I have no idea what the hell is up with today. I’ll skip everything that happened at work, the bizarre goings on after work, and go directly into the gin and domestic violence.
So after the bizarrely fucked up --but entertaining!-- clusterfuck that was my day up until about 7:00pm, I decided I was thirsty. Not just regular thirsty. Gin thirsty. I headed off to the booze store and settled upon some reasonably priced Original Bombay Dry Gin, then rushed home, quite eager to imbibe. None of this Sapphire crap, mind you; I wanted my gin to actually taste like gin.
Enough of that. I was headed home and some woman asked another woman who was near me where Portland Ave was. Well, it turned out Another Woman had no freakin’ idea where it was, and I couldn’t figure out if it’s because she’s just dumb or if she’s full of shit. Seriously, Another Woman was walking her dog, and I can’t imagine she bused in her dog from Chaska (a useless Minnesota suburb) just to walk it in downtown Minneapolis, so how can she not know? Surely she lives in the area. Enough judgment of Another Woman. I chimed in and told Some Woman, “It’s a block thataway. Two blocks tops.”
After answering, I noticed Some Woman seemed to be out of sorts, so I asked, “Are you okay?” She told me she was, but she clearly wasn’t, so I offered to walk her to the street she needed to go to. No biggie considering it is a block away from the street I live on, so it was a pretty simple thing to do for someone without even going out of my way. Then I noticed the red, gaping, fresh wound on the side of her face! Then I asked in a more pressing manner if she were okay. She told me she had just left the hospital, and her eye had to be stitched. What the hell? The story was she just left her boyfriend, and was going to stay with her friend for a while, and needed to go to her friend’s house. When she told me she was leaving her guy I exclaimed, rather stupidly, “So he hit you!” Of course he did. It wasn’t so much a question, or something I needed to confirm, so much as it was me blurting out the (obvious) conclusion that had suddenly dawned on me. Of course! That is why this woman is disoriented and wounded, but I had no idea what happened to her until she told me she left her boyfriend. That’s when I noticed the other side of her face was swollen. “Holy shit,” iI thought, “this was one abusive relationship.”
Then I carpet-bombed her with (very likely intrusive) questions.* All you all right? Did you call the police? Is he in jail? Other than the stitches, you’re okay?*
All right, I’m rambly. Look, she did call the police, and police took her to the hospital, and I think the asshole was arrested, but I didn’t grill her on this. Ultimately, she thought it would be easiest for her to catch a bus or cab on Portland and go up to the cross street she needed to go to, so I offered her a ride. We walked to my apartment, and I gave her a ride. We passed where she meant to go on the first try, so we had to go in circles a bit considering there were one-ways abound where we were, but it wasn’t a problem. Once you’ve decided to drive someone around, spending an extra five minutes getting to the right place isn’t anything worth talking about. Still, she kept apologizing, however, as if it were a big deal. “I’m so sorry” and the whole nine. Look, lady, I has to assure her, it is not pressing on me in any way to have to drive around in a circle for five minutes. Enough.
I hope she’s all right. I really had no idea what to do, so I just gave her a ride to where she needed to go. She thanked me endlessly as if I did some huge, giant thing. I drove someone around in a car for 15 minutes - bfd. And now I’m thinking about her, and couldn’t help but to share.
So yeah, here’s my pointless shit that I’m sharing. Good Monday to you, too.