Sometimes I think my problems are unique in all the world. And in one sense, that is more true than can be known to anyone alive today. On the other hand, there are those with parallel problems and seeing that both bothers and comforts me. On one hand, I don't feel so special anymore but on the other I don't feel so isolated. You normalized freaks have your social media ad infinitum, but I have the streets - and Roofie.
Roofie's real last name is Fielder. But I called him Fiddler because he's always fiddling with something or somebody. Then I called him Fiddler on the Roof for no reason and finally Roofie referring to the drug you supposedly drop in a girl's drink to knock her out. Not saying Roofie would do that - but he damn sure will prank your ass. This last one, though, has to be the all time best, never to be topped. I only thank the street gods I was there to witness it.
Roofie is a fairly lanky black guy fast as the wind. He has the wonderful characteristic I see only in certain blacks of giving off this super positive vibe. It's as if all the suffering and abuse over the ages instead of crushing him made him into a diamond everyone wants to be around. To be able to come out the other side like that without bitterness is a trait of which I am deeply jealous and even fear a bit. But what really struck me, creating a bond for life, was when he said, "You know, the life in me will be the death of me." There is no greater summation of the world than that simple observation.
Where we run parallel is we both have highly developed imaginations. In another life we could be revered for that, giving pleasure to millions with our creations - and receiving millions in return. But we live in a fatally insecure world where only that which can be monetized is considered valuable. Rare are those who are aware of the price we pay for this but if we did know, this behavior would end in a heartbeat. As it is, we end up only amusing the few who can understand.
Roofie and I both have recognized the sense of humor in the other. He's far more daring and willing to interact with other people whereas I am more prone to doling out witticisms lost to the wind. We both want to impress the other and it could have been the serendipity of the cop car and my seated presence that triggered his act of genius. So I would like to take some indirect credit for this because, well, it's just so damn great. With me as his approving audience Roofie walks up to me with a paper grocery bag with a few boxes pressing out against the edges.
"What ya got in there?"
"Rocks," he says. He's got this shit-eating grin on his face so I don't really know what to believe because why the fuck would anyone be walking around with a bag full of boxed rocks?? Then Roofie eyeballs the cop car down the street and winks, "Watch this."
There's always police activity somewhere in downtown Dallas. It's more relaxed during the day where they mainly pick on the weak and the homeless. I have no idea what they were talking to that kid about away from their car but Roofie slyly saddles up next to the squad car acting as suspiciously as possible.
You fucking idiot. What are you trying to do? Get your ass arrested I'm not helping you. Shit, wish I hadn't encouraged him now.
What I didn't know was this was all part of his plan. Devious devil! Roofie waits until he finally catches a cop's eye, drops the bag next to the squad car with a heavy clunk and then takes off like lightening. Cops don't stand a chance of catching him and besides, they are frozen, too distracted by the bag. That's when the whole chain reaction started.
Now, I know what all the Uptights have to say walking around with cop cocks in their mouths (Hi, Steve Blow!), but what Roofie did was a good thing. The closer we come to the truth the better, and this played right into the cops' guilt and paranoia. As delicious luck would have it, it was two redneck white thugs reacting to Roofie's prank. And, man, were they happy to be victims!
I seriously doubt there's a person on the force who's forgotten about their five colleagues being ambushed and assassinated. Their now-departed chief made hay with national attention to gain sympathy and support. What he didn't do with his woe-is-me tale was address the issue of why there's such outrage against the police in the first place. There most certainly was the fingers of other cops who helped pull that assassin's trigger. So now even a box of rocks is suspect.
You're under arrest!
The cops are feeling the coming attention they'll receive as they get up on their hind legs ordering everyone about and taping off the area, anxious to play superhero. Next thing you know there's a whole slew of cop cars with their lights flashing pulled up. I'm feeling a tad self-conscious and trying not to laugh too much. Strictly speaking, there is no other course of action they can take but how they handled it was the true hilarity. Terrorism - in all its forms - is the new cutting edge language for communicating so it always brings everyone to life to learn someone's true feelings in our carefully posed world.
There's lots of talk between the cops I can't hear. One has to wonder what's going through their minds. To feel constantly in the crosshairs yet unwilling to change behavior must really be a mind-fuck for them. There has to be part of them wondering, "Who did we piss off now?" They will feel guilty and shamed - up until they find out it's a prank, then they'll blow a gasket!
Wow, so here's the bomb disposal truck. Huge fricking crowd watching. I'm taking mental notes because I know Roofie will want to know every last detail (little did I know he'd snuck back after seeing the large crowd to hide in). I laugh seeing the bomb robot because it always reminds me of Number Five in "Short Circuit". It rolls over and starts snooping around. Somehow they determine, however, that there's nothing metal in the bag. So one brave soul goes over and sure enough discovers nothing but boxes with rocks inside - with a note on top saying 'Boo!'
Maybe I was imagining it but I thought I saw more disappointment than relief on his face. I wanted to yell out, "Paranoia will destroy ya!" Was good to make them think and reflect in these times where our schools are guarded with scanners, cops, and machine gun nests. Our problems are really much larger than we admit. Healthy doses of skepticism for the cops to realize not everyone is out to get them can help bring some perspective back.
All glory is fleeting. Roofie will be feeding off this incident for a very long time and has become a legend among we the unknown. But his life is still hell. Like me, he has no true outlet for his creativity. What does it say when a person of true talent has no place in this world? Is it the person or the world - or both - at fault? Roofie would need to create some pretty amazing art to give himself the same satisfaction he got that day. He forced the entire DPD to reflect upon itself and maybe - just maybe - ratchet tensions down a bit.
I too have identity issues: I'm a billionaire trapped in a homeless man's body. I can find no surgery to fix this - and the only ones with a trace of understanding are people like Roofie, i.e. as fucked as I am. It has to be lived to be known. Delusion is my only escape but like any drug the come-down is agonizingly brutal and induces suicide. I haven't had a full night's sleep in years as my body erodes in exhaustion. If worry were money I would be a billionaire. As it is, I can explain who I am to no one - not even myself.
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