Day 139 to 142

Day 139

Jason’s living situation since I’ve been here has been… fluid. In the short time I’ve lived here, he’s run through the full spectrum of housing options for a man of his stature, from a halfway house to a recliner he rented in the corner of a sketchy guy’s house. Most recently, Jason has been living in the jail downtown, having been arrested two weeks ago following an arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct. Apparently, this is frowned upon by law enforcement.

While this is not the first time Jason has been a guest of the state, it is first time the family has no money with which to bail him from jail. Jason was in jail for something like two weeks. One morning, I pop out the front door to find him sitting on the stoop, waiting for breakfast.  

Interestingly, the police are not the only ones looking for Jason. The other day, a guy came by looking for him. He’s was an old guy in an old, beat-up Cadillac. Frankly, he looked like a child molester. “Hey,” he yells at me, “I need to talk to you, Jason! Where’s my fucking money?” I turn, angry that anyone would mistake me for Jason. He blanches and backpedals, politely explaining that he’s looking for Jason to settle a debt, then asks where I can find him. I suggest our front porch at 7 AM. He claims he’ll be back. Later, Jan and Rose tell me that he would hire Jason for odd jobs and would pay him $3 for his cigarette ration. He also owned the living room in which Jason rented a recliner (yes, he lived in the recliner; no I don't know what brand. Why do people always ask when I tell this story?) for a period.

Rose was worried that he would hurt Jason if he thought he owed him money, in some sort of extremely, extremely low-level mafia activity. Jan suggested they buy Jason a gun for protection. Rose told Jan that Jason needed a gun like Jan needed a credit card.

Day 140

Somehow, Rose and I end up watching the Kirov ballet on TV. My girlfriend is a semi-professional ballet dancer, so I know a bit about the game. Having given many a massage to sore dancers, I mention how hard the jumps and landing can be on the body. Rose insists that ballet is low-impact. Her source: her niece took a ballet class (a single class, not a course). Our discussion culminates with Rose insisting, “A dancer should land silently.”

“Like a ninja, Rose?”

“Yes,” she said, jamming a chip into her maw.

Day 142

Jan somehow convinces Rose the family will benefit from purchasing a freezer chest. Jan is either too drunk or disoriented to drive to the guy’s house. Somehow, I agree to take him. Jan, navigating a city he has lived in since the early 1970s, gets lost four times in nine miles. Rose has given Jan just enough money to purchase the freezer, which Jan is carrying in a plastic baggie.

The owner of the freezer meets us in his driveway. It is a typical Craigslist exchange. Jan attempts to negotiate, citing some rust on one of the vents. This strategy works, and Jan knocks twenty dollars off the price. Despite a bill, Jan comes back with an empty plastic money baggie. Back at home, I learn that Jan had forgotten the price of the freezer. He had knocked twenty bucks of a price twenty bucks higher than the guy was asking. This fact was only uncovered after Jan bragged of his negotiating tactics to Rose,

“Dammit Jan, you negotiate and come back without saving anything???”

“I saved the baggie,” Jan said, proudly handing her back the plastic bag. Then he uttered his creepy, inappropriate titter, the one that seems to say ‘I’ve outsmarted you again, for I am Jan.’

Next Time: Jan’s fistula takes center stage.