I saw an ad in the paper for a waiter at the Capital Club. I didn’t apply because if they hired me, I’d have to miss All Things Considered every night. Plus I don’t have the outfit to apply in, or the look.
When I lived in San Francisco I was just as desperate, so desperate I applied for a waiter job at a place called Henry Africa’s. You had to be twenty-one to wait tables. I wasn’t but lied and said I was. The guy in charge told me to come back tomorrow with my birth certificate. He was dressed in a safari outfit.
January 8, 1982
Raleigh
I spent the day crawling underneath the Ewing house and trying to think of one good thing to say about it. For a while, hunched over on my hands and knees, I used a rake to collect trash. Among my findings were two pornographic novels without their covers. They were from the late 1950s and pretty tame by today’s standards. One of them had black-and-white pictures of women in it. Mainly it showed their bosoms. Under each picture was a short paragraph, the author trying to be funny, most often. The models were on the big side.
I gave the books to Bobby and his best friend Dougie, who is working with us this week. In the afternoon I walked into the backyard and saw them drinking Mountain Dews and examining the pictures. “This one here’s got pretty little titties,” I heard Dougie say. He has red hair, an ex-wife, and a three-year-old daughter.
Today I broke a rake, a shovel, and a hammer—every tool that was placed in my hands. I saw a lot of centipedes under the house. After I crawled through a pile of cat shit, I decided to call it a day and go home.
January 10, 1982
Raleigh
Neil has left some fluid on the bed. It isn’t urine. It doesn’t smell bad. It’s just fluid.
January 11, 1982
Raleigh
Again this morning I found fluid on my birthday blanket. This time I rubbed Neil’s nose in it and put her out for a while. She makes a habit out of everything.
January 13, 1982
Raleigh
My phone has been disconnected, so I called Southern Bell. The woman I talked to said that it would stay cut off until I paid my bill.
“But I did pay it,” I said. “Seventy-five dollars just last week.”
They couldn’t verify it, so I went through my trash and found my receipt inside a can of lima beans. It was covered with rust-colored juice. The woman at the phone company addressed me as “Mrs. Sedaris” until I couldn’t stand it anymore and corrected her. That always happens. They think I’m a woman—a woman named David.
January 14, 1982
Raleigh
Lisa, Bob, and I drove on ice to see Body Heat. It was nice of them to invite me and to go out in this weather. The problem is that Lisa talks through everything, and loudly. It hardly ever has anything to do with the action taking place on-screen. Tonight, in the most suspenseful moment, just as William Hurt was about to open the booby-trapped door of the boathouse, Lisa touched my shoulder and leaned close. “Do you remember how to say the word snowman in Greek?” she asked. “I’ve forgotten since our last lesson and it’s driving me crazy.”
Afterward, she and Bob played a game of Space Invaders in the lobby. They weren’t haunted by the movie the way I was, and by the time we reached the car, Body Heat was, for them, forgotten.
January 19, 1982
Raleigh
Again today I dug ditches in the cold rain. After work I met James at the Laundromat. He’s black and a bit older than me, and these are a few of the things he said:
“I bet you’re sixteen years old.”
“I just like to be nice and meet new people.”
“I love all kinds of music.”
“I unwind in South Carolina.”
“Why doesn’t your wife do the laundry?”
“Aren’t you a family man?”
“Don’t you be lonely living here alone?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I gave him my phone number because he wants to cook me dinner.
January 23, 1982
Raleigh
James called last night at one. He was looking for an Amoco station and asked if I wanted to come along for the ride. I was awake, so I said OK. He pulled up a while later in a blue car that had four doors and was new and clean. We drove for almost an hour to all the stations he knew were closed. Then, four blocks from my apartment, we went to one that was lit up.
It was two a.m., and when we opened the door to the inside where you pay, a camera flash went off. They do that because of theft. Afterward James talked about prison life. He’s never been but was stopped once for speeding by a state trooper and said it was the most terrifying experience of his life.
The Hardee’s on Edenton Street was open, so we went there and he bought a medium-size Pepsi. We drove to Apollo Heights to look at his house, but we didn’t go in. James lives with his brother but will soon move to Fox Ridge, a new apartment complex for middle-class black people. The rent will be three-fourths of his monthly salary.
When James’s other brother was killed in Vietnam, the government sent someone to inform the family. That was in 1967. His mother worked in a school cafeteria. I asked a million questions, and he was good about answering them.
“Can I trust you?” he asked in the front seat of his car.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told him.
He asked if we could be friends, and I said you shouldn’t ask things like that. It sounds too third-grade. If you’re meant to be friends with someone, you’ll be friends. There’s no need to talk about it.
James asked a lot of questions a person shouldn’t ask. Back at the apartment, during sex, I thought about a lot of different things; my new trash can, for instance, with the pedal. I was a thousand miles away and wishing I’d never answered the phone.
February 1, 1982
Raleigh
Outside the A&P I saw a woman with thick, stiff legs pushing an empty cart through the parking lot. Her hair was in braids, and she turned to me, saying, “They forgot to give me my groceries, goddamn them.” I followed her inside, but slowly. She walked like the Tin Man. I went to the A&P looking for a bargain, and when I didn’t find one, I went to the Big Star. Chickens look bigger when they’re wrapped tighter.
February 4, 1982
Raleigh
On the phone last night Gretchen told me that I’m rotting away in a crummy house next to the IHOP. I got angry because it’s true and changed the subject to next year’s Christmas.
February 5, 1982
Raleigh
This morning I stepped on a nail. Afterward I had to literally pry it out of my foot. I mean, it was in all the way up to the board. Now my foot is swollen, and it hurts to walk across the room.
On the bright side, it’s taken my mind off my inflamed penis. Maybe tomorrow I can cut off a few fingers to take attention away from my foot.
February 6, 1982
Raleigh
The Big Star is still holding their poultry-sale extravaganza: mixed fryer parts for 35 cents a pound. I told Dad about it, and he said it was a joke and that all the parts would be wings, backs, and necks.