Meet Gary

The Story of a Friend

My friend Gary is what my BB would call a city boy. He has lived in Midtown, Kansas City his entire life. He wears his bleeding liberal heart on his sleeve. Votes Bernie no question. Describes voting for Biden as holding his nose. He doesn’t like Republicans, and thinks Donald Trump is evil.

            You can’t say the man hasn’t had an interesting life. He was a racial minority at his inner-city school in the seventies. Survival entailed mastery over the laws of comedy. Gary had to be funny because he was never a big man, and he’s not the world’s most physical guy. BB would say he’s a little light in the loafers. He pulls no punches when it comes to laughs though. People told him they were scared of him and his gang at the high school reunion, because they were so effective at mockery. You’ve heard of the black friends card? Gary had black friends ask him and his comedic opposite to do the “Blackman and Tarbaby” routine. Teenagers, amirite?

            In the 80s the Jackson Five came to town on a reunion tour. Before the show they went to the movie theater where Gary worked. Jermaine Jackson, dressed in a red leather stage suit and sporting a large pair of sunglasses, was causing quite the scene. A large crowd had congregated in the lobby to admire the star. Gary was forced to tell Jermaine Jackson, “excuse me sir, you are creating a disturbance, I need to clear this lobby.”

            Jermaine lowered his sunglasses, and said, “do you know who I am?”

            Gary replied, “I know exactly who you are Mr. Jackson, but this is a public business, and you are creating a disturbance.”

            Jermaine raised his sunglasses up by pressing the bridge with his middle finger. Jermaine Jackson had just given Gary the finger for doing his job at the movie theater.

            Later that night, Gary was taking out the trash when sure enough, the Jackson Five’s tour bus was parked out back. Lo and behold, stepping off the bus, wearing a fedora and trench coat, the world’s absolute worst disguise, was none other than Michael Jackson himself.

            Since Gary is a fellow pasty ass motherfucker his first thought was, “wow this guy knows Paul McCartney.” Remember when that was a healthy friendship everyone?

            As Michael was stepping off the bus, he tripped over his own feet and fell. Gary laughed. Gary wasn’t laughing at the person falling, which is a perfectly natural thing to laugh at in its own right. Gary was laughing at the fact that this is a celebrity famous for his talents as a dancer, and the one-time Gary runs into Michael on the street, he trips.

            Of course, all poor Michael heard was Gary laughing at him. He looked at Gary with eyes as big as dinner plates before dashing into the theater incognito.

            “Man, Michael Jackson turned out to be a creep,” I told Gary the other night.

            “You can’t judge him to harshly,” Gary replied.

            “Why not?” came my trademark sarcasm.

            “Well, his dad was a fucking asshole, if I had a dad like that, I’d have problems too,” my friend concluded. Gary knows what he’s talking about in this area. His dad was a cop.

            It pains me to say that Gary is just about the worst businessman I have ever laid eyes on. This guy couldn’t make money if they were giving it away. I know because I’ve seen him spend money that the government gives away. There’s no judgement, as I spend money my family gives away. I’m just saying, when it comes to economics, call someone else.

            Gary is the kind of guy that thinks a whole bunch of student loan debt to become a chiropractor is a get rich quick scheme. Somewhere along the way he forgot that chiropractic, properly done, is work, and that businesses, even medical ones, are at times cutthroat. Gary is too sweet a guy to be cutthroat. He’ll make fun of the way you look, but he won’t screw you over.

            So, Gary’s dilemma is that he’s going to be in debt forever, and he’s in a struggling business he only entered for the money. He’s sixty, so it isn’t like he can just start fresh, or at least it’s that way in his mind and it’s starting to be that way in his body as well. I’m thirty and I’m starting to mature enough to see that aging isn’t all dignity and grace.

            I would be lying if I said that part of the problem wasn’t Gary’s tendency to get in his own way. Gary wants to invent everything, because at heart Gary is a creative. It’s not enough for Gary to run a Chiropractic Clinic, Gary has to run one out of a truck as mobile unit. The idea didn’t work out.

            Once when Gary posted an ad for his mobile chiropractic clinic on Craig’s List it was answered by a guy who took off all of his clothes when the time came to measure him. Gary asked the man to put his clothes back on, and the man said he just wanted to make sure it was an accurate weighing. When Gary asked the man to get on the table, he began undressing once more. Gary asked him once more to get dressed. The man said, “I don’t appreciate this kind of service!” and walked away.

            I asked Gary if was really so dumb as to think he had picked up a chiropractic client, as opposed to a John. He said, “well I could have used the money…I mean I have my price, we all have our price, but I just wanted sixty bucks to crack his back.” My wife Jessica and I agreed that five thousand with a condom was reasonable. Gary wanted to haggle over the price.

            I gave Gary the cash my family gave me this Christmas. He didn’t want to take it, but I insisted. I told him this was the kind of money Republicans pass out at parties as I handed it to him. Gary need the money more than I did, and it seemed in the spirit of the season. Gary gave me a book called The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. I told him I would read it, and of course we would talk about it. Gary thinks everyone should read this book he thinks this is the book the world needs.

             I wish Gary cared more about his own interests. I wish he was open to the idea that running a business is as compassionate an idea as charity in the interests of the economy. I could say the same thing about myself, I gave this guy all my Christmas cash, and he’ll probably buy a guitar with it. I want to give him Milton Friedman and Adam Smith, because I think that is what would help him the most. Gary wouldn’t be Gary if he had learned these things any earlier, and I can drive myself crazy thinking about all of the things that could, should, or would be for my friend. At the risk of reducing this story to mere sentimentality, perhaps it is the best we can do to accept one another as we are and love each other anyway.