Government Regulations

“This is Hell.  Welcome to Hell.”   I didn’t know that then, but I do now.   See, I moved out of Florida.   That wasn’t my decision.   I didn’t want it and still don’t.   At least one relative of mine is an asshole or maybe they’re all “wolves in sheep’s clothing”.   Who knows?   Who cares?   Think about this story like the show, Dragnet”.  The story is true, but the names have been changed to protect the . . .well, the people and animals or perhaps the people are animals.  Maybe they’re all just assholes.   The animals and the humans.  

     Anyway, I moved into this shithole and a young woman (half my age) said she was interested in dating me.   I’m bi, so why not?   We exchange phone numbers, figure this is normal.   Maybe a bit quick, but I do everything fast; just ask my new sexy girlfriend.   

    While unpacking my possessions, she called me and started talking and talking, so I told her I’m busy unpacking, so I’ll call her later.   Later is a great word.  I love that word with its lack of specificity.  Not now, later.  Well, for me, later would mean in. Few hours or tomorrow.   For her, later meant fifteen seconds.  So I let it go to voicemail.   Hell, we just met, so it can’t be important.  She leaves a message and the phone is quiet for five minutes.  I unpack Louise L Hay, Wayne Dyer, and other self-help authors, and I hear a beep.   I look at my phone and there’s a message on my voicemail.  It’s her and the message is five minutes long.  I start listening to it and my fucking phone rings again.   I pick it up out of habit or instinct or something.  Ok, I hit the wrong goddamn button.  She asked if I got her last message.  How the fuck could I get her five minute massage when she didn’t give me thirty seconds to listen to it?   Bitch.   

     So, as I found out in a pointless administrative discussion when I moved into this shit hole, meals are at specific times.   Breakfast is from 3 am to 4 am, lunch is from 11 am to noon, and dinner is from 7 pm to 8 pm.  All, EST.   I asked why these are the meal schedule and they gave the same bullshit answer they give for everything:   Government regulations.   Why is our food burnt?   Government regulations require that the food here be cooked to a certain temperature.   If the government wants our food at these temperatures, why doesn’t the goddamn government ear it and why do I have to pay for it.   They should pay for it and eat it.  Hypocrites.  

     But, I’m off topic again.  Maybe that’s why I’m forced to live here.  Gotta stay on topic.  Oh, yeah, the bitch.   So, I washed up for lunch.   Use your imagination.   Then, I walk outside and she’s there and hugging me before I consent.   Then, she follows me to the dining hall.   The staff says I need to sit down and wait for my turn.   She sits next to me and I take a breath.   Or more like a sigh.   Ever heard the term verbal diarrhea?   Well, try imagining that ten fold.   I excuse myself and move to another empty table.  She follows me.  Imagine a dog with a flea or a tick it can’t shake off.   I later ask if I can get an emotional support dog and the administration says no animals can live here.   Then, how come this butch can live here?   I’m not a misogynist, I just need personal space.   I eat, or shoved the burnt shit down my throat as quick as possible.  Fuck manners.   Just gotta get away from this bitch.   

     Maybe I can look in a medical dictionary and tell her I have some disease she’s never heard of that’s contagious, like amenorrhea.   Tell the bitch I have a contagious chronic disease called amenorrhea and this motherfucking virus is so contagious, it can even be transmitted over the fucking phone.   

     Or maybe the bitch is bored.   Maybe if I give her a riddle, she’ll leave me the fuck alone.   Like what’s the square root of negative four?   Or anything to amuse this bitch other than me.  

     Then, she tells everyone we’re dating.  We’re dating, it isn’t going well, but couples argue and we’re dating, but she doesn’t need to tell anybody, let alone everybody.    

     Then, shit gets weirder.   She starts flashing me in places like the computer lab, she pulls her shorts and panties aside and pisses on the sidewalk.   She tells me she’s a virgin one hour and that she’s a slut the next hour.   She’s an attention slut.   I talk to the staff to see if they can help me have some distance from her.   The staff says as long as she isn’t eloping, going into someone else’s house, or being violent, she is free to go anywhere on campus she wants.   

     Can I spend my time off campus then?   No, government regulations don’t allow clients to go off the premises for safety reasons.  

     But, I’m not feeling safe here.   I go to activities like art, music, choir, and other bullshit.   She’s on my shadow screaming verbal diarrhea at every class.  I go home, she follows.  She gives me a hug without asking.   I go in my room, shut off the lights, shut off my phone, and take a few deep breaths, and undress.  Then, somebody knocks on my door.   The bitch is upstairs and wants to tell me something.   Why?   I go and she says she missed me in the five minutes and my phone ran out of juice.   No, I turned my phone off.   Verbal diarrhea.   I go back to my room.  After two minutes, there’s another knock.  Breathe deeply.  Maybe the bitch’ll get bored and leave me alone.   Someone knocks and calls my name.   Remember “The Magic Staff:   Under All Circumstances, Keep an Even Mind”.   That’s the abridged version.   

    The house phone rings.   There’s my cell phone and there’s the goddamn house phone.   It’s for me.   She’s on the phone.   Tell her I’m dead.  

     The phone keeps ringing.   I ask the DSP if there’s anything I can do about her and he says, “Not really.   She’s looking for attention.   Just ignore her and she’ll get bored after a while.   I then ask the DSP when/if we get groceries or how that works.   The DSP said yes, every other Wednesday and I ask if we can get drinks like vodka, rum, wine, beer, and he says no, this facility doesn’t allow alcohol or guns for that matter.   I say, ok, but I’m numb inside.  She keeps calling.   I get my evening meds, wash up, and look out the window at the stars.  

     The window.   I check my wallet and I have three $20’s I stole from my parents.   I take off my PJ’s, put on a button down white shirt, a tie, a suit.   I open the window, take out the screen, and climb out.   I walk through the backyard forrest until I hear crickets.   Then I feel pavement and see a traffic light.  Hallelujah!   I walk a few blocks.   Most businesses are closed.   Then, I see the neon light that says, “Budweiser”.   Hallelujah!   I step in with confidence and smile.   Alternative Rock is playing on their radio.  

     I sit on the bar, like any ordinary man, and order a beer.   I sip it and life is good.   Then, a Caucasion woman in a low-cut red dress comes and sits next to me.   We ask each other the usual:  Are you married?   Kids?   What’s your job?   Then, she asks me for my number, and I take a deep breath. . . And say, “No”. Let’s get to know each other better first.