I will not lie, it is ridiculously hot in L.A at the moment. Record temperatures I do believe, so finding the energy to stand, never mind write, is tough enough. I will plough on though, can’t let down my two fans! (Wrong fans I know but its too hot to think straight. You might say I’m thinking gay. Oh Jesus.)
The other day I was watching part of Sister Act 2. Whoopi was telling Lauren Hill something like… “If you wake up thinking about singing, then you are a singer”. This led me to ponder what I think about when I wake up. Lately, it has been writing and DJ’ing. Plus, as most guys do I would presume, women. Well most guys outside of West Hollywood at least. So, using this logic, I must want to be a writer and a D.J. And a woman. Logically. One thing, however, that I have yet to wake up thinking about, are Shamwows. We have not gotten off on the best terms as of yet.
Sunday I was meant to be working all day, from 10 in the morning until 11 that night. Seeing as it was the worst carnival ever though, this was cut down to starting at 5 until whenever the last person left. Sunday afternoon I went to the gym, met my two fans, and headed home. On the way home, while waiting to cross the street near my house, this homeless guy asked me for a dollar. He entertained me with a few horrific jokes but as he made the f so I forked over a dollar. Still no sign of the green man, so I asked him how much he had made today, seeing as his bucket was fairly full when he stuffed in my dollar bill… $35 in about 3 hours he told me! What the funk?!!! The previous 2 days I had made $15 in 12 hours! A homeless bum was doing better than me, it was soul crushing to say the least.
Apparently, the bums do really well here, its unreal. They are all connected, on the phone to each other, where’s good today, where’s slow, rotate spots etc. They have an organizational structure it seems, ha, weird enough. I gave the bum my C.V in case any positions became available, fingers crossed!
With that in mind, I went off to resume life as a carnie and a Shammy salesman, with the intent of at least making $35, I could not be beaten by a homeless dude! And, surprise surprise, I made $150 in 3 hours!!! I was delighted… spoooooof. I was well and truly beaten by the bum. In about 4 hours I made a grand total of… 2 sales, let me add that up quickly, I made $12. $3 an hour. The bum made 35 in 3, he’s on almost $12 an hour, ha, what am I doing with my life?!
One sale was to a couple, after we had packed up everything and were almost gone. The other sale was to a very pleasant chap. Seemed like a nice guy. If you ignored the Nazi aspect. And he hadn’t shown me the tattoo of Hitler on his back. But he did, so he ruined the first impression I got of him. After I made the sale to him, he came back for some small talk, the carnival was horrendous as I said. He asked where the Shammys were made… In Germany, and you know the Germans make the best stuff right?! (I had the spiel learnt off to a tee). “They definitely do, are you from Germany yourself?” No, I lived there for a year though, I go back as often as I can (I did live there, but I don’t go back as often as I can, most depressing year of my life). “So you like the Germans? You like their style and beliefs?” Ah, yeah? I suppose, what? The Germans make the best stuff right?!
I get the feeling he must like Germany, or German women or German products, perhaps I could get him to buy another set of Shamwows. So I praise Germany and all its products to the max – great cars, great women, great rap, ha, and great Shamwows, you might as well buy another set buddy! I see that he is warming to me liking all things German. He wants to know if I can speak German, I sure can Junge, wie gehts?!
This pleases him immensely, I think I can seal the deal on another sale, and jokingly give him a “Ja, voll!!!” About this time, he nods me a knowing nod, as if we’re both in on a secret, tells me that he certainly does know the Germans are the best, and lifts up his top. He is covered in tattoos, but the one he wants to show me, is the Hitler one covering his back. Oh sweet Jesus. He is a Nazi, or neo-Nazi, whatever it is, I didn’t stop to ask which he was. This is no longer banter and small talk. This is now me making sure I don’t get curbed by him. I quickly realize that we are actually close to where the movie American History X is set, no lies, it is nuts! He pulls his t-shirt back down, and turns back around, waiting for me to say something. Eh, cool, that was a nice tattoo you had of an angel on your shoulder, oh you weren’t showing me that one. Did I mention the Shammy holds 21 times its own weight in water, ja? Oh mein Gott in Himmel!
Thankfully his girlfriend had seen enough of the carnival and came back to drag him off. He gives me the rock fist to say goodbye, I accidently give him the Hail Hitler salute in anticipation. No curbing for me. I should really have taken the Shammys back off him and given him a refund when he revealed his true nature. I took the money over the moral stance though. You would too if you knew a homeless bum was making more than you!
Here’s another tremendous mix I located recently… In The Air Ce Soir by Phil Collins vs Yelle