I was up all night. I was thinking about bullshit and was depressed about everything going on in my life right now. Like dealing with the fear of the pandemic and total social isolation. Even after doing a Zoom call with all my best high school buds yesterday, you would think that I would be in a better mood, but I wasn't. Seeing every single one of them showing off their children except for me made me feel even more alone and sad. All I could do is tell them about my beautiful pussy cat Bootsy. I felt like wet stinky trash down in the dumps.
I had to do something to get out of this depressing lonely funk. I read an article that said making at least eight social contacts a day helps with mental health and curbs loneliness. I decided to make a goal to get out and test that theory. Maybe that would lift my spirits, like freshly blossomed roses in the garden.
If I was going to do this right I'd have to take advantage of every person, starting with my motherly Ugandan CNA Suzanne. When she came over, I acted like I'd never seen her before.
"Good morning, Suzanne! How are you today?” I cheerfully greeted her.
She just gave me a weird look and started laughing at me. Told me she's fine and then went to the kitchen to make me breakfast. The sizzling bacon smelled amazing and my stomach grumbled. Little did she know she was my first contact of the day. Only seven more to go.
I left the apartment slowly so I could adjust to the bitter cold wind blowing down the street. I headed towards Cal Anderson Park a block away from my apartment. I rode down Olive Street and ran into some of my punk rock blue-haired neighbors from my building walking their old Shih Tzus.
"Hey, neighbors!" I greeted them.
They waited for me to pass by on the sidewalk. When I passed them, I enthusiastically said, "Looks like the sun's coming out! Have a good day!"
I’d knocked off a couple more contacts from my list. I was almost halfway there already.
I drove through the park and parked myself by the entrance near the basketball courts and started checking my emails on my phone. My hands and bald head were starting to freeze up like a popsicle. Out of nowhere, from around the corner, Emilio greeted me. He was a young man that I'd seen around the park, my senior friend Gary's nephew. The shitty English joint he was smoking emitted the nasty smell of burning car tires. We sat there and talked a little bit, and then he called his Uncle Gary so I could talk to him too.
"What's up Uncle Gary? Is it cool if got your number? Maybe you can text it to me."
The grouchy old man shouted back to me. "Yes, John, you can have my number. But you know I can't text!"
We both laughed at his reaction.
Emilio said, "I got you", and texted me his Uncle Gary’s phone number.
I could now officially count him as a contact. I was halfway there already!
I decided to head to the Denny Way light-rail train station to warm up. I cut through the park and took the gravel trail. I could hear the tires on my power chair crunch over the rocks like I was driving on sandpaper. When I got to the station, I sat under the space heaters that were hanging above me on the ceiling. Those little heaters felt like a warm blanket as they melted my frozen bald head and hands.
I took a phone call from my sister Holly, and she told me about the exotic spicy spices she bought for me at Uwajimaya Asian market. As I was talking to her a couple of Metro Transit officers wearing blue gray uniforms with flak jackets and stun guns aproached. "You Okay buddy?"
I looked up at them. "I'm okay. Just talking on the phone. Thanks for checking in on me, guys."
After I got toasted from the heat lamps and made another contact with the officers, I left the station and headed towards Broadway Street on Denny Way. Right before I crossed Broadway, I saw someone else I know crossing towards me. Shorty Mac was wearing a University of Washington sweatshirt and ball cap. He had his headphones on. He lifted one of the speakers from his ear and spoke with me.
He told me a story about how there are no Key Banks on Broadway and he desperately needed money for alcohol. His stimulus check hasn't come yet either. I told him I was broke and he walked away in frustration. I can now count Shorty Mac as another contact even though he was bitching the whole time.
I crossed Broadway to Starbucks and the smell of mocha lattes filled the air. I knew I only had a few more contacts to go so I decided to go into the MetroPCS to get my voicemail switched over from Spanish back to English. I don't know how I did that, but I had to get that fixed.
When I got inside, a heavy-set African-American woman wore a purple PCS shirt with lavender perfume asked me how she could help out. I told her my situation and she went to the computer to reset my voicemail. When we were finished, she walked me out through the lavender fields and opened the door for me.
My contacts were building up, but I still had a few to go. I decided to go visit Harry at the tobacco shop. I'd known him for years from when I used to smoke, so I went to pay him a visit. I drove past Dicks Drive-In, and the wonderful smell of Dicks Deluxe cheeseburgers and fresh-cut fries surrounded me. I was hungry again.
I got to the mini-mall and drove to the back where Broadway Tobacco is located. I passed his cigar room where he keeps the thousands of freshly rolled cigars from around the world that gave the hallway a rich vanilla aroma. I pushed open the metal gated door and he had the heat blasting, which was just what I needed. He was burning patchouli incense.
"Hello John! How are you?" He happily greeted me in his Indian accent.
I told him I was cold and asked him if I could stick around and warm up for a little bit.
He was delighted and didn't mind at all. We talked for about fifteen minutes about religion and politics until I got warm again. I was ready to go back out to the frigid ice cave. When I left, I felt great about going to visit Harry again. I had not seen him in months. Plus, he was another contact for the day!
I was on a roll and practically had all my contacts, but I wasn't satisfied enough. I wanted to see if I could find some more victims. I left the mini-mall and headed back home. I passed Dick's Drive-In again, through the hamburger clouds, and found a place to sit in the sun on Denny Street by Starbucks. Across the street, Albacha Mediterranean restaurant was cooking up their famous Gyro special with garlic fries for lunch. The combo of smells hovered around me, and I was no longer thinking about a Dick's deluxe burger.
After I called Uncle Gary confirming that Emilio gave me his correct number, I saw my weird neighbor, Antonio, leaving Starbucks with a large coffee in his hand. He saw me sitting there and headed right towards me. My chance for another contact!
"What's up Antonio? What kind of coffee you drinking?" I happily asked him.
"Pistachio soy latte. Why do you ask?" he sounded nervous.
"I was just curious. I enjoy mocha lattes myself."
Little did he know that he had become another one of my contact victims. I told him that I was at Broadway Tobacco in the mini-mall visiting Harry, and that opened a flood gate for him to tell me a yarn of a story. He told me that Kurt Cobain shot up heroin in the wood-furnished bathrooms on the top floor of the very same mini-mall. I could never tell if Antonio told me the truth or not when I talked to him, but this story seemed believable enough. Who knows?
I spoke with Antonio for a little longer, and then he left to go to Raucous Weed dispensary to re-up on some flowers to smoke. I had frozen up again even though I was in the sun, so I decided to go to the other train station on Broadway to sit under the little heaters.
Suddenly I saw Eric, a tall, slender, dirty young homeless man whom I'd seen wandering the streets. Me and Uncle Gary sometimes call him 'The Neanderthal'. He was wearing a pink plaid hoodie wool pullover, dirty-ass jeans, and purple flip-flops. He came over to greet me and smelled like the old cigarette butt that he was holding in his black hand. I backed up a little so he wouldn't get too close. Mainly because of paranoia from shitty Covid.
"Hey Eric. How are you? I see you got a smoke," I calmly said to him.
"Good, good. Just walking around," he scratched his head with one hand and lifted the garbage can lid with his other.
"I'm pretty warm in here. Do you ever stay here at night?"
"No, no,” he said. “They kick you out!"
"That's bullshit! Well maybe they'll let you stay for a little while. Good seeing you, Eric. I got to meet somebody."
"Okay John. Love you buddy"
I zoomed out of the train station to get away from the germ-infested gentleman. Don't get me wrong about Eric. He's a very nice homeless guy and wouldn't hurt a bug except the ones he scratches off his body. I’d made yet another contact. It was time for me to head home.
I drove back through Cal Anderson Park, but nobody was there except for dog walkers and soccer players. I thought I still needed one more contact though; I was starting to lose track. When I got to the front of my building, my neighbor Topher was sitting on the bench smoking an American Spirit. This was my chance, so I drove right towards him.
"Hello Topher!" I shouted.
We hung out until he got done smoking. While we were surrounded by smoke, he told me a story about being on vacation with his friends in a cabin near Olympia. He needed to get out of his room and get away from all the pandemic "bullshit". Then he was kind enough to offer me help to get back up to my apartment. Since we live on the same floor this was the perfect plan.
I succeeded in getting eight human contacts for the day. Maybe more! I completed the study and felt proud of myself for accomplishing my goal. I had connected with the whole community in some way and lifted up my spirits. I didn’t feel so lonely after all. I just needed to get out and make some kind of human interaction to help me feel better about myself again.
These short interactions really put everything into perspective for me. Everyone seems to be dealing with the pandemic, depression, and loneliness their own way, just like me. This is how I dealt with those issues on this day to make myself feel better. Maybe if you reach out like I did and spread the love, then you might feel better about yourself too.
Author: John J. Mistur
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