I delayed visiting the bank yesterday to the last minute. I knew I wanted to be home in time for Fresh Air (WUIS, 3p) so I figured arrivin g at the bank at 2:15 would be about right. It was the only “right” I would be for the rest of the day.
First I opened the bids from Punzak and Henry’s. The former estimated $10K for the work; the latter about $4K. Why the difference? I didn’t have time to ask. Any other time of my life, I would have consulted Henry’s, shown them the bid from Punzak and asked why theirs was so low. Not this time. All I wanted was a yes or no from the bank. I knew I’d ask the bank for the $4K because I wanted a YES more than I wanted a better-quality pair of heat pumps for $10K. I had to get the bank’s YES first. THEN I will visit Henry’s and see why the difference between theeir bid and Punzak. Both firms, btw, are first class through and through. Their estimators were attentive, courteous, and easy to talk with.
Before leaving for the bank I removed my facial hair. I had about a two month-old beard/mustache, an oriental thing starting where my upper and lower lip come together and extending down to the bottom of my jaw, two lines of facial hair about the width of a Bic pen. I’d never seen anything liike it on any hummin’ bean. Even the Chinese make a real mustache in the “motif” by extending the hair up above the upper lip. I’m an original fellow, and I wanted an original arrangement. A student at the major northeastern high school (featured in today’s SJ-R, btw) had told me he liked it on Monday. A few others had said as much over the past few weeks. But not for a nano-second did I regret removing it before visiting the bank.
Many readers who know me, and many acquaintances (many of them readers as well) think of me as a “rebel” in a kitschy kind of way. This is an erroneous impression. I’m about as much a “rebel” as Neil Williamson, a great guy I’ve known for 20 years, who happens to be Sangamon County Sheriff. I LIKE the establishment! Always have. But as a fellow who writes poetry that’s not up to establishment standards, I have fallen short of “establishing” my ragged self.. As a fellow who writes songs about rude newspaper delivery boys, I estrange myself from the establishment. I would be a heck of a lot better off as a branch manager for a food distributor than I am as a freelance writer, which I am only because there is nothing left for me to be. I LOVE being a writer; I simply need to do it FULL TIME, and I”m not because I have fallen short of establishment expectations. So it’s been an unrequited love of establishment. I’m FOR it, but it’s none too thrilled with me.
Neither was Dad. During his final years in Springfield, I had countless, coffied, kitchen table discussions with him, discussions I would have loved to have over beer at Norbs or Brew Haus, with other people.. I defended all the minorities you can shake a stick at (every one but the illegal aliens) . . . . and all I got for my Don Quixote antics was the humiliation of returning to my half of the duplex we shared, knowing Dad respected me less than he would have if we had not had the conversations, but still feeling as right from my perspective as he considered himself right from his. Forgive me, reader; for I have digressed.
I knew driving over with the two bids in my pocket that I was going hunting with an empty gun, so to speak. I don’t own a gun. But I went anyway. The loan fellow is a great guy., but as the conversation continued, it was increasingly obvious: not only did I not have any convincing ammo in my gun; I didn’t even have a gun. I had the feel of a gun, carved (in a dream) from a bar of Lifebouy soap.
At the end, he said he’d have to talk to his boss about my application. My house is p;aid for, he explained. So I do have collateral. But in terns of regular INCOME that’s bankable . . . . well, he’d have talk to her and call me back.
Okay. Thanks for talking with me. Have a nice day.
Whatever I did the rest of the night is an inconsequence, compared with the import of the call back conversation which has not yet taken place. At times liike this, thinking and logic and future options don’t dare knock on my hard, establishment-pandering head for attention. I don’t have any cap;acity to deal with them, or even welcome them into my life.
Cross your fingers re this; aye?
oh. . . . . .
and have a nice day.
