I try to explain: When I take a call, I have to bring the rock. My customers come first. Women don’t understand this.
Fight after fight after fight, woman after woman after woman, and none can appreciate my level of commitment to the game.
It’s not that hard, at least to me: Dude calls needing a fix, I answer, tell dude I got his fix, dude and me meet and I get paid. If it was any simpler, I’d be out of a job and you could get rocks from a vending machine at the corner store. Anyway, with the pot of gold at the end of it all you’d think a woman wouldn’t care about the means (women like money, mostly a man’s money).
Simple job yes; easy to be good at it no. For my part, I bring people skills, finesse, character. Dudes don’t buy from me just because I’m holding, dudes buy from me because they want in on my action, want to be around me, know me.
And I know them.
Broke, hungry, tired, and willing to ignore it all for my junk. It’s the cycle: Trading junk for money and money for junk; taking significant losses with each exchange. So they come to me with crumpled money and crumpled spirits and I give them a toothy smile and a baggie that’ll send them over the moon for a while, maybe help them forget why they traded the junk for the junk in the first place. They’ll come back. I got a record, I get repeat customers. My rock is the same as any rock on the street, but with my rock you get my record of service, my smile, my lighter if you need a light.
I have a reputation to maintain, how do you think we pay rent? I’m not the top and I’m not looking for the top, dudes know that and feel comfortable with me. They keep coming, they tell friends, they put my name in their favorite songs and sing funny lyrics about me and the rock they buy from me. I’m their connection to what they need so I need to be there when they need me to be there. Money doesn’t come on your terms, comes on money’s term.
Just cut me a break OK? I’m gonna run out, move this rock, and be right back to clean up the dishes. You just keep turning out the flapjacks, put them on a plate in a stack, and put another plate over them to keep them warm so my butter still melts when I’m back. You can’t be mad, I’ll come back with at least $20, more than you’ll take standing here my old boxers and t-shirt making pancakes… right? Yeah, I know it’s right.
So look: When I take a call, I have to bring the rock. You want me to say it again?
When I take a call, I have to bring the rock.
Thanks for the pancakes.
Also written on this day...
- going backwards - 2023
- moats & drawbridges - 2021
- feeling old fashioned - 2010
- chicken soup for me - 2008
- weekend on the carpet - 2007
- a unabomber shack in alaska - 2004