoyed the job. Except for having to put up with the owners, Dick and his wife Shelley, two people who should have put an end to their wretched excuse of a marriage a long ,long time ago. 

 Not a day went by during the four months I worked there that myself and the three other employees  weren't subjected to their petty bickering and naked animosity. One time, Dick was so infuriated by an insult hurled at him by his shrewish wife that he gave her the finger in front of everyone. Their rancor extended to Dick arriving at work driving his beloved black Mustang while Shelley drove her white Lincoln Continental. Whenever she deigned to stay home during one of her moods, Dick would be in high spirits. No wonder, he didn't have to argue for eight hours incessantly with Shelley. And since the wife was away, Dick felt free to regale us with stories about the twenty five year old mistress he was screwing on the side. One time he was bold enough to bring her by and show her off to us! Dick was always going on and on about how young and pretty she was, unlike Shelley. And we were treated to blow by blow descriptions of their sex life, while Dick nudged whoever was closest to him in the ribs all the while winking and giving a thumbs up.

 Now, I will confess that Shelley was not the nicest person that God ever let draw breath. She was bellicose and rather short with people. I imagine that being married to her was no slice of heaven; more like a long, torturous tour through Dante's Inferno. But Dick once told us point blank that he was staying married to Shelly because it was "Cheaper to keep her"; that a divorce would put a serious crimp in his finances. So, while he remained unhappily married to his wife, Dick would sneak off to get some loving with his girlfriend, whom he kept in a nice apartment and provided living expenses for. Whenever she would broach the subject of Dick leaving Shelley and marrying her, he would paint a false picture of financial ruin incurred should divorce become a reality. Naturally, his girlfriend not wanting to kill the goose laying her golden eggs agreed that their current arrangement was indeed mutually beneficial. The matter, at least for the moment, was dropped. Dick was successfully juggling a sham marriage and a torrid love affair at the same time, while myself and the other three employees heard endlessly about his double life.

 Dick was quite proud of himself. Behind Shelley's back, Dick would refer to her as " Shelley Stank Vein" and" Mama Ugly Vein" because of a rather noticeable vein which ran the entire length of her leg, incurred during the birth of their only child, a son named Bob. Out of curiosity, I asked why he didn't take her to a plastic surgeon to get the supposedly disfiguring vein fixed. Dick replied he felt this was throwing good money after bad and why waste money on that middle aged shrew when it could be better spend on his younger, prettier honey? I may not have liked Shelley in the slightest, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Her husband, in my estimation, was a slimy, ball-less weasel.

 By September of that year, the recession was upon America as well as the company I worked at was feeling the effects of it. Sales became sluggish at certain stores, so the routes were trimmed as the accounts who weren't doing sufficient business were eliminated. Unfortunately, someone  was going to be laid off. Three guess's and the first two don't count as to who the unlucky person was. If you guessed me, then put a little gold star next to your name. You know the rule, last hired/first fired. As Dick told me the bad news, he assured me that I would get an excellent reference from him. He then shook my hand and wished me good luck. 

This was during a very bad recession however, so jobs were hard to come by. I lucked out and procured a posit on as a collector at Barklays Bank, a financial institution attempting to rid itself of millions of dollars of delinquent accounts while trying to find a buyer for their white elephant(I 'll go into detail about this story at a later date). The upshot was, this failing bank expected each collector to rake in no less than ten thousand a week or they were shown the door. I was shown the door after a month, so it was back to pounding the pavement in search of gainful employment. Around Christmas time of that year, I received a call from Dick at ten o'clock one night. He was in quite a predicament, one of his own making. It seems that his wife Shelly suspected he was cheating on her and she in turn threatened divorce in which she stood to take him for half of everything. Dick wanted me to verify his story of spending time at a local tavern and lie to her that he and I spent evening in this establishment knocking back beers and playing pool.

 I felt this was simply asking too much of me and that I shouldn't get involved in a situation which was not any of my business. Never the less, I asked Dick if I could take a day or two to think it over and then give him an answer. He unexpectedly roared at me," Tell me now, Goddamn you! Shelley will put my ass into a sling if you don't come through for me!" Now, I felt bad for Dick, but I was at a moral crossroad: do I lie for him when I know this is the wrong thing to do? I mean, was it my job to help Dick maintain he and Shelly's cardboard cutout of a marriage? Or do I tell Dick no and risk offending him? He wouldn't allow me the time to think things through, but I knew in my heart what the answer was. The right answer, that is. I said I wouldn't lie for him and that my conscience was more important than his double life. Dick shouted at me before hanging up," I'll fix you, sonofabitch! I'll fix you!" I thought to myself," What can he do to me? I don't work for him anymore." Talk about famous last words!

 For the next month or two, I must have applied to fifty to sixty places for a job and noticed I was getting nowhere. Then, during a second interview for the position of liquor store manager, the owner informed me that when he called Dick for a reference, he was told," No comment at this time." No comment at this time? Whatever happened to my excellent reference? Needless to say, I didn't get the position. Yes, this is how Dick, that miserable, gutless, cheating pile of crap got even with me for not lying on his behalf. If it weren't for the fact that I would have gotten arrested for assault, I would've kicked his candy ass up and down the street where his business was located. Instead, I took it on the chin. 

From that day forward Dick and I were enemies. A few years later, I heard rumors he and Shelley moved to Florida in order to save their comedy routine they called a marriage and opened up another business. Other rumors surfaced that Dick snuck his girlfriend down there as well and was still carrying one with his double life. Whatever the truth is, all I know is that I stuck to my guns and did the right thing, despite the consequences. In the end, that's all that really matters.

My Girlfriend The Welfare Cheat.

Recently, there have been several stories on my FaceBook wall concerning women who collect welfare, food stamps, medicaid and Section 8 housing while steadfastly refusing to work. The most recent was a woman,with a husband and three kids, who stays home all day and smokes weed while sucking on the Government teat. Now, here's the kicker: she feels no need to find any sort of gainful employment since the State of Texas is providing money, medical, an apartment and food stamps for her, her children and her equally lazy assed husband. As a guy who puts in forty hours  a week at a Casino in order to pay my bills, put food on my table and have medical benefits, this irks the shit out of me.  But then again, I myself am no stranger to this type of woman.

In 1991, I was unemployed, yet searching for a job. One day, I was in a book store and caught the eye of a blonde wearing a mini skirt and black leather boots. I found out her name was Trish and we immediately struck up a conversation. She said she thought I was cute and we went out on a date that same evening. We eventually ended up back at my place and had sex,thus was the beginning of a short lived relationship.

For some unknown reason, Trish's idea of a great date was going to a bar, downing several beers and then going back to my place for a few rounds of sex. And while the sex was good,mind you, we never went to a movie or did anything else other than hang out a bar where Trish would chug several bottles of suds. Her interests were few. As far as people go, Trish was as dumb as a box of rocks. Our conversations consisted of her favorite video or TV shows or favorite rock star. She knew nothing about current events or even cared about what was going on in the world for that matter. Now,you're probably thinking," But Joe,didn't you say you met Trish at  a book store?" Well, yes I did. But the book she was reading was the biography of rapper Vanilla Ice.  Enough said about that.

Trish readily admitted that she was on welfare, food stamps, medicaid and was living at her Mom and Dad's house while waiting for her Section 8 apartment where she and her eight year old son were going to live. She didn't want to get a job because her benefits would have been reduced . As long as she had her son living with her, Trish would receive all kinds of Government goodies while people who worked for a living would be paying the freight for the two of them to live a life of comfort and ease.

And while Trish wasn't the most intellectual person I've ever met, I feel  she was smart enough to know that in ten years her son would be eighteen years old and her ride on the Government gravy train would be coming to an end. In other words, lazy girl didn't want to have to go and get a job(horrors of horrors!). I say this because during one of our nights of passion, Trish took the condom I was about to use and began to play hide and seek with it. She then held it up in the air and made a proposition: If I got her pregnant, she wouldn't hold me responsible in any way. As far as she was concerned, I could simply walk away and never have any further contact with either her or our child if I so desired. This way she would have another seventeen to eighteen years to leech off of the Government.

My reply was an emphatic," No."  I told her if we did have a kid together, I would want to be a part of his or her life. I also didn't want to have a child at that point in my life. Especially with a woman I liked,but didn't love. Also, in the back of my mind I was thinking, " What if Trish changed her mind and decided to go after me for child support ?  Eighteen years of having to fork over money for a child conceived on a whim held no charm for me. The matter was dropped and we went back to having our usual fun of sweating between the sheets.

Eventually, we broke up. Trish and I had nothing in common and good sex does not make for a lasting relationship. However, I did bump into her in 1997. I was going to a Spa to get a foot massage and as I got into the elevator, there stood Trish wearing a sun dress, who was at the Spa for a tanning session. Trish said  that she was still getting welfare, food stamps, Medicaid and was happily ensconced in her Section 8 apartment which she shared with her boyfriend who had a job. She bragged ," I do nothing all day but hang around." I didn't say anything, but boy was I pissed. Besides, I thought you couldn't live in a Section 8 apartment with a boyfriend, especially if he was employed. But hell, what do I know? What I do know is that while I busted my ass for eight hours a day in order to enjoy an occasional foot massage, Trish ,still happily unemployed, was at a tanning salon greedily and gladly sucking on the Government teat. You know, sometimes life can be unfair.

The Death of A Childhood Friendship

It's a rather ironic thing about friendships, especially the ones forged during our childhood. They can end at a moments notice and for a variety of reasons. It is at the same time sad, yet also inevitable. One childhood friendship of mine came to a sudden halt because of something as insignificant as a football.

I met Billy Glennon when we both attended St.Peters parochial school and the two of us immediately became friends. Then Billy and I discovered that we lived in the same neighborhood. We hung out at each others house and even joined the Cub Scouts together. Along with another friend of ours, Brad, and my brother Mike,we got involved the the sort of shenanigans kids are prone to do.

On one of our excursions, our party of four went to The Wilmington and Western Railroad station(an old time steam locomotive exhibit)where we discovered quarters, dimes and nickels that had fallen out of visitors pockets. Afterwards,as we greedily counted our bounty of coins, Billy was upset that we'd found more than he did. He thought this was unfair and so did we, so Brad, Mike and myself without hesitation gave Billy a portion of our money so that we'd all be even. After that minor tragedy was averted, our happy little group found it's way to a delicatessen where we indulged in chocolate covered cupcakes and bottles of soda.

Billy moved away about a year or so later because his fathers job required that the family relocate to another state. I didn't see him again for five years. When I did, our reunion would be less than joyous.

It was during my junior year, I found out that Billy would be a student at St. Marks and was slated to play on the football team as a quarterback. I was delighted because I'd be hanging out with my friend again. I couldn't wait to see him. One day,I was in the cafeteria when I saw him walking down the isle. I got up from my table and went over to greet him, my hand outstretched. Billy never even looked at me. He simply whisked past me; it was as if I wasn't even in the room. It both hurt and sucked at the same time. Why would my friend treat me as if I were a non person?

Wait a minute-I think I've got it- he was a hotshot high school jock, while I who was not athletically inclined was a nobody; someone to be ignored or ridiculed. You see, in high school there is a certain hierarchy that still exists today in these supposedly enlighten times. The jocks are regarded with awe,exalted to an almost god like status because they can f**k with a football or f**k with a basketball.Those who aren't athletes can either function as their hangers on or be considered as "outsiders". I sure as shit never wanted to be a "hanger on". How demeaning that would have been. I'd much rather be an "outsider" and keep my individuality.

When I was in high school the outsiders were called either "dicks" or the ever popular(with them,not us.)"sissy dinks". One time, when I was having lunch with some friends, we just happened to be sitting at a table one row over from where Billy and a group of fellow pig skinned brained pricks happened to be. They overheard our conversation and were groaning, rolling their eyes and making uncalled for comments. Naturally,we ignored their ignorant behavior. But if the same thing occurred today, I'd march right over to their table and tell them in no uncertain terms," Our conversation is none of your f***ing business. So f**k off, assholes."

I'd like to take a moment to mention that Billy had two sisters, Colleen and Sheila, who also attended St.Marks. Now,they had been students at St.Peters as well, but since they were two gawky, skinny little girls, both of them pretty much went unnoticed by me during those years. By the time they hit high school,both of them had developed quite nicely,thank you very much. They were referred to as the Glennon Babes by the male populace of St Marks because of their gorgeous faces and knockout bodies. I know for a fact that many a hormone charged teenage boy at my school had fantasy's about them. These girls could have easily had successful careers as models once out of high school. I'll go even further than that to proclaim that Colleen and Sheila could have perhaps gone on to pose as Playboy Centerfolds, much to the delight of the male alumni of St. Marks. Yes,they were that hot. A couple of years after graduating high school, I read in the newspaper about Colleens impending marriage and that she was studying to be a nurse. I thought her career choice was a terrible waste of a drop dead pretty face and a killer figure.

Anyhoo, Billy during the next two years of high school never once spoke to me. Our friendship was now a thing of the past. After a while I ceased to care because he became mind over matter. I didn't mind because he sure as hell didn't matter. And although I haven't seen him since St. Marks I still have not forgiven him. If I were to run into him somewhere, I wouldn't as much as give him the time of day. We're not friends anymore;the two years he ignored me in high school completely erased any friendship we ever had. There are definite do's and don'ts when it comes to friendship. And just because he could kick a football a f***ing mile was no reason for treating me so contemptuously. You don't do that to your friends.

My Misadventures In Romance:The Day Crazy Helene Kooked Out.

Let me step up to the plate and confess to you, when it has come to a few of my previous relationships with the fairer sex, there's been a time or two (maybe even three or four times as far as that goes) when I haven't used my best judgement. Loneliness, desperation, the need for affection have driven me to seek the company of women who were totally wrong for me. You know the drill, any port in a storm.

This can said about Helene. The best word I can use in describing her is psychotic. If I had employed rational, clear thinking instead of going with my heart, I could've avoided a whole world of insanity that I willingly endured in order to have a girlfriend.

We met when I was working as a telemarketer at a company called Dial Direct. From our first meeting there was an unmistakable chemistry between us. A a co-worker named Doug once warned me about becoming romantically involved at the work place. His advice was: Never meet your honey where you make your money. I turned a deaf ear and followed my heart instead. Considering the eventual outcome, I should've followed his advice to the letter.

The first thing about Helene that I considered rather off putting were her racist views. When ever she mention black people the N word was thrown about with disturbing regularity. One time, I mentioned that I like getting a little tan during the summer. Helene replied humorously, "Don't get too tan or I won't go out with you." But it was the way she said that remark which me feel as if she really meant it, all kidding aside. This alone should have set off an alarm in me to drop her like the proverbial hot potato and find someone else, but I just ignored it. My rationale was that just because Helene was a frothing at the mouth bigot was no reason to stop seeing her. You know, live and let live, to each his own ect, ect. Proof positive that loneliness really does make us throw our common sense right out the window.

Then on top of that were her outbursts. Little things she would say or do that made me question her sanity. At the time I didn't have a car, so Helene would drive me to work and back home. One day on our way to work Helene, for reasons unknown, appeared to be agitated about something. When I asked if anything was wrong, she simply brushed it off. Then, without any provocation Helene began talking about "goggle heads", how they should be put into a room and have their heads cut off. She shouted," F**k 'em all! Kill 'em!"

As you can imagine, I was shocked by this outburst. But the worst was yet to come. At one point, Helene fished a half smoked cigarette butt out of the ashtray, lit it and began puffing away nervously. Suddenly, she took the steering wheel and began zigzagging her car across the two lane highway before finally composing herself. Helene said she was sorry and the remainder of our trip was uneventful. But I don't mind telling you that I was unnerved, as well as being a little scared, by her unexplained psychotic behavior. This was one thrill ride I surely did not enjoy: Helene's Tunnel of Insanity.

Now at this juncture, most men would've run away from her screaming. You know, thanks for inviting me to share your insanity, but no thanks. Not me. I chose to view her actions as quirky and colorful. For some unfathomable reason I still wanted her as my girlfriend.

Then came the beginning of the end. It was the New Years Eve of 1994 and we had made plans to go out to a party that evening. While we were at work, Helene all of the sudden announced that her mother was in critical condition at the hospital. She said she was going to see her, so she had to cancel our New Years festivities. Naturally I understood, even though her manner was strange. The way she darted her eyes away from me and her nervous mannerisms as she talked made me suspect Helene wasn't being truthful with me.

When we saw each other the day after New Years I asked Helene how her mother was doing. She replied vaguely," She's okay, I guess." Wait a freaking minute!  Helene's mother was supposedly in the hospital practically at deaths door and she guess's her mother is "okay"? Something fishy was definitely going on. I didn't want to know the truth, so I never pressed the issue although in the back of my mind I felt Helene had been with someone else that evening.

It was on Valentine's Day, that special, romantic day, that Helene kicked me to the curb. She bluntly informed me that I wasn't good enough for her, but she still wanted to be friends. I was totally God smacked. I let her rampant racist comments go unchallenged. That day she had her manic episode during our drive to work I passed it off as a quirky occurrence. I willingly and charitably put up with her foibles yet Helene considered me to be beneath her? Unbelievable! From that day forward we co-existed at work amicably if distantly.

Helene eventually was fired. She had this annoying habit whenever a co-worker, especially a black co-worker, would tap or touch her on the shoulder to ask a question, of leaping out of her chair shrieking," Don't touch me! I don't anyone to touch me!" This lead to the people in the office to refer to Helene behind her back as "Crazy Helene" and "Crazy Girl" while I had the dubious distinction of being known as "Crazy Girl's Boyfriend". Cute, huh?

Anyway, following several repeated insane outbursts, Helene was called to the office to be told her services were no longer required. And although I was at lunch during this bit of day time drama, I was told that after Helene was fired she made a snide comment to the supervisor(an African-American) saying," I never liked working with you f**king niggers anyway." So with that parting salvo Helene was gone from Dial Direct. Way to go, Helene. Way to go.

Although I never saw her again after that day(and am I thankful), several years later I bumped into one of my co-workers, Alicia, who had an odd encounter with Helene. Alicia was selling real estate and Helene called her up out of the blue wanting to purchase a house with money her father had left to her in a trust fund.

Poor Alicia. She spent an entire afternoon showing Helene different houses that were for sale. After few days passed, Alicia contacted Helene inquiring if she was interested in any of the properties that had been shown to her. Helene said that she decided instead to buy a house directly from one of her friends rather than deal through a real estate agent. When Alicia, who was a seasoned real estate agent, advised her against this course of action, Helene replied vaguely," Oh, I know what I'm doing."

And that was that, until a day or two later when Helene called her back. But it wasn't real estate Helene was interested in. She wanted to know if Alicia wanted to go to a movie with her that evening. As you can imagine Alicia was livid; she spends an entire afternoon showing Helene prospective houses only to be blown off by her in the end and now she's inviting Alicia to the movies. Alicia's response was far from polite. But what can I say? That's Helene for you.