Blue Collar Dude Revisited

Did not see blue collar dude with the same clarity and focus as you my friend, although I knew of his existence. I was afraid his left eye was entirely missing and didn't want to verify for fear I'd see a small cave lurking behind that weepy lid. Took me until halfway though the meeting to determine that he'd only taken a good mashing, and that beyond that bloated slit there was something moist rolling back and forth when he looked around the room.

Funny thing about that meeting in particular, most of those guys are not blue collar (although your boy in question certainly is); most of them are just old and retired and half-senile. Take J, for instance: he had a string of cheap t-shirt shops (further proof of the statement "nobody ever went broke underestimating the American Public") and made his million.

G is a retired pilot who, along with several other fellows in in the room, does a yearly trip to South America to hunt up the whores. They go for a couple of months, rent a villa there (the continent remains the same but the country varies from year to year), and keep it plentifully stocked with young whores. G is actually famous for once getting a blowjob for a nickle. As the story goes, (this is pre-retirement) he was making his way back to his hotel in Rio after sampling the delights of a local brothel, still wearing his captain's uniform, when a whore stepped out of the shadows and offered him a blowjob.
"I'm tired, honey," he said. "And I been busy with that all night."
But the whore really wanted to get some work, and so G kept dropping her price until they'd literally gotten it down to single American nickle, at which point the value-conscious G realized that he couldn't pass it up. With a shrug he reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter (a 400 percent tip!) and followed the whore back into the alley.

I could go on... a collection of characters in there. Last year G and a couple other guys rented an RV and did a tour of nudist camps from here to California.

So, those fellows always intrigue me. All kinds of character defects (perhaps, if you want to look at it that way) but an absolutely sterling sense of the principles of recovery, and all of them completely committed to service work (jails, newcomers, you name it). They have found something which works for them.

I would revisit the blue-collar dude at this point (and thereby justify my title) but instead I can't let this post end w/out discussing donuts. I worked at the Dawn Donuts on Saginaw Street when I was a kid. It was right next to the Goodwill and Saturday mornings were all about the welfare people making food-stamp purchases of multiple dozens of donuts. Loved that job and my god, did I eat me some donuts. Eventually became a devotee of the Nutty. Worked my way to the Nutty as the ultimate expression of Donutual Art.

However, was also partial to Creme Stix. Liked a Creme Stix or two as a means of setting up the Nutty.

One of the checkout ladies from the Goodwill took me behind the donut shop and made out w/me. Can still recall her downy 'stache ticking my upper lip while her pointed, crazy-flickering tongue went to work on my teeth.

Saw someone die in that donut shop. He wore a greasy old trench coat and his face was propped on his coffee cup like a golf ball in a tee. Swear to god, when they took him away there was an unfinished Nutty on his plate.