I Head To The Fun House
I'm sick of these little friends deals, kind as it is of all of them, it's just not a reliable source. Some days I'm hanging out. Hang my head in shame at the admission. I didn't want to be one of those guys who comes home from work and all he does his get off his chops, until he is blear-eyed and uninteligable, as tempting as the thought is, but I turned into him none the less.
I went over to Jumbo's place. I wanted to catch up to get something, you know... He messaged me as I was on my way to his place and gave me another address to go to. He told me to call three times and hang up, three times, when I got there. So, I turned up at a 1970's non-descript brown brick warehouse in Collingwood.
There were two car spaces at the front, both were vacant, Jumbo said not to park there.
I made the call. Silence. Then a rattle at the roller door and the small single man door opened up, Jumbo's face appearing from the other side. "Come in."
It was his cousin Rachel's clothes business, she made something, garment making. She's a designer.
"It was my father's, warehouse to his business and you know the Greeks, they can't rent anything, they have to buy it."
"So, your father owns this place?"
"No, I do. Or at least, a series of companies own it. And I own the company on the end."
"Incorporated Jumbo."
"All thanks to you."
I'm not stupid, I know who to stay in the good books of. I did some work for Jumbo. Legal stuff.
"Rachel loves it, she makes a good living." He shrugged. "Help my cuz."
"I help you, then you help someone else...."
"That's how the fucken world will really work."
"Why are all the drug dealers I know, philosophers?"
"Do you want to see the culmination of all your help?"
Sure, why not. A bottle of wine, a box of flowers. “Perhaps, just what I came for.”
Jumbo pushed open the end door and the most amazing light emanated. He motioned for me to pass through onto the other side.
"This is the other side, alright." said Jumbo
I stepped through the door and I was instantly warmed and bath in strange light. It was a grow room. I was stunned. Silver air vent ducts, silver light shades, lots of black masking tape, and ducked venting, the air was fragrant.
"How much do you make?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What do you earn a month?"
"Really?"
"What's the figure?"
"5 a month."
"Before tax?"
"Yes. What tax?"
"So, that's what you are going to do with the rest of your life?"
"The rest of my life?"
"Smoke weed and wank on minimum wage?"
"Um... well..."
"Is that going to be enough for you?"
"I dunno? They are not very nice people in the corporate world, that's the problem I’ve come to realise."
"How about if I offered you a chance to run your own business?"
"Are you the employment agency now?"
"Ha ha."
"Run my own business?"
"Yep."
"Why would I want that head ache?"
"For the money and because you wouldn't have to change what you are doing very much."
"Hey Jum, I know I have never run my own business, but from what I hear they are 100 hours a week and prone to losing the owner most of what he has. You know, cunt up..."
"You'd make lots of money."
As I drove home that night smiling, laughing out loud at Jumbos offer. Really? That's what I had an epiphany for, a few years ago to end up selling weed. It's funny how some people must see me. He thinks I'd make a good drug dealer. Really? Is that the level of success that I give off? I was hoping for something a lot more leather clad and looking like an Alfa Romeo than that, let me tell you.
I went over to Jumbo's place. I wanted to catch up to get something, you know... He messaged me as I was on my way to his place and gave me another address to go to. He told me to call three times and hang up, three times, when I got there. So, I turned up at a 1970's non-descript brown brick warehouse in Collingwood.
There were two car spaces at the front, both were vacant, Jumbo said not to park there.
I made the call. Silence. Then a rattle at the roller door and the small single man door opened up, Jumbo's face appearing from the other side. "Come in."
It was his cousin Rachel's clothes business, she made something, garment making. She's a designer.
"It was my father's, warehouse to his business and you know the Greeks, they can't rent anything, they have to buy it."
"So, your father owns this place?"
"No, I do. Or at least, a series of companies own it. And I own the company on the end."
"Incorporated Jumbo."
"All thanks to you."
I'm not stupid, I know who to stay in the good books of. I did some work for Jumbo. Legal stuff.
"Rachel loves it, she makes a good living." He shrugged. "Help my cuz."
"I help you, then you help someone else...."
"That's how the fucken world will really work."
"Why are all the drug dealers I know, philosophers?"
"Do you want to see the culmination of all your help?"
Sure, why not. A bottle of wine, a box of flowers. “Perhaps, just what I came for.”
Jumbo pushed open the end door and the most amazing light emanated. He motioned for me to pass through onto the other side.
"This is the other side, alright." said Jumbo
I stepped through the door and I was instantly warmed and bath in strange light. It was a grow room. I was stunned. Silver air vent ducts, silver light shades, lots of black masking tape, and ducked venting, the air was fragrant.
"How much do you make?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What do you earn a month?"
"Really?"
"What's the figure?"
"5 a month."
"Before tax?"
"Yes. What tax?"
"So, that's what you are going to do with the rest of your life?"
"The rest of my life?"
"Smoke weed and wank on minimum wage?"
"Um... well..."
"Is that going to be enough for you?"
"I dunno? They are not very nice people in the corporate world, that's the problem I’ve come to realise."
"How about if I offered you a chance to run your own business?"
"Are you the employment agency now?"
"Ha ha."
"Run my own business?"
"Yep."
"Why would I want that head ache?"
"For the money and because you wouldn't have to change what you are doing very much."
"Hey Jum, I know I have never run my own business, but from what I hear they are 100 hours a week and prone to losing the owner most of what he has. You know, cunt up..."
"You'd make lots of money."
As I drove home that night smiling, laughing out loud at Jumbos offer. Really? That's what I had an epiphany for, a few years ago to end up selling weed. It's funny how some people must see me. He thinks I'd make a good drug dealer. Really? Is that the level of success that I give off? I was hoping for something a lot more leather clad and looking like an Alfa Romeo than that, let me tell you.
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