From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book
The Rental Paint Job in the North End
This has got to be the most unreal experience I've ever had. It must be some kind of a sick joke. If it is, it must be about the cruelest way of trying to keep people away from me. To think they spread a rumor around is in such a fashion -- is just un-imaginable. If was true, I'd think I should've been told first.
A powerful mark has been made in my life and my lifestyle has changed drastically. It seams like the world around me is no longer the same as it used to be. I pray to God that this is just my imagination. I bet it's nothing but a strike by dark spirits and just an effort to try to trick me into committing suicide.
Instead, I am keeping my focus on God, because he has given me a mission in life. This life is a gift and it’s been a great life to witness as it has unfolded before me. I feel I'm creating and leaving a major mark in history. It’s a blessing to have a life as interesting as mine. My faith in God has been so strong, it has helped me overcome many obstacles already and I feel he has much more for me to do. He has blessed me by making me someone so special and I can't even imagine a life more interesting than the one I have been living for the past few years.
Instead of looking back, I would rather look forward. Spending time writing this book only makes me inflamed and at times it’s been real hard on me as well. I want to build great trucks, not write lousy books. I feel like I'm only making the crooks famous by writing about them. But I'm stuck doing this because it seems like the only way I can beat the corruption that has me tied down in poverty. This book provides me a way to combat the phony rumors they spread around everywhere I go.
I have never seen anything like this on television or in books. It is so unusual a guy with a family wouldn’t survive the game because it has been just plain fabricated misery. I feel there has to be other people out there who know more about things that have been going on around me, than I do. I feel the idea of writing a book is something that could only get me in trouble at this time. (Fall of 1996.) The people who know more about what's going on than I do, probably can't set aside the idea about writing a book about me. And the people who have access to the information that I don't, must be thinking about the profits they could make from such a informative story. I bet it feels like something burning a hole in their pocket while they think about the things they could buy with the cash. Of course they will find themselves stuck with Stupid Rule No. 22, because they would most likely be the crooks involved. If they happen to think they can make money off the information, they're most likely wrong because they would probably find themselves in prison for committing conspiracy. Being convicted of such a crime they wouldn't be able to make any profit from the crimes they have committed.
A book written about the things I don't know would only spark the public’s interest in experiences I've had from the receiving end of the corruption. Even more interesting would be what I would have to say about it in my own words. Reading about the experiences as they have unfolded would be of more interest to the general public than the information the crooks could provide, if they could. Therefore a book deal is inevitable, so it is essential for me to write this book as a back-up plan for achieving the wealth I deserve. The purpose of this book, as well as my journal, is to mark my property of literary rights. I'm sure I can become wealthy just because of who I am because of the things I've done. But on the other hand, I'd rather profit from my inventions than profit from writing about the hell they have put me through. After experiencing the invasion of privacy over the years, I'd rather keep my life private, but I realize that isn't possible.
Though it was the second original segment of my book, you may have guessed this part was originally written at the time when I heard the phony rumor that I was dying of AIDS. It was quite strange the way they orchestrated it.
Lets step back in time so you know the where the origin of the paint job came from. Knowing about the origin might help you generate a few questions about the whole experience.
I got the job painting septic tanks for a construction company by one of the mangers who just happened to be part owner of the company also. He was a repeat customer of mine and at the company we refer to him as "The Janitor". Well, The Janitor only owned about 15% of the company, but the founder, "Boss Man" owned much more.
Let’s say we're back in the days when I was out working on a batch of tanks in back acreage of the company yard. Well out there it's just me and the flies that like the smell of composting. Out in the back lot it’s either very dusty or muddy and the only guys I'd normally see were my buddies who drove around the loaders, moving compost from one place to another. After I'd been working on my contraption for several months, I showed up one day with it pretty well hammered out. I unloaded the “P-bed” and parked my truck out of the traffic of the loaders and upwind from where my paint overspray would blow. My truck looked so cool with its rear end backed into a corner of mountainous piles of compost. It looked cool with the tall ten foot high stainless steel exhaust pipe sticking strait up and aluminum rear fenders protruding out from the sides.
To my surprise, Boss Man had taken a drive out back in the stinky place with his spiffy clean SUV. As I was taking a rest, sitting on the toolbox on front of the P-Bed, he drove by me as he headed back towards the shop area. As he past my truck I saw in the reflection of his rearview mirror. He has a big smile on his face. I was sure it wasn't the smell of composting and flies causing him to smile. At the time I thought it was a sense of pride he had for his painter, but now days I have to wonder.
As it turned out, the Boss Man promoted himself to semi-retirement and moved to another state. He rented a small house in the north end of Tacoma to keep handy for the one week every month when he would be back in Tacoma to assist in running the company. The Janitor called me and asked me to meet him there. Once I arrived he said, "Paint it."
Servicemen such as the phone and gas man would come and go, so I dropped my P-bed of in the upper drive way and parked my truck out on the road. It was obvious people thought the bed was pretty cool, but I think the Janitor was the only one who said it was to me. Everyone else was doing their best to act like they didn’t even notice it, but I wasn’t around, I bet they couldn’t stop talking about it.
While I was painting the interior of the rental house, met a German cleaning lady and a younger man who said they worked for the Boss Man. The young man said he was the Boss Man's assistant. That is if Boss Man really had an assistant at all be-cause I'd never seen him around prior to that day. Also while working on the house, I met the owner of the rental. Somehow, they used these people to play the game on me and I'm still not sure if these people were aware they were participating in it or not.
None one of these people asked me about my truck in detail, but I was sure the owner of the house was informed about me somehow because I heard parts of the conversation he and the assistant had about it. It was obvious when I heard the landlord say, "It's his." and "No, not yet. He has to turn over the goods first." It was my guess he was talking about the patent-ability of my truck and whether it was public or not.
I could tell I was even watched and reported on by a cable guy working for the city. He showed up twice that day and I heard him converse over a walkie-talkie while he was up on a telephone pole about the fact that I had the bed off and my truck parked out on the side of the road and mentioned how nice it looked.
I thought: You fool, you gawk about it, but you do nothing about the fact that you're stuck working out of an obsolete truck.
I think the game was to have me overhear the cleaning lady say she was afraid of being close to me. Though I'm not sure if she was in on the gag or not, I'd think if she wasn't involved, she would have saved her conversation for later when I wasn't around and not just in another room where she couldn’t overheard by me.
A question to think about is: Did the landlord instigate the actions by clueing the assistant of the rumors and the assistant relayed the rumors to the cleaning lady?
I can't say whether, The Janitor, or The Big Guy was in on the game either, but it has to be something we can think about.
When I got home and wrote this part of my book on how I felt about what was going on around me. By time I sat down in front of my computer that night was pretty sure the rumor was just an effort to see if I would commit suicide. The next day I confirmed that it had to be some kind of gag when I walked into a paint store and a gal I had known for several years was wearing a dust mask. From that day on, for several weeks, everywhere I went I'd hear people say, "That's too bad." However the rumors eventually died off eventually. .
The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:
A Free Man
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The Rental Paint Job in the North End
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