CHAPTER 35
(Refereeing Game 1 of 7 of Cavs vs. Warriors)
9/19/2018 (02:00 am)
Because yesterday's civil hearing went past the lunch hour it had completely messed up my travel plans home. I was so tired after driving 1300 hundred miles all within a 40 hour period I had completely forgotten it was my sister's birthday today. I don't think in my life time I have ever forgotten my older sister's birthday but the civil case in Indiana taking a sudden turn had exacerbated my mind in a really bad way. I was in fact under a psychotic episode due to all the stress Celadon had created for me. And now Mr. Paul had been removed as a defendant? I was screwed. I had a slam dunk case against Mr. Paul and now I had to sit back and wait for Celadon to assign someone else to handle the debt they owed me. Laura maybe? Mr. Paul's manager? Was she the wizard of the Celadon Klan that had secretly been hiding behind the curtains and pinning everything on Mr. Paul? It sure made a lot of sense as I was always told men don't ever tinker with three things concerning other men. Money. Porn. And beer. A guy I used to work with named Jason always insisted it is unmanly and considered taboo for a fella to tinker with another fellas collection of porn, money, and beer. So was Mr. Paul solely responsible for tinkering with all my paychecks? I certainly wasn't convinced. This incessant browbeating on a weekly basis with my pay had to be a womanly thing for sure. A real hard core "not staying in this kitchen" Susan B. Anthony fan for sure. I knew it bothered those payroll ladies that no "boo" was confiscating my paycheck each week like the other drivers. They had it in for me. I was certain of it.
I pulled into the driveway of my apartment still shaken up just a little. It had been a close call getting home. A very close call. I had encountered some fog in the mountains on 322 and almost plowed my car into a median strip. I was tired and very distraught realizing that all the email proof I had of Mr. Paul would now have to be thrown away. All those texts history I had saved was wasted effort and I still didn't have the money they owed me!
As a bi-polar schizophrenic I tend to have a lot of social issues. Especially warming up to strangers never really seems to work out for me. My condition has gotten so worse over the years I can't even finish a movie at a movie theater because I feel too much attention when the lights come on so I usually slink away during the last two or three minutes of the movie. I like darkness. I thrive in darkness. And I like knowing that now that I have returned home from Indiana I can get my mail without a million cars whizzing past me questioning the man looking down with the hoodie. No. In answer to your question, I do not wear aviator sunglasses like infamous Ted.
Before I go into my apartment I grab the Miller High Life pounders that I got really cheap in the mountains. Even though I'm between jobs I still consider myself a professional driver and know that the HighLife pounders can't be open until I get home. I have just enough room in my hand to go fetch the mail in the dark like I prefer before I unlock my apartment door and trip over that skateboard on the floor because I buy wrong size light bulbs that don't last. Even though it is pitch dark I can recognize the return address on the nice thick envelope from the street lantern above.
-BOARD OF REFEREE
The moment I put the envelope in my hand the envelope gives me bad vibes. It feels foreboding and it feels like a lie. And what the hell is a sports referee have to do with my unemployment? Is this some kind of sick joke? Is my financial welfare some kind of twisted game that it would involve a referee?
I took the pile of mail inside and laid it on the floor next to my lawn chair that I won on a Phillies bet. I don't need a U-Haul truck to move out of my apartment. I'm the easiest eviction out there in the world. I can have my entire apartment vacant in less than an hour and all my personal belongings, furniture, and kitchen ware stuffed into the trunk of my Ford Focus. Since I have been Federally released in 2009 I have lived by one rule. PACK LIGHTLY AND CARRY A BIG CHECK BOOK. My air mattress rolls up and my mock Lazy Boy folds up in seconds. I don't own a microwave nor have I owned a television in many years. I have scotch tape over my ceiling tiles to know when the gnomes and elves visit me and a piece of scotch tape over my smoke detector that I believe is spying on me. I read books just as slowly as I write them. I even have a mother that tells people at her church I can make bombs from tinker toys from when the casinos can't drop their minimum wagers and I'm left without entertainment. I am the bird that moves like a turtle. The lion that portrays a platypus, the wolf disguised as a black sheep. The one and only REAL Dirty Bird.
*Psssstch*
The $1.29 High Life can gets popped open and I find myself staring at the blue carpeted floor.
The envelope. The envelope is taunting me. Should I open it? Why should I open it? Hasn't enough already gone wrong today?
I look around my lawn chair at other piled up mail encompassing me. Much of my sent out mail to Spencer has big red letters "RTS" AKA Return To Sender. I don't understand why my letters to Spencer have been returned but deep down I am grateful that they have because if he would have fully read them he would dub me a nut case for sure and that wouldn't be good. But what about this envelope from Unemployment? Do I really want more depressing news? Because it has been mailed to me as soon as I got home isn't it kind of obvious it's most likely a letter of some really bad news? But most importantly, how did it arrive so fast?
My demons plagued me while I chugged on my High Life. I don't really drink so my alcohol tolerance is extremely low. It's just like my teenage drinking years of being called "Mr. Fruit Loops" AKA "Two Can Sam".
I meditate deeply. I brood like a good provider being sandbagged by a loved one. The letter is thick so I know it's bad news. After all I've been through do I really want to give these people that have been rejecting for the past four years satisfaction of putting one more nail in the coffin? Isn't no news considered good news? Why should I even open this letter after all? If I ALREADY know they're out to get me why should I let them bask in it even more? Wouldn't it just make more sense to mail it back to them unopened?
The envelope from the unemployment office remains lying next to the arm of my lawn chair but I refuse to pick up the letter that says "Referee". I'm not even sure it's authentic as it hasn't arrived registered mail and I have no way of knowing if my brother or his friends could be playing a prank on me out of envy. I'm not collecting any UC benefits anyways as they have left me in purgatory for months now and even hung the phone up on me when I inquired about data statistics to back up their opinions. Think I don't know about purgatory tricks? Think again. There are purgatory secrets out there that the public doesn't know about me. Like Federal Case 59017-066 back in February 2005. Where was the speedy six month trial? Was I contesting any of the charges or did I not in fact have to run around the seventh floor of FDC buck naked just to get noticed to procure a sentencing date? Squeaky wheel gets a greasing? Does the quiet old man in the corner of the restaurant get his mornings eggs before anyone else or does another customer have to notice him an hour later and finally say something to the waitress? I know ALL the purgatory tricks that the alphabet people play. I filed for UC benefits 7-15 and now I'm required to open this stupid letter an entire two months later? TWO MONTHS!?
As I feel myself getting delirious and drunk I ask myself what would Mr. Paul do? Had it not taken nearly thirty dollars of US postal fees to post red restricted delivery stamps over his registered mail just to get him to sign for a demand letter? Just
how many times had the Celadon witches signed in lieu of him?
The alcohol played it's effects and I came up with a brilliant idea. Why not RTS the letter from the UC agency and just never open it? Didn't I always carry a big red pen?
I giggled even more as I found a nice red sharpie. I took the envelope and scrawled three big letters. "R" "T" "S". I figured at least the post man would think it was funny. As I got drunker I had more funny ideas. Why not draw some little funnies on the envelope as well for good measure? Stick people? A nice red stick person people missing a leg? With the UC agency bilking me $22,000.00 over the past four years were they really giving me a leg to stand on? Would this unfold into some McCain approved Republican behavior?
I giggled more as I drew a stick person missing a leg to stand on. I was then staring at the word "Referee" that brought more funnies into mind. NBA Championship game one with Warriors and Cavs. 5:32 seconds left in the fourth quarter and JR Smith fires a three point shot. Was it really tipped in by Glover for only two? Only the Vegas paid score keeper that day knows the utmost truth. In my book the entire NBA owes JR Smith an apology for the video shopped fix. I know what I saw during the initial live game. I saw a swoosh. I believed JR Smith's innocence and I'm not even a Cavs fan. I always make money on those Warriors but I insist on seeking the truth concerning this alleged cover-up!
I popped off the sharpie cap and giggled as I included a nice little cherry note adjacent to the return address with the word "Referee". Here's what I wrote.
"Go referee game one of the Cavs vs. Warriors!"
The UC agency wasn't going to double traumatize this Billy Big Rigger! No sir Billy Bob!
Just before I placed the unopened envelope back into the mail I popped the top off from my red sharpie just one more time and posted yet one more little funny on the envelope for good measure.
NUMBERS 32:23 KJV
"Be sure your sins will find you out."