Somehow, my consciousness had gotten into the body of a person I used to know when I was in high school. His name was Lang, except now my mind was in his body instead of his. I was tall now and I don't know if it was him or that I was not used to a tall man's body, but I was clumsy. I tried to not move around too fast and I kept quiet because although I had tried to explain the situation to others, I figured they probably thought I was crazy or was just trying to fool them. Since he was not even from my culture, I did not know how to act like him either, I couldn't even speak his language. Walking along the path at school with Lang's friends, many of which I also knew when I was myself, I wondered how long this situation would last.
Later at Lang's home, I was having even more trouble. A family has its own pace. Members instinctively know how to fit in and what to do. The pace here was totally different than where I had grown up. An old auntie was making fun of how I didn't apparently know how to use the dry erase board, but the pen had gone dry and was not marking sufficiently, how was that my fault I wondered? I was irritated with her but I didn't say anything. I had become a very quiet and depressed person. I didn't know any of the people around me. Although I had known many of Lang's friends as myself, their relationship with him was different and now I felt cut off from them.
Thinking about it further, I realized sexually, I was still attracted to men even though I was a man now. That would mean as a man, I would be a gay man, an added problem for fitting into society, and I didn't think Lang's family would handle it well either. Looking around, the chairs seemed so small now and the room so closed in, I was a big man now and in comparison, everything seemed so much smaller. I realized I would have to move out soon and live on my own. I wasn't going to be able to fit in here. It felt almost claustrophobic.
Someone came over to visit, he was an older African American, which confused me a bit because Lang's family was Asian. The man teased me that I must have stayed up all night playing around if I was only now just waking up. I said, "Why, what time is it?" and he said, "3:30PM."
I was shocked it could be so late! So much so that I didn't believe him. I roamed around the house looking for clocks and they verified what he said. What did we do last night? I couldn't remember. But I realized I would be late getting products shipped by 5PM for work. Today's buyers would have to wait until tomorrow for their items if I didn't hurry, but how to get to work? Somehow I had gone from issues of a high schooler to work issues of the current time frame. Where was I exactly? I tried to think about work but couldn't even remember my vendors. What if I couldn't source my product, how would I make my living? I was getting more confused and anxious by the second. I worked hard to convince myself it would work out somehow, just as it always does in the end.
Then I woke up in my bed. Still worried about time, I checked my clock but it was still early in the morning. I was so relieved!
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Scam
A nearly priceless collection of antique jewelry, now finally up for sale. This one piece especially, medallions of a hardened clay like substance with painted spiral designs strung into a necklace harking back from before history began, was an artifact that few in this world could afford to possess. In these hard times, an outgoing and charming middle aged couple, my patrons, finally had to sell some of their heirloom pieces. Or at least that is what they had been telling people.
I admired their technique, I really did. Even now, as their target couple walked towards the door, they acted nonchalant, but just as their victims were nearly gone, mumbling to eachother that it was a big purchase and they should discuss it with their family first, one of my patrons whispered loudly to the other that it was fine because that OTHER lady had been quite interested in that piece as well and would be visiting later in that same day. My patron's delivery was so perfect and so well timed, as if she had only been whispering to her husband and it was only an accident that her whisper had been just barely audible to the other couple. Of course the other couple immediately hesitated at the doorway.
"Well now wait a minute.." said our victim as she started to turn back towards my patrons. At that, I knew the hook had been sunk. It was only a matter of time now for them to be reeled in. And it would be weeks if not years before they ever found out that the priceless artifact they bought at a bargain price was actually a forgery, done by a skilled artisan of course, but in much more modern times. By that time, my patrons and I would have long since moved on.
My work here was done. I had made the flawless fakes and acted the part of the knowledgeable expert and my patrons had used their connections and certificates of authenticity from the true originals to scam millions off of their victims. I had already recieved my percentage of payment for most of those sales. This sale was the only one left, but I would not be waiting around for my payment.
I knew my patrons would be busy now making their final pitch and milking those last few dollars off of these last juicy victims. Meanwhile, I took that time to make one last swap. One last forgery swapped for one last original and now it was time for me to make my hasty retreat. For I had made not just one forgery for each antique, but instead I had made two. One forgery went to the buyers and, although my patrons had not yet realized it, the other forgery had been given back to my patrons. My patrons thought they retained the originals, but instead I would end up with all of them. It would be weeks if not years before they ever found out, and by that time, I would have long since moved on..
I admired their technique, I really did. Even now, as their target couple walked towards the door, they acted nonchalant, but just as their victims were nearly gone, mumbling to eachother that it was a big purchase and they should discuss it with their family first, one of my patrons whispered loudly to the other that it was fine because that OTHER lady had been quite interested in that piece as well and would be visiting later in that same day. My patron's delivery was so perfect and so well timed, as if she had only been whispering to her husband and it was only an accident that her whisper had been just barely audible to the other couple. Of course the other couple immediately hesitated at the doorway.
"Well now wait a minute.." said our victim as she started to turn back towards my patrons. At that, I knew the hook had been sunk. It was only a matter of time now for them to be reeled in. And it would be weeks if not years before they ever found out that the priceless artifact they bought at a bargain price was actually a forgery, done by a skilled artisan of course, but in much more modern times. By that time, my patrons and I would have long since moved on.
My work here was done. I had made the flawless fakes and acted the part of the knowledgeable expert and my patrons had used their connections and certificates of authenticity from the true originals to scam millions off of their victims. I had already recieved my percentage of payment for most of those sales. This sale was the only one left, but I would not be waiting around for my payment.
I knew my patrons would be busy now making their final pitch and milking those last few dollars off of these last juicy victims. Meanwhile, I took that time to make one last swap. One last forgery swapped for one last original and now it was time for me to make my hasty retreat. For I had made not just one forgery for each antique, but instead I had made two. One forgery went to the buyers and, although my patrons had not yet realized it, the other forgery had been given back to my patrons. My patrons thought they retained the originals, but instead I would end up with all of them. It would be weeks if not years before they ever found out, and by that time, I would have long since moved on..
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Tips are Where It's At
I was telling the man that I didn't think he should be doing this kind of job, hanging around with these kinds of people. He was a tall lanky Polish looking caucasian, with short cropped hair and a slight but perpetual forward stoop, as if it his head was too heavy for his body and was continually overbalancing him. Even now as he stood talking to me, he looked down at the pavement.
"I have to do it because tips are where it's at," he said to me. "Tips are were all the money is. Without tips there's nothing really. You got nothing. So I have to do it this way," he said with a sort of dejected defiance.
I looked around at all the widely spaced cars spread out on the pavement. Here, space was plentiful and cheap. No need to be frugal with space. In the dark night, I couldn't see much beyond the pavement platter of cars, but I had the feeling that south western style desert surrounded us with sand, cactus, and the occasional outcrop of weathered sandstone. Above me towered a covered carport type of construction, similar to those you find at gas stations. Several flood lights were strung on its edges, attracting clouds of whining insects.
A cluster of men were assembled around one of the cars. Sniggering and drinking, they lounged against the car or the carport, some of them staggering at times to keep upright. They were a surly bunch. Disagreements flared up regularly intermixed with ringing raucous laughter.
Eventually, one of the men threw a shot glass at another's feet and exploding glass shards sparkled in the reflected light. Angry and confused, the victem threw his own glass at the car. Just then, the man I had been talking with earlier stalked into the middle of the group and demanded to know what was they were doing to his car. Behind him, one of the drunk men calmly picked up a long handled axe and expertly swung it over his head and struck down with a sick thunking noise directly onto the back of the car owner's neck.
The scene changed. It was daytime now as I gazed on a small house with a peaked tar gravel roof. Near the chimney, a man cowered on this roof, attempting to hide. The cops had already seen him be he pretended not to hear their shouts to come down. Eventually, they put ladders on the side of the red wood house and reached up to the man's leg and pulled him down.
He did not resist. In fact, he relaxed. The chase was over and there was something he wanted to say. "It was Wayne SoandSo (I forget the actual last name he used)," he said without any prompting. He had wanted to say it all along but he hadn't wanted to get himself implicated. But now that he was already caught, he could finally get it off his chest with confidence. He wanted the real murderer to be known. Everyone knew Wayne anyway and nobody was surprised. He would be easy to find. The only question was, would the charges stick?
"I have to do it because tips are where it's at," he said to me. "Tips are were all the money is. Without tips there's nothing really. You got nothing. So I have to do it this way," he said with a sort of dejected defiance.
I looked around at all the widely spaced cars spread out on the pavement. Here, space was plentiful and cheap. No need to be frugal with space. In the dark night, I couldn't see much beyond the pavement platter of cars, but I had the feeling that south western style desert surrounded us with sand, cactus, and the occasional outcrop of weathered sandstone. Above me towered a covered carport type of construction, similar to those you find at gas stations. Several flood lights were strung on its edges, attracting clouds of whining insects.
A cluster of men were assembled around one of the cars. Sniggering and drinking, they lounged against the car or the carport, some of them staggering at times to keep upright. They were a surly bunch. Disagreements flared up regularly intermixed with ringing raucous laughter.
Eventually, one of the men threw a shot glass at another's feet and exploding glass shards sparkled in the reflected light. Angry and confused, the victem threw his own glass at the car. Just then, the man I had been talking with earlier stalked into the middle of the group and demanded to know what was they were doing to his car. Behind him, one of the drunk men calmly picked up a long handled axe and expertly swung it over his head and struck down with a sick thunking noise directly onto the back of the car owner's neck.
The scene changed. It was daytime now as I gazed on a small house with a peaked tar gravel roof. Near the chimney, a man cowered on this roof, attempting to hide. The cops had already seen him be he pretended not to hear their shouts to come down. Eventually, they put ladders on the side of the red wood house and reached up to the man's leg and pulled him down.
He did not resist. In fact, he relaxed. The chase was over and there was something he wanted to say. "It was Wayne SoandSo (I forget the actual last name he used)," he said without any prompting. He had wanted to say it all along but he hadn't wanted to get himself implicated. But now that he was already caught, he could finally get it off his chest with confidence. He wanted the real murderer to be known. Everyone knew Wayne anyway and nobody was surprised. He would be easy to find. The only question was, would the charges stick?
Monday, January 19, 2009
Crime and Punishment
I am a man sleeping on a large hunk of burnt orange colored foam about the size of a bed. My goal is to travel out of body and attempt to gather information needed for an investigation of a crime. This is an experiment. We don't know if it will work. But I feel my mind beginning to shift into another state and then I begin to see something.
Now I am a woman in a short skirt bent over a table talking to a man and a woman. They are sitting in what looks like a restaurant, each on opposite sides of a table, settled into booths with high backings that give this area a small feeling of privacy even though the rest of the place is crowded. They are sitting far from the aisle, near the window. Because I am standing in the aisle, I have to bend way over the table to talk to them quietly, but I like doing this. My butt sticks out and I hope this will draw the attention of any men in the room because the feeling of being sexy and desirable pleases me.
We three are guilty of a crime that involved murder and finances and now we are hoping we won't get caught. I am scared but at the same time, the thrill of conspiracy excites me. I am enjoying the feeling of comradery I have towards the man. I also experience inklings of sexual tension and desire for him but I know that it would be unwise to spend too much time with him while they are still investigating our crime. I banter with the man, more for fun than out of necessity. We should not be talking, but I figure a little bit won't hurt and it makes me feel better.
I hear him say to me, "I heard about your upcoming eye surgery." We say several more things and then he says, "I guess you could get your father to take you all around." The last statements hangs in the air because we both know my father is old and infirm and would find such a job difficult.
I am talking mostly with the man but across from him sits a woman who is a lapdog wall flower. She doesn't say much and she doesn't think much other than what people tell her to think. She is also scared, but unlike me, she deals with it by withdrawing into herself. She deals with life moment by moment. Her personality is almost nonexistant and she is timid and so she is quiet. I barely think about her. She's a nonissue.
For his part, the man has a handsome but otherwise ordinary appearance, a light weight light colored jacket, and brown hair. He is trim of build and medium of height and likes to stand with his hands stuck in his pockets. He chats with me now but his attitude towards me has shifted considerably in recent days. I don't realize this but although before the crime he thought of us as partners, now abruptly he is looking at me as a liability and something out of his control. He does not like anything out of his control and he now ponders how convenient it would be if I were out of the picture. He smiles at me while he is trying to think of how to best get rid of me. His nature is pure Machiavellian.
And the scene starts to break up. My concentration is returning to the waking world and I decide this is good. Any longer and I would start to lose concentration and forget my experiences. I wake up again on the burnt orange foam. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. But I am pleased. We won't know if this information will be useful or even accurate, but at least I was able to mentally travel and come back with information that seems interesting. I get up off the bed, shake the sleep from my mind, and consider what I should do next on this day. I take a few steps.
And then the scene starts to break up. I now wake up on my real bed. I am a bit confused. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. I have had another experience but I don't feel like this one is interesting enough for the blog. It's not like the others. I don't think I will post it but I write down the information anyway in case it might be important. Later in the day, I think about it more, change my mind, and write up the story.
Now I am a woman in a short skirt bent over a table talking to a man and a woman. They are sitting in what looks like a restaurant, each on opposite sides of a table, settled into booths with high backings that give this area a small feeling of privacy even though the rest of the place is crowded. They are sitting far from the aisle, near the window. Because I am standing in the aisle, I have to bend way over the table to talk to them quietly, but I like doing this. My butt sticks out and I hope this will draw the attention of any men in the room because the feeling of being sexy and desirable pleases me.
We three are guilty of a crime that involved murder and finances and now we are hoping we won't get caught. I am scared but at the same time, the thrill of conspiracy excites me. I am enjoying the feeling of comradery I have towards the man. I also experience inklings of sexual tension and desire for him but I know that it would be unwise to spend too much time with him while they are still investigating our crime. I banter with the man, more for fun than out of necessity. We should not be talking, but I figure a little bit won't hurt and it makes me feel better.
I hear him say to me, "I heard about your upcoming eye surgery." We say several more things and then he says, "I guess you could get your father to take you all around." The last statements hangs in the air because we both know my father is old and infirm and would find such a job difficult.
I am talking mostly with the man but across from him sits a woman who is a lapdog wall flower. She doesn't say much and she doesn't think much other than what people tell her to think. She is also scared, but unlike me, she deals with it by withdrawing into herself. She deals with life moment by moment. Her personality is almost nonexistant and she is timid and so she is quiet. I barely think about her. She's a nonissue.
For his part, the man has a handsome but otherwise ordinary appearance, a light weight light colored jacket, and brown hair. He is trim of build and medium of height and likes to stand with his hands stuck in his pockets. He chats with me now but his attitude towards me has shifted considerably in recent days. I don't realize this but although before the crime he thought of us as partners, now abruptly he is looking at me as a liability and something out of his control. He does not like anything out of his control and he now ponders how convenient it would be if I were out of the picture. He smiles at me while he is trying to think of how to best get rid of me. His nature is pure Machiavellian.
And the scene starts to break up. My concentration is returning to the waking world and I decide this is good. Any longer and I would start to lose concentration and forget my experiences. I wake up again on the burnt orange foam. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. But I am pleased. We won't know if this information will be useful or even accurate, but at least I was able to mentally travel and come back with information that seems interesting. I get up off the bed, shake the sleep from my mind, and consider what I should do next on this day. I take a few steps.
And then the scene starts to break up. I now wake up on my real bed. I am a bit confused. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. I have had another experience but I don't feel like this one is interesting enough for the blog. It's not like the others. I don't think I will post it but I write down the information anyway in case it might be important. Later in the day, I think about it more, change my mind, and write up the story.
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