Real Life Colombo (pt 3)

The Story So Far....


Dan has -no, fuck it, I can't be assed to go through it all again!


If you want to catch up, go through the archive! Now's a good time, also, because i found the original 1st part, which i sent out as an email (it's called How My Troubles Began)



Now read on:


So. I now have a new prime suspect in my case


Would you like to see a picture?


Huh?



Huh?



Of course you would, and I'd be happy to oblige:




Look at him

Notice the eyes set slightly too close together (not unlike our soon-to-be ex-president)

He has the sloping brow and cranial bumpage of the career criminal!

(Not that I believe in phrenology -that was dismissed as quackery over 160 years ago¹)

Anyway, this fellow's name is Christian

He is, coincidentally enough, also a Christian²

A Christian called Christian, ha ha

Not only that -he is a gay Christian

(Not that I care that he is a gay Christian -that whole schism in the church over the issue of gay bishops etc; I really, really couldn't give a flying fuck)

But his religious/sexual orientation has a certain bearing on the case, as we shall see

As you can see from the photo, Christian is in his late 30s/early 40s

What did I say about people of that age working/staying in a youth hostel?³

He even hit on me one time

Not that I mind being hit on by gay men; I find it flattering (usually)

But this guy -urgh!

Here's how he did it too:

[imagine his voice as this very nasal, american drawl]

HE: “Are you ABSOLUTELY sure you're not gay?”

ME: “Sure I'm sure. I break gay hearts every day. Why?”

HE: “I just find it very hard to imagine that such a wonderfully flamboyant character as
yourself could be straight.”

ME: “Hey your lot haven't cornered the market on being wonderful and flamboyant y'know. You might think you have. But you haven't.”

Brrrrr!

I had another issue with him too -one that we had a minor falling out over: cigarettes.

Christian smokes -but never has cigs: NEVER. I wouldn't mind so much that he bums them off me⁴; instead he does something I find really annoying: he “nickels and dimes” them off me

Nickel and diming, for those who don't know, is offering to buy a cigarette with a handful of shrapnel

I hate it because it puts you in a position where you feel you can't refuse because you've been offered legal tender, even though you don't want shrapnel in your pocket -and, this is the important bit, the other person knows that too. That's why they never offer a quarter -in case you accept. It's extortion, of sorts, but so petty it's not worth kicking up a fuss about

However, one day l lost my patience with it and said I wouldn't give him cigarettes anymore unless he was going to buy some, or at least stop with the nickel and dimes

We didn't really speak much after that; I could care less

But he found a new way to get his cigs:

Christian is one of the night shift staff

The night shift has the power to decide when to kick everyone out of the cafe bar if we're partying

So Christian starts to say that he'll shut it down -unless someone sorts him out with some cigarettes

Now that really IS extortion!

What a prick

(and, lest we forget, a supposed Christian)

But don't let the above lead to believe that I had an agenda against Christian

Honestly, the guy was barely a blip on my radar -just another slightly strange hostel person

But I zeroed in on him when everything was kicking off between me and darryl

He was hovering around the periphery looking extremely nervous

When we took it outside, he stuck his head out the door and back in again TWICE

(Like he wanted to know what was going on, but didn't want to SEEM too concerned)

Ho-ho, I thought, that's interesting

In Colombo, you will recall, the Rumpled One somehow intuits who the murderer is as soon as he arrives at the scene⁵ and then spends the rest of the show building a case against them

So, if i'm playing real life Colombo, I guess I better follow suit

OK. Let's start with Means, Motive and Opportunity

MEANS: Christian was working the nightshift the first time I thought my wallet had been stolen (and was shooting my mouth off about the $200 inside). So he knew there was money in the wallet. He has the MEANS.

MOTIVE: The oldest motive in the world (and coincidentally one of the Seven Deadly Sins): GREED⁶. And as the “nickel and dime” thing demonstrates, he never has any money. He has the MOTIVE.

OPPORTUNITY: He lives in the staff basement, and seeing as he was working the night shift, he wasn't sleeping. He has the OPPORTUNITY.

And because he is a Christian (or supposed-Christian) that helped to answer “one more thing that had been bothering me...”

[scratches head, flips through notebook, puffs on cigar stubb]

I couldn't work out why the money had been taken out of the wallet and the wallet replaced in my pocket

If i'd been the thief I would have taken the wallet, taken the money out the wallet -and then thrown the wallet into the nearest public trashcan

I was so drunk that night, when I discovered my wallet was missing my first thought would not be that the wallet had been stolen -i would have assumed i'd dropped it somewhere when I was off my head

I probably would have tried to retrace my steps, ask if it had been handed in at ding dongs, the front desk

And then when it didn't turn up, regretfully write it off as another piece of costly drunken sketchiness

Say no more

But because only the money was gone, I straight away knew it had to be theft

The thief has, from the get-go, put themselves in needless danger

What kind of person would do that?

Well first of all it screams “amateur”, but I knew that already -the basement is full of amateur thieves⁷

But then I tried putting myself in this person's shoes

Perhaps this person has ethics

(Skewed ethics, but ethics nonetheless)

They really want the money -have made whatever justifications they need to take it- but they don't want to totally screw me

The wallet had both my debit and credit card inside

If they disposed of the wallet i'd have no money and no way of getting any, in a foreign country

This person could say to themselves, “I took the money BUT I left the wallet” and feel good about themselves

What kind of person?

Well, religion, and Christianity in particular, is filled with moral equivocations of this kind

We need look no further than our beloved President, himself an Evangelical Christian, who has personally sent felons to the gas chamber as Governor of Texas and as President sanctioned the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi civilians -and felt righteous in doing so.

A religious mind can find right in doing wrong

So I decided to keep a close eye on Christian the Christian

This wasn't easy because he wasn't around much over the next couple of days

I did find out though, in the course of my investigations, that Christian was leaving the hostel in a couple of weeks; more circumstantial evidence: if he was going, he might feel emboldened to take the money as he would have only a few days of having to occasionally see his victim

But on Friday I saw something that had me 99% convinced

I'm in the cafe bar, chillin, when Christian comes in

I observe him surreptitiously

The first thing he does is take a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and go out to the smoking area

(Like I said before he NEVER has cigarettes)⁸

Then when he comes back in he buys food from the cafe bar

He never does this either

He uses his change to use the cafe bar internet

A bit later on he goes back to the cafe bar to break a twenty -a twenty- to get more change for the internet

I've never seen Christian with cigarettes

I've never seen Christian buy food from the cafe bar

(I've never seen him buy ANYTHING)

I've never seen him use the cafe bar computers -which are expensive- ever

This dude suddenly, two days after I got robbed, has money

Hmm, could there be a connection, d'you think?

I couldn't believe it

I mean, this guy is either incredibly arrogant or incredibly stupid (or, I suspect, both), to come into my cafe bar and start breaking twenties -my twenties- right in front of my eyes!

What. The. Fuck.

So I shared my suspicions with a couple of people I could trust

Their opinion was that I should take it out of his ass

But i don't have any proof

Doesn't matter, they said, just get drunk and pick a fight with him, you can't let him get away with it

Well, fighting is not my style

(It can't be when you are a skinny wretch like me)

I prefer brains over brawn

And besides we are playing Colombo, remember, not Dirty Harry

Colombo doesn't beat confessions out of people

No no no

He fucks with their heads

Find out how I go about doing that next time!

TO BE CONTINUED....

1But, of course I'd say that: I have the brainpan of a stagecoach tilter! (© The Simpsons)

2Or perhaps, not coincidentally: maybe he is easily led: one can only wonder what might have happened had his parents named him Buddha, or Judea...

3See post Freek City

4That “Can I bum a fag?” joke has been said so many times at the hostel now it's becoming anti-funny.

5A reader of this blog (who knows who he is; cheers!) sent me the following, by critical theorist Slavoj Zizek, on Colombo's seemingly preternatural powers of detection. If it hasn't appeared in Private Eye's Pseud's Corner then it ought to:

'In the TV-series Colombo, the crime (the act of murder) is shown in detail in advance, so that the enigma to be resolved is not that of "whodunit?", but of how the detective will establish the link between the deceitful surface (the "manifest content" of the crime scene) and the truth about the crime (its "latent thought"), how he will prove to the culprit his or her guilt. The success of Colombo thus attests to the fact that the true source of interest in the detective's work, is the process of deciphering itself, not its result (the triumphant final revelation "And the murderer is…" is completely lacking here, since we know this from the very outset). Even more crucial than this feature is the fact that not only do we, the spectators, know in advance who did it (since we directly see it), but, inexplicably, the detective Colombo himself immediately knows it: the moment he visits the scene of the crime and encounters the culprit, he is absolutely certain, he simply knows that the culprit did it. His subsequent effort thus concerns, not the enigma "who did it?", but how should he prove this to the culprit. This reversal of the "normal" order has clear theological connotations: the same as in true religion where I first believe in God and then, on the ground of my belief, become susceptible to the proofs of the truth of my faith; here also, Colombo first knows with a mysterious, but nonetheless absolutely infallible certainty, who did it, and then, on the basis of this inexplicable knowledge, proceeds to gather proofs… And, in a slightly different way, this is what the analyst qua "subject supposed to know" is about: when the analysand enters into a transferential relationship with the analyst, he has the same absolute certainty that the analyst knows his secret (which only means that the patient is a priori "guilty", that there is a secret meaning to be drawn from his acts). The analyst is thus not an empiricist, probing the patient with different hypotheses, searching for proofs, etc.; he embodies the absolute certainty (which Lacan compares with the certainty of Descartes' cogito ergo sum) of the analysand's "guilt," i.e. of his unconscious desire.'

6Certain apologists for the thief have come to me with the following excuse: “You have to understand there are very poor people in the basement, people who sometimes don't know where their next meal is coming from, and $200 is just too much temptation.”

Well, I had this to say in response: “You do not need $200 to fill your belly. You can fill your belly with $2. $2 of bologna, sure, but $2 nonetheless. In fact a 'starving' person could have taken a twenty out and left the rest; I wouldn't have noticed. To take the whole $200 is naked greed, pure and simple.” In fact, it's more than greed. It's GREED and SLOTH: they're taking money I earned, so they don't have to work themselves. There are poor people in that basement because they can't be assed to get a second job, despite living in a city with a superabundance of vacancies in the “services” sector. Perhaps they have too much PRIDE. And if they DID spend that whole $200 on a blow-out meal, that's GLUTTONY. (Can you see where I'm going with this?) Or perhaps they took that money out of ENVY that I have that kind of disposable income. Or perhaps a petty dispute over, say, cigarettes could make them enRAGEd enough to steal the money out of retribution. Or, um, -I'm reaching now- this person could be, er, addicted to dirty phone lines? And needs money to feed their LUSTful habit?

(one, two, three... seven! Got em all in there! ;-P)

7In the aftermath of the robbery somebody (I forget who) told me that if I live in the basement I should EXPECT to get robbed. First of all: I was only in there ONE night. And second of all: Jeez, how do you people LIVE like that?

8I wish now i'd gone out there and scabbed one of him. But I didn't think quick enough. Esprit de l'escalier...

How My Troubles Began

I was going through some files on my computer and I discovered something I thought I'd lost: the first part to the story of how I came to be robbed (and all the craziness that led up to it, and the fall out) -the narrative that makes up the bulk of these blog postings so far

it was originally sent out as a group email to a select few who I thought might find it amusing/interesting

Then I mislaid the file, so when I started the blog I began mis-en-scene

So now, for the sake of completeness -and for any late comers- I thought i'd post the original email

I'm a so-called writer, so I couldn't resist giving it a re-draft

Plus I put a picture in there -and some more all-important footnotes!

(Readers of this blog will know i'm crazy for footnotes)¹

It was originally called “The Day I Lost It”

And here it is:

Hello

I’d like to tell you a story

Seeing as I am a so-called writer, it’s about time, ya?

This story is about how new york has had an effect on me in hitherto unimaginable ways

And how events can spiral out of control into a totally crazy situation that is (at the time of writing) still ongoing. All this shit is 100% true.

OK

New Yorkers are funny folk

They are the kindest, friendliest, most confident people in the world

I’ve lost count of the number of random acts of kindness and generosity I’ve witnessed

But if you cross them they will FUCK YOU UP

And the switch from nice to nasty happens like –that!

New Yorkers can say “thank you” and “fuck you” with the same breath

So far I have been affected by the positive side

But yesterday I found my new york darkside

Here’s what happened:

There is this guy I worked and shared a room with, Jayson.

Here is a picture of Jayson:

He is a fucking, pardon my French, douchebag, pardon my American. Here are some examples of what an FD this guy is:

1. he kidnaps my DS, and works through my games. He even changed my username to his name! (now I don’t really give a fuck, it’s a videogame, right? I am 30, not 13. But still)

2. He hit on the girl I was seeing, Kim, when I introduced her to my hostel friends WHILE I WAS THERE. Totally creeped her out. I couldn’t believe it –who DOES that?²

3. He fucked things up for my best friend here, Coco, with a girl he (Coco) had already scored with (and who he really liked/likes) by sharking her while coco was at work. Coco was sharing our room but he switched after that. Wish I’d joined him.

4. This is the doozy. This jerk asked me to build a joint (I make em quite well, a legacy of my misspent youth) but then wanted to charge people to smoke it. Charge dudes to smoke a blunt? WTF? Never, in the ten years or so I spent being a pothead have I ever experienced, or even heard of, someone who charges for tokes on a jay. Rule #1 is you share the love. Jesus Christ.

There are other instances³, but whatever. Let’s just say I was primed for what happened.

So, I’m working in the café bar. Making sandwiches, grooving to some tunes. I happen to look up, and I do a double take.

Jayson is wearing a set of headphones –nice ones, sonys, $70- that do not belong to him. They do not belong to me either –they belong to Kim, and she only lent me them under the specific proviso that I don’t let anyone, ANYONE, else use them.

She made me promise and everything. And a week or two before Jayson had asked if he could borrow them, and I explained that to him. And now I see him wearing them, not even asking permission, walking past the check in desk and out the hostel.

I’m flabbergasted.

But then I think I’ve made a mistake. But I go and check the room we share and kim’s headphones are not there.

Now I’m fucked off. If they’d been my phones I would have been annoyed, sure, but WTF, they’re just headphones right? Good ones, yeah, but you know me –I’m not exactly a materialist.

But he’s made me break a promise to someone I care(d) about –and I take my promises seriously. Plus, he obviously has no respect for my property because he took something of mine which I specifically told him he could not have; borderline thievery, you might say. This is obviously a person I cannot share my personal space with, so I high tail it to the check in desk to get my room changed ASAP.

When I get there guess, who’s back?

I nearly pull off his ears ripping the phones from his head:

“Jayson –these do not belong to you! These are kim’s fucking headphones, I told you you could not borrow. You’ve fucked me off man.”

And then I go back to the café bar to work, start chopping tomatoes again.

Man, I am fucked off, probably as fucked off as I’ve ever been, but then something weird happens.

It’s like there’s a new level of rage has opened up above me, somewhere I’ve never been. And I’m on the penultimate step. All it will take is a couple more shoves.

I’m chopping tomatoes, praying he won’t come over. But, sure enough, he comes over. He wants to talk, but I am too angry to do so and I tell him:

“Jayson, I am too angry to speak now. Let me cool off, do some work, you go away, come back in a couple of hours and we talk.”

But he’s not listening.

I am suddenly very aware that I have been chopping tomatoes with a 9 inch butcher knife.

Now, if this was a movie, it would freeze frame at this point and some narration would kick in:

This was the pivotal moment that started a chain reaction of cause and effect. One of us had to back down. Either jayson had to walk away, or I had to control my temper.

I’ve always thought the onus was on jayson because he was the transgressor. But now I think, maybe I should have kept calm. I’m older. Mature, supposedly. Whatever. The problem is neither of us did.

Action: I drop the knife, all the while telling jayson I’m gonna lose it if he doesn’t go away.

He’s not listening. And now he’s actually coming around behind the café bar where I am.

This is the moment I go into the redzone:

“Jayson, get the fuck away from me you fucking thief! Get the fuck away from me, or I’m gonna get your fucking ass fired for this shit! You fucking take my fucking stuff that makes you a fucking thief-”

I could go on, but you get the idea.

(I was like a little jack russell snapping at a grizzly bear. Yappayappayappayap!)

Still, he comes.

I retreat into the storage room behind the bar. Coco has heard something is up now, and he comes back there with me, tries to calm me down.

(I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry. My hands were shaking like I had the DTs. You know that cliché “incandescent with rage”? That was me.)

I’m telling coco he needs to get jayson away from me, otherwise I don’t know what’s going to happen.⁴

So with me telling jayson to fuck off and coco telling him to leave you think he’d get the picture, right?

Oh no no no. Not jayson; now he tries to come back into the storeroom. Coco body blocks him.

I escape out the rear storeroom door, all the time telling him to get the fuck away from me, does he speak English etc etc

I’m in the ground floor dorm corridor now –and still jayson comes. This guy will not stop. He’s the fucking terminator or something. The only way I can get away is to go down to the basement, and up the steps the other side.

He’s still following me! This is keystone kops!

Now I talk to bobby on the front desk. There are a couple of guests there too:

“Bobby –what the fuck am I supposed to do? He won’t leave me alone! I don’t know what will happen if he gets too close. Can lock me a room or something where he can’t get to me?”

Then I realize how farcical the situation is –if he won’t go, then I’ll have to go. Even though I’m supposed to be working and my manger, elsie, is out getting supplies for the café bar which I need to help her unload.

And I was swearing my head off in from of guests: I’m so fired.

I’m only wearing my work gear –jazz t-shirt and pajama bottoms, hat. I put on my boots, grab my greatcoat, apologize to my colleague valentina and head for the door.

On the way out I hear Jayson call after me and then I’m running, running, running into the wind, snow falling, my coat snapping my heels….

TO BE CONTINUED….⁵

1You see? I love em!

2Actually American guys hit on women any time, any situation. An english girl told me she was hit on in the space of one day by: a taxi driver, a guy on the subway, a guy on the staten island ferry, a fruit vendor… and a cop. The American male is always on alert for tail!

3Since the time of writing I also found out the following. We made friends with a sweet little french girl, of Martinique descent, called sabrina, who'd stayed in new york, in the hostel, earlier in the year. In the course of a conversation she mentioned that the last time she was in NY she spent $2000... in ten days. I was like, what the fuck? Did you buy up the city? And she tells me: jayson. Over the course of those 10 days she spend 4 with jayson as he “showed her the city”. What he would do was look up restaurants and clubs, take her to them -and then make excuses about money, so she had to pick up the check every time! Grrrr it makes me angry just writing about it. And at the same time, of course, he was trying to get into her panties. And I also heard, and I don't know how true it is, that he's been saying the falling out we had was “a race thing”. Despite the fact that my best fucking friend is BLACK. I know he's played the race card before, unwarranted, on a danish girl who used to work at jazz. Folks who play the race/anti-semite/gay/sex/whatever card really piss me off. So as I say: A fucking douchebag.

4This is the infamous red mist. It really is kind of a redness in your peripheral vision, not sure what causes it –dilating capillaries in the eye? It’s scary though –you really do lose control.

5The story continues in the post From Bad To Worse. The next part of the “current” story -of the robbery and my colombo-esque sluething- is very nearly done. I'm just struggling to get a picture of the prime suspect off my phone. I'll work it out!

Real Life Colombo (pt 2)

Look at this man:




Look at him!
This man is a god to me.

It is, of course, Peter Falk as Colombo -one of my all time heroes, and one of my all time favorite TV shows.
I used to skip lectures at uni, just to watch it
And i've attracted a fair bit of stick over the years for my obsession with the man in the mack.

Why do i like it so much?

I know WHY I like it: that you see how the murder was committed; the 70's styling and music; the celeb murderers (william shatner, leonard nimoy, donald pleasance -even Johnny Cash!¹); the directors who cut their teeth on the show (steven spielburg directed an episode); and, of course, Peter Falk.

Sure, I understand why I like it -but why do I like it SO MUCH?

Why do train spotters love trains? Why do girls love sex and the city? Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

It's a mystery

like the changing of the seasons and tides of the sea²

Anyway, it turns out that all those hours watching colombo weren't such a waste of time after all

You will recall, last time, i'd been robbed -$200, cash, taken from my wallet as I slept- and i'd bluffed phoning the cops in order to try and get a reaction from whomever took the money

And one person was definitely acting weird

But before we point the finger: an elementary lesson in detective work

Anyone who is a fan of colombo -or any of these old school detective/murder mystery tv shows- will know that the sleuth typically operates using the time-honored triumvirate of detection: Means, Motive and Opportunity

Let's use Darryl as an example, now he has been eliminated as a suspect:

Darryl had the MEANS: he knew, because of what had happened earlier that evening³ that I had circa $200 in my wallet.

He had the MOTIVE: he'd “caught” me in bed with his girl.

And he had OPPORTUNITY: he lives in the staff basement, and so could have sneaked into the room anytime when we were all passed out

So that didn't look too good -that's why I needed to force the confrontation.

However Means, Motive and Opportunity are not enough -you need proof⁴

In fact, the police in our modern age -in this time of DNA fingerprinting and “motiveless” crime- usually dispense with old triumvirate of detection altogether and proceed directly to the triumvirate of conviction: Physical Evidence, Witnesses, Confession (with the first two having primacy; the latter to circumnavigate the courtroom)

Let's apply the triumvirate of conviction to my case, shall we?

PHYSICAL EVIDENCE: It was money that was stolen and, unless the money was marked (which it wasn't), completely untraceable.

WITNESSES: The crime happened in the middle of the night and we were all asleep; no witnesses.

CONFESSION: Means nothing without at least one (or preferably both) of the above.⁵

This is why going to the police was not an option -was never an option- as the crime was totally unprovable.

However, just because you can't prove something, doesn't mean you can't work out who did the crime: Means, Motive and Opportunity, remember...

It's time to don my dirty mac, light a cigar and ask “Ah... just one more thing...”⁶

TO BE CONTINUED....

1Swan Song -the holy grail of colombo episodes. A friend actually bought me it on DVD for my birthday so I could see it. Cheers tiggy!

2But here's the one that's driving me berserk/why do only fools and horses work? Na na na na nah na na na na nah etc etc

3See post "From Worse to, um, Worser" for a refresher, bitches

4Or in the case of colombo, because the murderers are so darstedly, an extremely clever (and judicially dubious) piece of entrapment.

5This is not to say I wasn't tempted to get one or two of my more, ahem, ghetto friends to “lean” on the person in question. But that really isn't my style.

6I still can't believe I actually got to “be” colombo for a few days. Talk about dreams coming true! It was almost worth being robbed for. Almost.

Real Life Colombo (pt 1)

The Story So Far....

Dan has been robbed -by one of his colleagues as he slept. Only an hater of dan would do such a thing, and there is an obvious candidate: Darryl, the boyfriend (or whatever) of one of the girls he was sharing a bed with the night before. Dan's put the word out that he'll get the police involved unless the money's returned, pronto, and that the circumstantial evidence doesn't look good for Darryl.

Darryl gets wind of this and, furious, goes over to confront Dan, forcing Dan to cut short a call to the UK....

O to the M to the G!¹

What could possibly happen next? Read on....

So I'm sat there on the floor, and Darryl is standing over me

LOOMING over me

And I look up into his eyes

RIGHT into his eyes²

And I see the look of a man who has been accused of something he didn't do

I've seen that look a few times; sometimes on my own face in the mirror

The pupils are dilated, the gaze is fixed and steady

I knew instantly he didn't do it

And that, dear reader, was the whole point of the exercise

I was never going to call the police

I'm not an idiot -i know the police are going to have scant regard for a crime that has no witnesses and no recoverable evidence (money being the most disposable commodity in the world)

And even if they did somehow pursue it -would I really want to put everyone at the hostel though the tedium of giving statements, testimony etc

For $200?

Please

No, I just needed to be sure it wasn't darryl

I was 80-90% sure -but I didn't know him all that well

I get to know people through either smoking or drinking (or both)

Darryl does neither

He's a laconic character too

But we were slowly developing a friendship -i'd give him free food at the cafe bar when he was skint; we'd talk about (american) football, that sort of thing

So I really hoped it wasn't him -in fact, I was almost certain it wasn't

But I had to be sure

So I had to make him think I was going to shop him

And the only way to do that was to go through shannon, make HER believe I was going to shop him

I had to force the confrontation

And it wasn't him

The only problem is, I've kind of overplayed my hand

I've been a bit TOO convincing

Darryl looks ready to kill me

Hmm

It's a bit of a sticky situation, to say the least....

So what I do first is get (slowly) to my feet

Then I tell darryl I'm not going to call the cops on him

That it was never my intention to call the cops ON HIM, just call the cops

He tells me that's what shannon told him

I told him shannon had got the wrong end of the stick³

(all the while i'm talking to him i'm, slowly making my way over to the cafe bar)

He produces his cell phone and asks me to explain the text message that shannon's sent him

(the gist of which is that i'm calling the cops on him; she thought she knew him but now she doesn't etc)

All I can do is reiterate that i'm NOT calling the cops on him

He asks me to explain the text message

All I can say is “I didn't write it, shannon did”

By now we are in the cafe bar

My friends are there, including coco⁴, and I feel safer right away

But as i'm talking to darryl, I walk around the cafe bar counter, so there is an obstacle between us

(for psychological reasons rather than defensive ones)

by this time shannon is on the scene

and harold, davey and a bunch of other people

It all gets quite heated -a lot of people have had very little sleep, everyone has a different version of what's going on

I start to lose it because no one is letting me finish my sentences

Eventually harold says we have to take it outside because it looks bad in front of the guests

So we do, but shannon insists darryl stays inside with her (darryl is anyway working)

Me, coco, davey, harold, steve and a couple of other guys stand in front of the hostel, smoking and discussing further

I can see darryl at the front desk, the window is open -he's listening to us

so I say loudly, several times, for his benefit, how I was never calling the police ON HIM; I'm calling the police because i've been robbed and i'm not going to let it go -i'm not going to let someone fuck with me and get away with it⁵

Eventually steve says the first sensible thing anyone's said to me all day: “dude, you've had no sleep, you're emotional. It's chris's last night⁶ -go out enjoy yourself, forget about all this for tonight.”

He's right

I go have a shower, freshen up, get changed.

But there's something I have to do before going downtown

I find darryl and shannon outside the the staff basement; they've been arguing

I ask them to take a walk around the block with me

I explain to them both that I was never going to call the police, that I just needed to be sure it wasn't darryl, to convince darryl that I was going to do it, I had to convince shannon etc

I apologise to them for the mind games -but they were a necessary evil

The conversation ends on a friendly note -me and darryl shake hands⁷

Shannon says the second sensible thing i've heard all day: “let's talk about this more tomorrow -when we've all had some sleep!”

But before they go, I ask them not to tell anybody that calling the police was a bluff

Because if darryl didn't do it, I still need to smoke out the person who did

The police threat had two objectives (three actually⁸): the first was to clear darryl as a suspect

The second was to mindgame the real culprit

Anyone who steals from someone as they sleep -someone incapacitated by drink- is a coward

And cowards, by their nature, get nervous

So I had to kick up as big a fuss as I could, shout about calling the police, lose my shit basically

All the time when darryl was confronting me, and everyone was sticking their oar in, I had one eye keeping a look out for anyone acting weird, nervous, flighty

Guilty, in other words

And one person stuck out like a sore thumb

Who was this person?

Find out next time!

TO BE CONTINUED....

1I've been bitten by a black dog; black man wants to kick my ass -it's naked prejudice I tells ya!

2A very difficult thing to do. It's hard to look someone right in the eye at the best of times, let alone when they are about to kick your skinny little ass.

3This is a white lie. While I might have never explicitly said I was going to call the cops “on” darryl, this is what I led Shannon to believe, by implication. But given the circumstances, who's counting white lies?

4Coco is my brother. He says that to me all the time, that I am his “big brother”. (And rachel is his “little sister”). That's serious shit in african culture. He's told me many times that if anyone tries to fuck with me (or Rachel) he will fuck them up. He means it too.

5Even though I knew I was never going to call the police, it was still important that everyone thought I was going to, for reasons that will become clear.

6The first of many “last nights”. The douchebag's still here tho!

7There's a nice (and amusing) coda to this part of the story. Darryl and I are friends now. You can't go through an experience like that with someone without learning their measure. I found out darryl is a christian, a good christian, sticks to his principles (for example, he LOVES texas hold em -he's a texan- but doesn't ever play in our poker night because it's against his beliefs to gamble), studies his bible. I also found out that he is ex-special forces. Ex-Homeland Security (he showed me his old ID!) He's black belt in two different martial arts; as well as the hostel job he's an instructor at one of the top martial arts schools in the country.

So if push HAD come to shove, he could've crippled me with his little finger... nail. Ah ha ha ha ha ha.

8The third objective was to send out a message to staff that if you fuck with my stuff I will kick up a shitstorm. I thought this would be enough to make people think twice. Wrong: after my trip to england in the new year, I came back to the hostel and found all my dogwalking gear had disappeared! Old shitty clothes, true, but still....

The Spekhead Fights Back!

OK. Time to get back down to the business in hand....

The Story So Far....

Dan has been robbed of $200 dollars, his nintendo DS -almost certainly by a “friend” and colleague- has quit his job as a consequence, came close to quitting the country too, and got totally burned by someone he thought he trusted -right in his hour of need!

Man, that shit is fucked up!

But dan chooses not to run and hide like a pussywillow -he chooses to fight!

Hell, yeah!

How does he do so? Read on....

I eventually find kathi and I tell her what's been going on

It takes a good while!

Her eyes just get wider and wider1

After we do the walk, I say goodbye, will keep her posted

I then realise I have eaten nothing at all that day, and it's already 4 o' clock2

So I go get pizza

while i'm eating my pizza, jane calls me

(remember jane? One of the two lucky girls [shannon was t'other] I spent the previous night with)

She's heard what's happened now, the theft, that i've quit etc

And she tells me my DS has been found, in her room3

Phew!

But there is still the matter of the money

And it's to her that I unburden my suspicions

which are as follows:

who is my obvious enemy right now?

Could it be the guy who was on the verge of dragging me out of bed and beating the shit of me last night because I was in bed with “his” girl?

Davey had just said to me that morning how angry Darryl was with me

(remember now that NOTHING HAPPENED; nada, zilch!)

And Darryl lives in the basement too (the door to basement was locked after jane and I got in)

And he was working that night, so he knew how much money I had (after I thought it had been robbed the first time)

Shannon must have been with Jane, and heard her side of the conversation, because Jane puts her on the line

Shannon makes a very impassioned defense for Darryl's innocence

About how he would never do something like that, not in a million years

How she herself is a light sleeper, would have woken up if anyone came into the room

But I'm not having it

She tells me at one point -after I lay out all the (circumstantial) evidence against darryl- how i'm “breaking [her] heart”

This is what I say to her4: “Hey shannon, you listen to me now: unless that money somehow turns up before tomorrow I WILL call the cops. I'm through with people at this fucking hostel disrespecting me. Tell Darryl I want that money back before tomorrow or I'm calling the police. I'm not gonna accuse anyone of anything, just tell the police what's been going on over the past 24 hours. How the fuck do you think it's going to look to them? You can save your shit for the courtroom, yeah? You can be star witness for the defense.”

Then I hang up on her.

After that, I finish my meal, wander around the upper west for a while

walk, think

think, walk

and also, if I'm honest (and this blog is 100% candid, much to certain people's [justified] annoyance): I'm scared

I've never in my whole life been in a position like this

I've never said things like i've said -to anyone, ever

this is (to quote startrek, like the little gimpy geek I am) “an undiscovered country”

eventually I get back to the hostel, to face the proverbial music

but the first thing I do is get on a payphone to england and make an important phonecall5

It's in the middle of this call that darryl comes over

I don't know whether he is working, or has been waiting for me specific

One thing's for sure, 100%:

He's angry

Reeeeeeeeeeeeeally angry

I'm having this phone convo sitting on the floor

And darryl is suddenly there, towering over me

(this is perspective in action; he's a short guy, but right now he looks like a giant)

He works out too

(a self confessed “protein junkie”)

he's FIT

y'know how in shit literature tough-looking black dudes are described as looking as they've “been carved out of obsidian”?

well cliches are cliches because they pop up all the time in life

he says to me: “shannon said you're calling the police on me. You picked the wrong fucking person to play that shit with.”

Me: “Darryl just hold on a sec, i'm on the phone to england i'll talk to you in just a sec-”

Him: 'No man, we need to settle this RIGHT NOW”6

And I tell the person i'm talking to in england that I've got something to take care of, i'll be in touch

I hang up, stand up, and....

TO BE CONTINUED.....

(ha ha, sorry but like I said in the first post -i can't help being overly dramatic!)

---

1 It was at this point I decided I needed to write a blog (or something!). Talking out the whole story made me realise how I needed to get it down as it's, without a doubt, the craziest shit that has ever happened to me. This blog is for me, really. I just thought others might find it entertaining too.

2 I had also had maybe 6 hours sleep in the past 72 hours. And lack of sleep sends you loopy, as Liam Gallagher once kindly demonstrated (he decided to fuck sleep and ended up hospitalising himself). So bear that in mind as events pan out.

3 This means I, crazily, took it to ding dongs with me. What was I thinking??? But, conveniently, it destroys the “pickpocket at ding dongs theory”. Because while I might be able to acknowledge that a pickpocket might just take the cash out of my pocket and return the rest (maybe); a pickpocket who decides NOT to take a $120 nintendo ($150, with mariokart in the slot) simply does not exist on this earth. Ergo, the hater is a member of staff, 100% certain.

4 I quoting this from memory, and so, inevitably, it's paraphrased. But the gist of it is true and real.

5 The complexion of which -and the ancillary stuff to do with it- is the one and only subject i'm not prepared to talk about here.

6 The little chimp I was talking to in england on the phone at the time can verify all this shit is true if ya'll don't believe me.

Rock Bottom

The Story So Far....

Last time, Dan awoke from a night of drunken, apple martini-fueled toomfoolery to find out that he's had $200 lifted out of his wallet. OMG! What happens next? Read on....

So I wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that i'd been robbed -especially in light of what had been going on over the previous two days.1

In fact I was pretty mad.

I was already sure someone -someone being a member of staff; I was sleeping in the staff basement remember- had lifted the money as I slept.

But here are the alternatives:

1) I had my pocket picked at ding dongs

I definitely had the money when I went to ding dongs, because I bought jane and I some drinks. So someone could have taken the money then. In which case this was the most foolhardy/compassionate pickpocket of all time. The money was taken out of my wallet, and my wallet put back into my coat. Any pickpocket in the world would've just taken the wallet. Why double the chance of getting caught by putting the wallet back? Pretty unlikely (but not, I admit, totally impossible. Just very improbable).

2) I somehow lost the money because I was incredibly drunk

Now, I'm the first to admit I was reeeeeeeeeally drunk that night. But I think we all know our limits as to what we are capable of when we're drunk. Like I know, for example, that I don't get so drunk that I'll black out and come around with blood on my hands. Or i'll wake up the next day with a sore ass and some dude in bed beside me.2 And I definitely know that I don't get so drunk that I throw my money -$200, money i'd thought i'd lost once already that evening- away in some kind of drunken jamboree. No way jose.

3) Bobby took the money when he got my jacket

This was one of the first things that certain people thought when I told them what happened. Now I hadn't known bobby very long -as long as i'd known anyone at the hostel, which is basically a month or so- but we'd become good friends, hung out a lot, same sense of humor, he was a bit older than the others (like me). We had a connection. And I trusted3 him -i wouldn't have sent him to get my jacket if I didn't. So what I said to these people was this: if bobby DID take the money, then i've either befriended somebody who's a sociopath, or has a split personality. In which case, my problems are much, much bigger than $200 dollars getting stolen. I mean we're talking horror movie territory here, right?

So in the light of the above, I'm pretty sure that whoever took the money was someone else who lives in the basement.

I already had some suspicions.

But I talk to my manager, elsie, and I tell her: “Look, I know I was stupid to be carrying that amount of money on me. But that doesn't give me the right to be robbed. So if that money should 'mysteriously reappear' before tomorrow, like should it just show up in the basement, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, anywhere, i'll draw a line under all this. But if not, I'm going to the fucking cops and they can sort it out.”

And after that I was a lot more level headed.

One way or another, I thought, it'll get straightened out

So I went back to work pretty cheery

But something was nagging at my brain

And a hour or so later I realised what it was: “Where is your nintendo DS?”

If it's not in my room, it's in the cafe bar -i tend to be quite free and easy with it, anyone working in the bar can use it, plus guests who're solid.

yeah yeah yeah, I know: i'm asking for it, right?

The DS isn't in the cafe bar.

I check behind the front desk too, just in case: nada

I even go check my room, even though i'm 99% certain I didn't go up there the previous night

Not there.

OK. So now someone has stolen $200 dollars AND my DS???

FUCK. THIS. JOINT.

I go to the manager's office and quit with immediate effect, even though i'm in the middle of a shift

I go up to my room; coco comes after me, but I tell him I don't want to speak to him, to anyone right now.

OK

Let me back-track for a second

After I found out I got the $200 stolen, and perhaps because I was still a little drunk, I tried to call Kim.

Kim is the person i've known for longest in new york, and I felt like I was running thin on friends

but I'd just told her that I didn't want to be her friend no more

ah ha ha ha

so I left this very long and rambling message on her phone saying i'd made a mistake, having a friend I can trust more important to me than a relationship etc etc

I also backed it up with a text:

Maybe we should be friends after all (if you still want). I am running out of mates here. A member of staff has taken $200 out of my wallet. At least I know I can trust you Kim.

To which she replied:

Chin up! Don't panic! What u're going though is called the 'east coast' welcome. Happens 2 the best of us – call u 2nite.

All well and good, right? But after I go back to my room, feeling incredibly low and paranoid, I text her that I think my DS has been stolen too. This is what I get back:

Dan, I'm sorry but a friendship between us is a bad idea. I'm asking you 4 no more contact. Please respect that.

To which I replied:

You don't need this shit! When it's all sorted out and I have a new place with people I trust, then can I give you a call. I'm sorry I turned my back on you kim

This is what I get:

No more test messages, dan -please!!!!!!!4

But because I always need the last word, I send:

OK. This is the last one. I told you: this is my life -the highest highs and the lowest lows. You are best off out of it. Maybe you are right and I shouldn't trust people. Some world, huh? Have a good one kim, never forget you are an amazing person! I really enjoyed our brief time together, shame it had to end this way. Dan

After I send that message, I lie down on my bunk.

I lie there for what seems like a long time.

This is the lowest point i'd ever reached since coming to america.

I feel like i've been shot -the feeling is the same as what I had when I finally got phoebe to confess she'd been cheating on me.5

I feel like everywhere I turn i'm surrounded by liars, backstabbers, and thieves

I decide I should go back to england; even if I don't like the country, at least I know good people there, people whom I love and who love me back

But I decide to go for a walk, get out of the hostel

And I think best when I walk

So I get geared up and get out of there

Just start walking randomly around the upper west side, vaguely heading south, wandering down colombus, broadway, amsterdam

It's a beautiful day -cold but clear

And despite everything, my heart swells when I think about how much I love new york

I fucking love the shit out of this town

And shortly after, I have a “Fuck It!” moment

(A “Fuck It!” moment is when you give the mental finger to whatever's fucking you in the head at that particular time)

I had it with all that Phoebe shit -though that was a couple of months down the line6

This time it happened within hours; perhaps because the timescale was shorter, maybe because of the accelerated NY lifestyle, certainly because of my newly minted NY sass

So I thought:

“FUCK IT!”

Fuck the haters who are robbing from me and backstabbing me -they'll get theirs, by my hand or the divine

Fuck Kim -jesus christ, that was a lucky escape man! Fuck, all this shit started because of her and fucking precious, precious headphones7 And, man, it's not like I wasn't there for her when she was penniless and friendless in the city, but the moment I need something from her, a friendly pair of ears only, she burns me. Fuck her, man!

Fuck the hostel -I can read the signs: all this means I shouldn't be living there no more; I'll get an apartment -kathi was talking about getting a room somewhere we can use as a dog hotel, that could be my apartment!

Dogs I can live with -dogs aren't two faced like people!

And kathi I have faith in, kathi doesn't pay lip service to trust

And there are good people at the hostel, people like chris and coco

And steve and valentina, who saved my ass that morning

Sure, there are haters, at least one anyway

But it's time to separate the shit from the shinola

I know kathi will be out walking the dogs in riverside park, so I head over there to find her

All the time the cogs are turning, I'm scheming, scheming

I don't feel angry or hurt anymore

I feel euphoric

BRING IT ON, MOTHERFUCKERS!

(Find out how dan fights back against the haters next time)

TO BE CONTINUED....

---

1 Please see previous posts From Bad to Worse, The End of the Affair, and From Worse to, Um, Worser if you need a refresher. Chop chop!

2 Despite what some of you may think. ;-)

3 Trust, trust, trust again. The more I think about it, the more the world seems to turn on trust -or lack of it.

4 Seven exclamation marks. SEVEN! And with the added effort of putting exclamation marks into a text too. Someone (I think Terry Pratchett?) once wrote that any more than three exclamation marks is the sign of an unhinged mind....

5 Phoebe, for those who don't know, is a girl I went out with for nearly five years; for the last six months of which she was seeing another guy behind my back, despite swearing to my face she wasn't. And because I, ha ha, trusted her, I believed her. Warts and all people, warts and all....

6 Disclosure: My “Fuck It!” moment with the whole phoebe thing came after another night of insomnia and angst and general gnashing of teeth; I went to my local in Manchester, The Railway, and drank a guinness. I had my notebook with me and was writing some maudlin shit when this great wave came over me, a mix of apathy and anger -though those things sound mutually exclusive, that's what it felt like- and I just thought “FUCK IT!” And I scrawled that into my notebook, again and again, pressing so hard with the pen that the paper ripped. Then I finished my drink, went home and started sorting out my life.

7 Cause and effect, cause and effect: If jayson hadn't taken headphones that didn't belong to him (and if kim hadn't been so precious about them) I wouldn't have got wound up, wouldn't have fallen out with kim, wouldn't have got canned by her, wouldn't have gone out and got obliterated, wouldn't have ended up in staff basement with jane and shannon, wouldn't have got robbed. Phew!

Y'know what? I think it's about time we wrote kim out of this story -it's doing my head in! A couple of days later I sent this to her:

Hey I want my maus book back asap and the $50 you owe me

So she sent:

Gimme your address I will mail it and make that your last text. I mean it. I'm not fucking around anymore. This is the last time i'm going 2 tell u.

So I sent this [and bear in mind I was pretty mad -in fact i'm kind of ashamed of it now, but I got carried away, and the writer in me wanted to pen the ultimate bridge-burner text. And I wanted to be sure there could be no chance of a reconciliation of any kind: kim is a beguiling person; she's beautiful and talented.

But I should have been listening to my subconscious here, and it's not like it gave me a subtle hint; I once wrote it into a story: beauty and talent are cheap as spit.]

Here's the text:

Don't worry kim I showed your texts to my friends and they gave me a reality check: you are not an 'amazing person' you are fucked in the head. Go see a shrink if you are not already, or get a better one. [then I give the hostel address]. Have a nice life but I don't think you will: horrible people get the life they deserve. You had the chance for something good with me but you blew it big style. Think about that next time [NAME WITHHELD] offers to pay half your cab fare for his booty call, or you have to deal with the train wreck that is [NAME WITHHELD]'s life, or your fighting with the next guy who treats you like shit. But seriously -get help. You need someone to doctor your head or you'll end up lonely bitter twisted and filled with regret. Dan

That was a five page (five page!) text. Told you I got carried away. She probably didn't even read it either, but I think now it was more for my benefit than hers.

Still: Feel the flame!

(NB. At the time of writing she has still not returned my book or my money, and I ain't holding ma breath....)

From Worse to, um, Worser

The Story So Far....

Dan was never really sure what he had with Kim, but whatever it was, it's over now. Jayson, the instigator of all this nonsense, has been fired from his job at the hostel. So that's that. Or is it? Read on....

Every wednesday JOTP puts on a pub crawl of upper west side bars. All the stuff with kim and so on happened on wednesday morning, so that night I was looking to get wrecked. It's the only sane response, right?
Also, Harold1 was making his trademark apple martinis2 in the cafe bar: a couple of those and you feel very unwound....
So I was sat in the cafe bar, drinking beers, chasing them down with these apple martinis, chilling out with coco.
The time comes around for the pub crawl to start -and I realize just how tired I am. In the morning i'd walked 50 blocks, in the afternoon i'd been dogwalking... and all on, like, 3 hours sleep
So I think, fuck it, i'll just stupefy myself right here, maybe play some nintendo, go to bed.
Meanwhile the rest of my friends, except for coco, head out.
Two of the guys, Chris and Uwe have been drinking apple martinis... washed down with Colt 45s3. I can't believe they're drinking that shit -i'm like, what is this, Compton?
They're arseholed already, and they haven't even started the crawl....
They leave, me and coco chill, eventually the matter of having a smoke arises.
So I look for my coat... and I can't find it.
No, I think, surely not
But it isn't anywhere in the cafe bar, and since coming back from dogwalking I hadn't left except to go outside and smoke or to go to the loo. Of that I'm 100% positive.
The coat HAS to be there somewhere
The only other alternative is that someone took it -and my wallet is in that coat. And in that wallet is the $200 I took out of the ATM earlier in the day.
Man, I can't believe that someone has taken my stuff again -not after what happened the day before!
WTF?!?!
So I go over to the front desk tell them what's happened, start shooting off my mouth that there was $200 in the wallet, that if it doesn't get found i'll call the cops; harold starts to check the security cameras....
Then I go for a cigarette and have a word with myself.
I expunge the outrage and try to think with a clear head.
I have an idea of what might have happened.
Chris and I have quite similar coats: long grey woolen overcoats -Mourinhos.4 Sometimes, invariably when one or other of us gets drunk, we get them mixed up. One time I put my wallet in chris's pocket by accident and tore the cafe bar apart looking for it until I realized my mistake.
Sketchy, I know.
Was it possible Chris had put on my coat by mistake and gone on the pub crawl?
I'm trying to call those guys -no answer.
Coco goes down to the pub where they're at.
Still can't get through.
Harold is just about to drive me down there in Knight Rider, when Chris calls. He is very, very drunk:
“Dude, I got your coat.”
“Oh! Thank god-”
“But your wallet's not in it.”
“Shit! Could you have dropped it?”
“Nah man it wasn't in here, I wouldn't have put it on if your wallet was in the pocket.”
I tell him to put coco on the line, and I tell coco to grab chris and retrace his exact steps to the bar.
But i've already written off getting the wallet back. A fully loaded wallet dropped on the sidewalk at 11pm at night in new york? I bet it got swiped before it hit the ground.
So I have a drink instead.
But 5 minutes later, my phone rings. It's chris. My wallet's been found. Rachel and Uwe found it on the floor of the bar, and handed it in to the barman.5
I get coco to bring it back pronto. All the money's still there, and the cards.
Waves of relief.
But after another adrenalin fix, I don't feel tired no more. I stay up longer with coco. Eventually coco goes to bed. After a bit longer (it's maybe 1.30 by this point) I follow suit.
But halfway up the stairs to my room I stop.
A voice in my head (I like to think it was the voice of the apple martini) says,
“Heeeeey, why you go to bed now, loser? Why no go ding dongs, have one more drink, eh? Eh?”6
So, foolishly, I listen to the voice, walk back down the stairs and out the hostel -to ding dongs.

(I'd just like to say here that everything that happens from here on is recalled through the fug of an alcohol haze.)

OK. Jane and chris are still at ding dongs. Chris is completely gone. Jane is not too far behind. And i'm fairly toasted myself.
So it's business as usual for a wednesday.
I get a drink in for me and jane. Jane's talking about how unimpressed she is with american men -the constantly being hit on (I think I wrote a footnote bout that in a previous post).
Eventually, Jane and I are the only jazz heads left in the place. Jane is explaining to these drunk guys at the bar how cup size is calculated, and they are getting a bit fixated on her boobs7, so I'm like “Hometime, Janey!”
I walk her back to the staff basement [at the time I lived with the guests in the other building, i'm in the basement at the time of writing], and the weather is filthy (wind and freezing rain), so I go inside for a bit and we end up chilling out in her bunk.
Let me say right now: Nothing happened.8
Just a lot of giggling and Carry On9 style bawdiness.
We wake up shannon, who's in the bunk below, but rather than be pissed off, she joins in with the silliness.
The three of us get louder and louder -and wake up the other person in the room, Maria.
Now she IS pissed off.
So shannon suggests that me and jane come and join her in her bed.
Ah ha ha ha.
So me and jane get into bed with shannon.
(we were all three of us fully clothed -NOTHING HAPPENED)
I was on the outside edge of the bed, so I said: “What the fuck's going on here? The dude should be between the two chicks, everyone knows that.”
So Jane shifts over: it's shannon, me, Jane.
Really, nothing happened10, just more silliness.
(I think at one point we made sex-noise! O.M.G.!)
Poor maria couldn't sleep with all that going on, and when she complained next, I told her that she lived in a hostel so she should just deal with it, or words to that effect (this was the apple martini talking again)
She left the room in tears
Not my finest hour11
Now let me tell you something about Shannon
She has a thing with another member of staff, who also lives in the basement, Darryl
I'm not going to speculate as to the nature of their relationship, as it's none of my business
but let's just say that Darryl feels a certain protectiveness for Shannon
So ask shannon if me being in her bed is going to be cool
And she's like, “Sure, it'll be fine, and nothing's going on is there?”12
And that was good enough for me
Now maria's not in the room, we don't feel like we have to be quiet anymore
We get louder and louder
I think at some point someone hammers on the wall of the room.
The next thing I remember clearly is a bunch of guys are in the room
(I don't see them because I have the sheet pulled up over my head!)
But I hear their voices: I can make out two distinctly
One is Big B's: “Hey dan you gotta go back to your own room, get back to the other building.”
The other, I assume, is Darryl's: “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”So this is it, I think, I'm finally going to my ass whupped
Is this the end for little danny spencer?
But the hands i'm expecting to drag me out of the bed never come
One way or the other, I don't know how, the guys go
And shortly after that I pass out -it must be 4am by then
(Did I mention that I had to work the next day -or, rather, later that day- at 6.30am in the cafe bar, on my own?)
But i'd already cleverly set my alarm for six
Less cleverly, when the alarm goes, I turn it off and give myself “10 more minutes”
The next time I wake up it's 8am
I'm an hour and a half late for work
And because i'm on my own, there's no one to cover for me
And breakfast is the busiest time at the cafe bar -i'm picturing a long line of angry guests clamouring for their free breakfast, and no one there to serve it to them
Oh shit, I think, I'm fired
So I jump out of bed and get my shit together
Two things I can't find: my glasses and my coat
I look for a good two or three minutes, but I can't find em, it's crazy
I'm still drunk though, ha ha
so I tear over to the cafe bar, ready to face the music
But when I get there, there's no queue, no pissed off guests
Valentina and Steve-o -bless them, bless them!- have opened up for me and are working the bar
I can't believe it -what absolute stars!
My ass has been saved yet again by my most excellent friends, who I've only known a month or so
There's some real good people in the world, y'know?
They even give me some time to drink a shit load of water, coffee, smoke a cigarette and generally get my head straight
It's during this time that davey comes in, sits down.
I know davey lives in the basement, so I figure I better go over and apologize.
So I do.
But he says: “It's not me you should be apologizing to, it's Darryl.”
Me: “Is he mad?”
Davey: “He was last night.”
Me: “I know it looked bad, but honestly, nothing was going on it was completely innocent.”
Davey: “It's not me you've got to tell....”
So, I'm thinking, great -i wonder if Darryl will let me get a word in before I get my clock cleaned.
But then I think, I've done nothing wrong -the truth will out!
And then, finally, I start work.
Apart from all this the other thing that's preying on my mind is where my coat's at -because my wallet is in there (I hope!)
I want to go back over to the basement, but I figure I need someone with 20/20 vision to help me
(couldn't find my specs either, remember?)
So I ask my friend bobby if he'll come over and help me look when the cafe bar quiets down
but the cafe bar is really busy for some reason, wouldntchaknow
so I ask bobby if he wouldn't mind going and seeing if he could find it for me
He's back in 5 minutes
He tells me I must have been really drunk when I woke up (and I was13) because my coat was right there on the next bunk
So I'm like, “Really? I was looking all over for it, shit!”
He hands it over and I check my wallet's there; it is.
I put it in my jeans pocket -not letting that baby out of my sight again!
Then I go back to work
At some point I decide I want a soda from the machine
So I get my wallet out, open it up
All my money, $200 dollars, is gone
At some point between going to dingdongs and me getting my coat back, someone lifted the money out of my wallet.
I've been robbed!
Holy fucking shit
What else can go wrong? Find out next time....

TO BE CONTINUED....
1 Harold works at the front desk. He's from the bronx and epitomizes the new york character. He's the sweetest guy in the world, but if you cross him... well, I won't go into details, but the first time I got a ride in his, er, ride (a black SUV with blacked out windows called knight rider; he's getting the red flashing strip) I had to move an aluminium baseball bat from my seat.
Me (dryly): Hey Harold, I didn't know you played baseball.
Harold (chuckling): Just don't lose my weapon, nigga.

2 I don't know exactly what goes into these, but he sells them for $5 a pop and boy they are strong. They're radioactive green too. They are some kind of ghetto concoction anyway; they're name checked in a Wu Tang track, Wolves: “My force might blur, the Porsche'll purr/The apple martini, of course it's stirred”

3 AKA Malt Liquor AKA Liquid Crack. Ice Cube's character in Boyz N The Hood always had one in his hand. The US equivalent of Special Brew or Tenant's Super. Nasty nasty.

4 After the iconic grey armani overcoat Jose Mourinho wore in his first two seasons as manager of Chelsea FC.

5 This is an example of how drunk these guys were: not only did they not realise the wallet was mine, even after looking at my bank card, they saw my initials “D.J.” -and thought the wallet must belong to the DJ who works at the bar! Oh. My. God. Nincompoops! Imbeciles!

6 The voice of the apple martini is the same as the voice of “Chico”, my evil mexican alter-ego. I'll tell ya'll about Chico another day.

7 When Jane gets drunk, she goes a bit crazy as far as her boobs are concerned. She is size G, and these guys at the bar were like: “Whoa! I didn't even know they went up to G!”

8 No, really, nothing happened!

9 For the benefit of non-uk readers, the “Carry On” films, were a series of films made in england in the 60's and 70's characterised by sexual innuendo laden humour: Here's an example, from Carry On Doctor (I can't believe I can quote this shit from memory):

A blonde, pretty nurse [Barbara Windsor, back in the day] with a, ahem, “full chest” is walking up the hospital concourse. She is being admired by a couple of ambulance drivers. Driver #2 is eating a pear.

DRIVER#1 (to DRIVER #2): Cor!

The nurse shimmies by.

NURSE (to DRIVER #2): Nice pear?

DRIVER #2: You took the words right out of my mouth!

(ba-dum, tsch!)

1 0 Though the next day a rumor was going round that we'd had a threesome, and I didn't exactly shoot it down in flames right away, y'know?

1 1 A couple days later I bought her some flowers by way of apology; we're good. She's back in denmark now. Miss you maria!

1 2 See?

1 3 Shannon had to guide me to the bathroom. Oh dear oh dear.