Why I Committed Suicide

by sam paul

  Tan Lard takes me “downtown” and sticks me in city jail where he promptly turns me over and I never see him or his belt buckle again. From there it’s all about waiting to be processed. The guards there took my clothes from me right away and put me in a really orange jumpsuit with “DETON CITY JAIL” silk-screened on the back in black letters. I couldn’t believe they spelled the name of their own city wrong on the jumpsuits and I couldn’t believe they took my clothes away before being arraigned or getting a phone call or anything. They even took away my shoes and gave me these tan rubber slipper things they call shower shoes or “slides”. Finally after a few hours they stuck me in this weird-shaped cell with a bunch of Mexicans. I say the room was “weird-shaped” because from what I could gather it appeared to be in the shape of an octagon, with an octagon stainless steel table in the middle and a door in every other wall leading to four branches of cells with a set of bunk beds in each. On one of the walls there was a phone and I tried and tried to reach somebody collect. There’s a block on the house phone that Jerry wisely put there in case one of us decided to get drunk and dial phone sex late at night, but it turns out that same feature also blocks collect calls. I tried Jen’s phone but she likely got called into the Tomato to cover my shift so I wouldn’t get fucking fired because Tan Lard wanted to collect his $20 bonus money for bringing in a wanted fugitive.

  I can’t even remember who in the hell I got through to eventually, but I made sure they got a message to the house and to Jenifer to see if I could get bailed out ASAP. Then I sat and waited. The cell was mostly empty and there were only four Mexicans in there with me, none of whom spoke a lick of English. I tried to bullshit with them for a while but they just laughed at my attempts to pantomime and communicate in rough Spanish so that didn’t last long. There was no TV, no clock and nothing to do but wait. I finally picked one of the rooms and got on the top bunk with a blanket and fitfully slept.

  Early in the morning the guards came in and pulled me out of bed. One of the fucking Mexicans had taken my shower shoes and hidden them as a prank, so after a bit of bullshit I found them and they hauled us all out like a bright orange brigade to stand in front of the judge. The Mexicans were in there for minor things like disorderly conduct and being drunk. I guess that’s why they stayed up together laughing most of the night. The judge had an interpreter for the Mexicans but to my surprise when they called one of the older guys up in front of the judge he spoke perfect English and explained how he was sorry and that he had given blood last night so the couple of beers he drank got him a lot more wasted than he expected and that he’d learned his lesson and he convinced the judge to let him go with time served. One of the other Mexicans also got let go and the other two got something like fifteen days in jail. When the judge finally got to me, there was a brief consultation about why I was at the City jail with the bailiff and then his old monotone voice croaked out “bail is set at $1,000.” I couldn’t believe it! $1,000! I courageously spoke up and told him how the detective had promised to call me so that I could turn myself in and make arrangements with my work schedule. I told him I was probably going to get fired now and by then I was worked up and my voice was tinged with bitterness and sarcasm at their whole system of doing things. The judge just looked at me for a second and then said, in less of a monotone voice this time, “Bail is set at $1,500. Does the defendant have anything else to say for himself?”

  “YES! ACTUALLY HE FUCKING DOES, HOW ABOUT I COME OVER TO YOUR HOUSE AND BUGGER YOUR FUCKING WIFE IN THE ASS!”

  But I kept my mouth shut after that and when we got back to the cell, the Mexican who spoke English told the other Mexicans what happened to me and they all laughed. He actually turned out not to be so bad of a guy, while he was waiting to be set free we talked for a bit and he said he was getting on a bus and headed the hell out of town. Apparently he was only here to see his mother and he really had sold his blood last night, he just failed to mention to the judge that he used the money to buy the beer that got him tossed in the pokey in the first place. He told me I needed to calm down towards these people and try to gauge what they are about before being so vehement. “They are just doing a job. When you lose your cool, the other person has control and when they know they’ve got control and you try to get it back, they’ll fuck you.” He told me “It’s better to stand against the wall and watch everything first, figure out the motivations behind people’s motivations and keep my mouth shut,” then his Mexican Zen-ass got released and I was stuck with the stainless steel table and a growing twingeof sickliness from not having had any smack recently. I get minor withdrawals now when I haven’t used it for a day, nothing too bad but uncomfortable.

  I kept trying to call Jenifer and when I got through to her she said she finally had the bail money together and was on the way to the bond person to get me out. She said the bond person was surprised at my bail being $1,500 instead of a thousand and that I must have done something to “piss the judge off.” I never did mention that she got popped a few weeks back with Donut for shoplifting and that I had her bailed out right away. The “man” gave her the kind of cakewalk probation where the charges get expunged from your permanent record if she acts right. Hopefully I’ll get the same thing.

  I told Jen I was getting sick and she told me she was planning to drive down to Dallas while they were processing me out of there. It took forever and ever and my stomach was starting to turn by the time I got out in the evening, wearing the same clothes I had tried to go and work in the night before. Jenifer wasn’t there though and I really didn’t know what to do. I walked around for a while and then sat down on the curb and waited to see if she would show up. When she did I could tell by the look in her eyes that she had gotten really fucked up down in Dallas and the time had just kind of floated off for her while I was sitting on the curb spitting green bile and waiting. I told her I needed whatever she promised to get me and she handed me this dull syringe filled with blood. What the fuck is this? She had cooked and done most of the shot that was supposed to be for me which was why she was so loopy. I didn’t care, I shot the bullshit into my arm in the hopes it would make me feel just a little better so I could go get some of the real shit.

  I mean, what could I say? I was pissed because she knew I was hurting but at the same time, She came up with the bail money and SHE drove down to Dallas and SHE was the one giving me a fucking ride back down to try and score. I was thankful but my stomach was in knots and she kept getting sleepy while driving so I had to grab the wheel a few times.

  Eventually after a bunch of bullshit it all worked out and I made it home. Now I have to sort out this mess that’s going on in my life.

  I’ve been using the Tomato more and more to support my dope habit since I quit my job at Swensen’s. Jerry was already gone and the red haired manager/ owner there started freaking me out a little since he was going crazy watching his business slowly fail. The demand for good ice cream is on the decline these days. My Thursday and Saturday shifts at the Tomato are critical to me now in order to get enough money to make it most of the way through the week. The rest of the time I’ve been out stealing clothes from J.C. Penny or other places to return to the store for cash or credit.

  Damn I want to do right but I am really hooked on this stuff. I can’t even believe it myself when I think about it and I have no idea how it started. No, rephrase that, I have no idea when I started needing it. I have no idea when it crossed from a casual occasional hobby to an “I need this to make it through the day” kind of thing. I know better and I can’t fucking help myself, it’s as if I’m outside of my body watching myself do all this crazy shit and getting away with it most of the time.

  The other day Donut and I walked right out of Montgomery Wards with a huge stereo system still in the box and even said “hi” to the clerks as we were headed out the door. By the time the stereo was hanging out the back of Jenifer’s hatchback, a security guard was running out the door after us
asking to see our receipt. Donut saw him coming while I was still pushing the stereo in the back and he jumped in the car and told Jen to “GO, GO, GO!” Since she thought I was in the car with Donut when he yelled, she took off and left me standing there with two security guards running up behind me.

  I’ve learned a couple lessons since my first walk around the shoplifting block. One is to use electrical tape to alter the letters on the car’s license plates so that the numbers and letters look different; another is to run like hell until they actually get the cuffs on you. You still might get away even if you’re wearing Birken-stocks and a big yellow hat. So I tore ass. I kicked off my sandals and ran over the hot gravel and broken glass with one security guard right on my butt while the other one was looking for a radio to call for backup. I’m juking and I’m jiving and the guy is staying close to me when a big gust of wind blew my yellow hat right off my head. I really liked that hat, so I ran through a row of cars, circled back towards the store and grabbed it off the ground, a foot away from his grasp, before he could figure out what I was doing. Then I sprinted towards the highway until I thought my heart would burst, circling as best I could around the mall, trying to stay out of their line of sight. I hit the high way access road and started hustling along with my thumb out, knowing if I didn’t get the hell out ofthere soon the mall’s security or police were quickly going to navigate through the parking lot and pick my ass up.

  It just so happened that this girl from my old TV class was driving by and recognized me; she picked me up, asking why I was out of breath and had no shoes. I didn’t have any good answer or lie that I thought she wanted to hear so I talked to her about school and got a ride back to Jen’s apartment behind the house. I waited and waited and waited there for Jenifer to show up and finally she did, her eyes wide with happiness that I got away. She said Donut told her I got busted and she truly thought I was in the car when she drove away, and from the look in her eyes I knew it was the truth. They had gone ahead and went down to Dallas, fenced the stereo and got us some drugs so it was all ok in the end. Just another day at the office. Damn! I’ve got to get out of this shit soon.

  There’s another big thing that’s going on. The house is finally disbanding. Jerry is moving in with the sorority girl he’s been shagging for a few years and they look like they’ll get married at some point. Dan is getting out of town for a bit and Kirk is moving in with Bryce since David’s shit is all fucked up with smack right now too and Bryce needs a roommate who can pay rent. I’m moving into Jenifer’s apartment and sadly I already know where the extra money we save on rent will be going.

  Adrenaline: In some animals it makes them stiff with fright, with others it delivers bursts of action and activity. Humans are a combination of both; our brain is trained to overrule our instincts. The rare form of the athlete is applauded because he focuses his mind into utilizing the power being generated by his own body. There are other athletes that merely surrender to their primitive brutal urges, tapping into the same energy but not as formally or even intimately. The difference is comparable to drinking a rich wine where the grapes have been carefully tended, prepared and aged in just the right fashion, or drinking a gallon jug of hooch. The energy source being tapped into is the same and the results are often comparable, but the crowd always senses when it’s “on” in the mind and body of the athlete. That’s why all of us wait. That’s why we are bored by the rules, angered by the referees and also why our emotional lives become wrapped up in competition. We want a show. We want a display of skill; a POP of surprise and excitement that makes us light up with smile or grimace in horror.

  The alternative to the increasingly rare normal person with a healthy normal cool-headed decision making balance, is where society’s perversions and odd urges creep into our lives. I suppose we all know the available forms of escape by now and if nothing works, or feels as if it’s working, then there is always the choice of ending this existence in hopes of an exchange for something better.

  We are burnouts. The synapses and receptors I had in me are fucking fried everywhere except my heart. Through all of this shit, I still love Jenifer more than ever. I’ve overloaded my system with junk trying to give solace to my pain, only it’s creating more pain than it alleviates now. The pain of my generation.

  I started out writing about adrenaline because I got fired from the Tomato today. That’s bad news for me but it’s also kind of good in a way. Without having the stolen beer money crutch I get from the Tomato maybe I can focus on cleaning up my life and doing the right thing for me and Jenifer in the future. Besides it was worth getting fired. I knew if I let what happened go, I would have to spend years in therapy regretting giving into my flight instinct when I should have had the balls to fight.

  I was standing behind the counter helping make the afternoon lunch orders for people as they filtered in the door. When this guy, who I vaguely recognize, parks his white Nissan truck in the spot out front and comes in to order a slice of pizza. I’m not working the register but I’m standing behind the counter kind of looking at him as he’s giving his order when it finally hits me where I know him from. He’s one of the managers from Hastings and he’s looking at me like he knows about the crap that went down. He’s a young, average mid-management-sized white guy (cursed with a curly blond mullet hair) and he starts to say something to me when Becky inadvertently walks between us and asks me to go wash the windows outside. I fill up a big bucket of warm water and soap, get the squeegee and go outside, enjoying the morning and doing my work. I’ve about worked my way around to the front when Manager Boy comes out with his lunch and gets in his truck. I’m standing there with this squeegee in my hand staring at him and giving him a semi-evil eye since I’m not 100% sure that he’s the guy who fingered me. Then from the seat of his truck he starts yelling at me and giving me shit. He’s on Fry St., MY street, shouting that I’m a thief, telling me to “fuck off’ and to “stop staring” at him. I give him my best smirk and still stand there not saying anything to him, fully knowing now that he’s the prick that got himself promoted by pointing the cops towards me. He’s even a Flying Tomato regular; I watched as he ordered his food and he knew exactly what to get, so I’m guessing he’s the guy who told the cops where to find me too.

  I’m getting more and more pissed at this guy sitting in his truck starting shit with me through his open window. I’m being calm on the outside but the whole time he’s yelling, I’m standing there getting angrier and angrier at his tirade, holding this huge 10 gallon bucket of scummy water that I just used to wash the windows. He finally figures out he can’t bait me into reacting, shakes his head, and he’s about to drive off when he starts talking about Jenifer, referring to that “blonde bitch who should have gotten busted too.”

  Fucking punk! I’m seeing nothing but red then, all the shit in my life right now and all the anger that’s built up while worrying about how to change my life for the better, and this guy wants to throw down. NOBODY calls Jenifer a cunt and a bitch in front of me and NOBODY tells me they tried to get her in trouble with the law without repercussions. I threw the squeegee down so I wouldn’t have a weapon and gave him a quick rabbit punch to the jaw. It was just a light tap, and while he was stunned for a second I picked up the full 10 gallon bucket of shit-water and poured it right into his driver side window, all over his work clothes, his lap, his lunch, his hair, his stereo and several rental tapes in the car. Fucking punk, NOBODY!

  He gets out of the car and I know I’m going to beat the shit out of him, but by that point I’m serial killer calm and while he’s still sputtering water I’ve already calmly walked into the Tomato and found Becky. I quickly corner her and say “I know you are going to have to fire me, so I’m going to quit now instead and save you the trouble. I’m sorry it has to be this way, thank you for giving me a job here all these years, now I’m going to go and beat the fuck out of this guy.”

  By that time, I’ve got my work cl
othes off so that the Tomato isn’t going to be held liable and this guy’s soaking wet at the counter wanting to talk to the manager and insisting they call the cops. I’ve run up there too and I’m just reaching over the counter to get a piece of his ass when little Becky races up behind me and gets between us. This guy’s crying like a bitch now, talking about the cops and screaming to Becky that her employee is a thief, trying to tell her about the Hastings incident. Becky tells him to shut up, calls the cops for him and then gets in his face with an inhuman amount of resolve and tells him he has no right coming in here and antagonizing people or calling them thieves and that if he has a problem in his own store he should take it up there. Go Becky!

  In about two seconds the police are there and then this guy is blubbering to the two cops about what happened, trying to get me arrested for assaulting him with hot water and for vandalism since the videotapes in his front seat got wet. I’m calm by then and when each officer takes us aside to interview us separately, I tell my cop straight up that Manager Boy came into the store where I worked, followed me back outside giving me shit and finally insulted my girlfriend so I poured a bucket of water on his head instead of kicking in his teeth. Since the guy isn’t really hurt and he’s blubbering like a puss, the cops kind of laugh it off, telling Manager Boy to go home and clean up and that they’ll file a statement for him. He drives off and they tell me I can go on home and that’s it. I quit or I got fired depending how you want to look at it, but it was SO fucking worth it. I’ll remember that surprised look on that fucker’s face and laugh about it for the rest of my life. I might not even need to find him and kick in his teeth.