Helpful Fellow

Someone just offered me bread.  "I work at a bakery," he said, wielding a large loaf of what I saw on the label was called Grand Central Rustic Bread.  "Have some."

Moments before, an irate young lady was angry at me for not buzzing her in.  She had buzzed four times, she was certain I saw the light, & now wanted to know if there were some issue that kept me from buzzing her in.  I had just stepped outside where she was smoking a joint & noticed the door was unlocked.  "It's not unlocked," she said, which indicated she had somehow propped it open so she wouldn't have to buzz in again.

She was very angry about not being buzzed in.  "Is there something else because if there isn't I'm done," she told me.

"What else could there be?" I said, genuinely perplexed.

It's quite cold out but there were lots of folks here - someone else obviously let her in - & I actually didn't see the light to let her in.  But that didn't matter.  My suspicion is that she was stoned & paranoid & angry & needed to believe it was personal.

What am I doing here?  Being a helpful fellow.  I'm shepherding new deejays who've just finished training & are doing their first radio show.  But only two people showed up.  & they regularly help out with another show.  I could be home, not being yelled at, & maybe enjoying a little whiskey.

The new deejay calls himself the Wolfman & is doing a passable Wolfman Jack impersonation.  He must know who that is.  I wonder if he knows who that is.  They're playing mostly hardcore punk, & he's quite hot on the mic, but I've recused myself to another room, where I imagine every song they're playing has a bad word in it.  He tells me checked all the music.  Ah well.

The irate young lady & another fellow went out for dinner.  She was muttering about "stupidity" & she raised her voice as she passed me.  I have no idea what slight she's imagining but I don't think she will ever believe it wasn't intended.  Ah well.  Just fifty minutes to go.

This is what it's like being a helpful fellow.