THE WYMAN WEEKLY

Underemployed. Unattached. Unimpressed.

Issue 18 July 3,1996

 

 

 

Lines form on my face and my hands / Lines form on the left and right - A. Cooper

 

YOUR AMOCO CREDIT CARD - DON’T LEAVE HOME WITHOUT IT!

 

I’m downtown (that would be Minneapolis) getting my allergy shot or actually not getting my allergy shot as the clinic closed earlier than their little card they gave me promised, so I head to the liquor store to get some beer and do so and then I get out to my car to go to another liquor store to get more beer (this whole multiple liquor stores deal will all make sense soon, I promise) and the mighty Mustang sleeper hatchback doesn’t start. Shit.

 

Now, the ironic thing here is that I’m in Surdyk’s parking lot with a car that won’t start and the whole reason I went to Surdyk’s in the first place was to get some beer for Mikey. Mikey, or my dad as you might also know him, is retired and spends his summers up north at the Lake manicuring his lawn, feeding the birds, fishing, golfing and pounding that Budweiser. And now that liquor stores are able to advertise their prices in the paper, he reads the Strib looking for the best price on Bud and then relays the info to yours truly so I can save him money - fixed income and all that, right? It’s funny, I’ll be sitting in the cabin reading or writing and Mikey sits over in the corner with his paper and all I hear is “you drink Pabst? MGM has it for $9.99 a case! ... you a Grain Belt Premium man? G. Will Liquors has it for $5.89 a twelve box! ... you like that Rolling Rock don’t you? Surdyk’s has it for $11.99 a twenty-four box!” and so on and so on until I remind him I’m drinking the Grain Belt regulations for $7.59 a case and dare him to top that price. Anyway, Surdyk’s has Bud for $10.99 a flat and I’ll do anything for my dad, especially since he always has some Buds sitting in an ice-cold cooler for me when I get to the Lake on Friday nights. But Mikey (and here comes the irony) was the same guy who told me the problem with my car was an electrical one and not a major concern and now the car won’t start so I call a tow truck and they come out and jump start it and I take it to the service station and they tell me I need a new battery. But I won’t give dad too much shit as he’s the man who taught me things like how to make the best fucking popcorn in the world, how to nail those crappies left and right, how to call a time out (just like the pros!) when things are getting to heated or chaotic, and how to get warm beer ice cold in ten minutes.

 

So I’m sitting at the Amoco station downtown (that would be Minneapolis) waiting for my new battery (or bat’ry as Mikey would say) to be installed and the guy behind the counter starts bullshitting with me. Or not so much bullshiting as just commenting on his job in general. And he’s cracking me up. And as I look like a trusting soul, he heads outside to grab a smoke and leaves me in charge of the counter. Then he pops back in and says don’t steal anything, which is funny because I was just eyeing down a package of those Grandma’s Chocolate Chocolate Chip cookies so I go outside to keep him company being the friend of the working man that I am and while I’m sitting out on the curb outside the store’s door some rich boomer from Bloomington (I’m guessing) pulls up in a white Acura with his overrated wife and manages to park said sports car exactly in the most optimal point where if he wanted his exhaust to blow in my face it would. Boomer Fuck could care less about Wyman just sitting there minding his own business and he walks right by me like I wasn’t there but how could he not notice me with my I GOT BENT IN DENT tee-shirt and University of Helsinki at Denver hat on? Yeah, enjoy my FICA payments you asshole. Then just as I’m starting to feel guilty about hating this guy some little dolly pulls up in an extremely old BMW with a REV105 and pro-choice bumper stickers on and she gets out and she’s wearing this darling little skirt and sweater and sandals, no makeup, and a real nice smile for me. What she’s also wearing is a boyfriend/lover/maybe-just-a-good-friend who’s sporting a REV105 tee-shirt (okay I get the point!) and the worst haircut since Jay Farrar. He’s dropping his car off to get it fixed and they talk to my buddy the counter guy and then they leave and she doesn’t smile at me anymore.

 

My car gets fixed and with minutes to spare (time = 7:47 pm) I head to the Liquor Depot (liquor store #2 for you folks keeping score) and get that Grain Belt - because Surdyk’s wasn’t stocking it, talk about overrated - except ANOTHER GODDAMN BOOMER is holding up my line as he’s trying to pass an out-of-state check to buy $250.00 (seriously) worth of wine. And then he starts whining (pun intended) because the manager has to approve it, but the way cool alternachick behind the counter with a great tan, brown and blonde hair, and more spunk than you could imagine processes my Belt/Schlitz order and the last I saw of the wine guy he was in his minivan looking for a second form of ID.

 

I get home and proceed to carry ninety-two beers into my apartment. They were all warm. Thank goodness reserves were in the fridge.

 

ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL ...

 

Been reading in the papers about Minneapolis’ finest hassling the punks who hang out around the Lake-Hennepin intersection. The kids panhandle and some of the merchants don’t like it and according to the articles the cops and kids don’t like each other at all. I saw in my community paper where this huge cop used a stun gun on this one girl who was smaller than me even. My solution? Easy! Put a goddamn doughnut shop somewhere in Uptown so the cops can get their fix! There is not one Mister Donut or Bosa’s or the like where our law enforcement officials can park themselves and chill out. It’s a universal law that cops need doughnuts - I remember back in Grand Forks we’d drive by the Mister Donut on Washington and the bet would be how many cop cars there’d be parked outside. Doughnuts = more cop compassion. It’s that simple.

 

Speaking of Mpls’ finest, I just realized that I moved into the city just in time to help pay that $1.7 million that we taxpayers owe because of stupid fuckers like Mike Sauro.

 

WASN’T HE NIXON’S BUDDY?

 

Dear God: thank you so much for sending the Reverend Billy Graham to our fair city. No, I didn’t go out and see the Reverend speak. Yeah, I know it was free. But why go see him when both of our metropolitan dailies covered it so thoroughly? Every day it was Billy Graham this, Billy Graham that. And on and on where I started to think that maybe this guy was like maybe an elected official or someone who actually has something to do with my actual life, but then I got to the part where the Strib and the Press wanted me to send them money for their commemorative books and I realized the whole thing was a crock of shit.

 

One other thing: after hearing all the hype about Graham putting more people in the Dome than a Super Bowl or a World Series I offer this - 1) his form of entertainment was free 2) sporting events have to leave wide open seating areas open for playing the games 3) Kirby’s home run in Game Six of the ‘91 Series was as close to heaven as I’ll ever get.