Monday, November 2, 2015

Blasting a Bum (UPDATED)

UPDATE: Since I am commanded to not seek vengeance on those who do me wrong, I have deleted the name of the person who is the subject of this post. I won't delete the post, however. That's not my way.

ORIGINAL: I am a fool. Or maybe it’s just that I believe in helping when a person needs help—just as many of you believe. When we do this, gratitude and communication are usually enough payback—unless specifics are promised. Then, if the unforeseen occurs and the payback can't happen, talk to me and tell me what's happening! Sh*t happens; that I know.

With one person, what happened to me is quite different; and I let it happen and didn't want to talk about it because of embarrassment. Well, this morning I'm purple-faced with rage, and it has wiped the embarrassment clean away.

For me, it’s like this: you get chance, after chance, after chance for a long time. Then when I’m done taking your crap, it’s over. And I might kick you on the way out—especially if you have kicked me.

One particular person has.

I’ve told this story to several people. However, the reason I’m putting it out to the public was this morning’s incredible arrogance.

I had what I thought was a friend since 2009. He is a construction worker and he did a lot of work on my old house. We also helped each other out when needed. We were nothing but friends. And he is a Christian.

Back in 2012, when I bought a car—a 2007 PT Cruiser--for straight cash, this guy went with me to pick it out. When his truck was repossessed, I would let him borrow the car for work. Finally, when he and his roommate were about to be evicted from their apartment, he asked me to take a loan out on my car to help with a month’s rent. Foolishly, I did.

I had an inkling that I might lose my house but I had taken comfort that, under those circumstances, I would have my car to get where I needed to go, and, if need be, to sleep in. More than once, I told this to my so-called friend before I took out the loan. He assured me that he would pay it back and he also admonished me for repeating my concerns.

He paid the loan back for several months (it wasn’t the only loan I made to him). Then, in June 2014 he disappeared and I haven’t heard from him since then, though I’ve sent many emails to him. I lost my car the following month.

Since the repossession of the car, I have corresponded three times with the former roommate, which is how I know that the “friend” is not dead. For a year, I kept my mouth shut to her about the car, but I got tired of no one being considerate enough to merely communicate or pass along a message. (Dealing with long public transportation commutes has not helped my mood either.) So I told her what happened. That was this year, a few months back.

Then, this morning, after I emailed the roommate to ask if our mutual acquaintance was still alive, I received this:
Yes. He doesn't want to hear from you anymore. Please don't email me.
Thousands of dollars—and I still owe some money on the car. And these people know that I was in a homeless facility for months.

Worse than lack of communication is the incredible scum-baggery—psychopathology—displayed above. And then there's the cowardice. The "man" can't even tell me this himself.

__________, born 4/29/1965, you are a piece of shit—a liar, a thief, and a coward. You don’t like what I say here? Sue me or have me killed. I don’t give a damn.

God will surely contact you. Enjoy.

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!


og said...

The fact that you would put yourself in harms way to help a friend is all about you being a good person. That person being a dirtbag isn't helpful, but it in no way diminishes the good that you did, unselfishly. That dirtbag will always be a dirtbag, I imagine, where you are, past, present, and future, a better person.

Juliette Ochieng said...

Part I left out: kept trying to do a writing collaboration, but he kept flaking (I edited his stories). The good part: I still have them.