With Gusto

Victory. . . is mine!

I saw one of my most hated ex-co-workers the other day, in front of Welburn's. Steve was his name, and he had a large rottweiler, Sheba, who's friendly to people but rude to dogs.
Steve, Sheba and I used to drive around in a truck together, going from one house to the next mowing lawns and gardening. Should've been a great job. Steve was average height, had long greasy black hair tied in a pony tail, a salt-and-pepper beard. He wore plaid, black pants, and a ball-cap with a net on the back. He lived with prostitutes in the ghetto, had a daughter addicted to junk.
I felt sympathetic for him, at first. Then he started bumming money off me for smokes. Then he wouldn't train me, or if he did, he would always correct me on something and tell me a new way to do it. So I'd mow the lawn one way, he'd tell me all the weird shit that he'd never seen anybody do, then tell me a new way, then another new way. In the truck all Steve did was complain about the boss, how the boss didn't know how to run a company, how the boss didn't do whatever, and I knew that when the day ended, he'd be off complaining to someone about me. Usually I rolled down the window and ate to tune him out as he went on.
Sheba was a good dog. She had a thick black and brown hide. If her leash got tangled up around a post or something, she could maneuver and untangle herself and then prance around looking for pets. But if another dog came up, she'd try to kill it. After I left, Steve got fired. . . he'd contracted Hep C (doing blow with hookers) and he owed the boss a shit-load of money. Plus he was fucking one of the boss's tenants so he could have another place to crash and he was involved with minor-organized crime: when it got dark, he drove the company truck downtown and picked up stolen bikes. Eventually he was caught and the truck was impounded. Steve had a lot to complain about, but he was basically given a truck, a cell phone to use at all times and dental was on the way.
So J. and I were exiting Wellburn's and I saw some skeevy looking dude with a dog on the sidewalk. He started shouting at me, "Hey. . . hey. . . hey . . HEY! I know you! I used to be your boss! Come back here, I used to be your boss! I KNOW YOU! Come back here!" His dog started barking. He was never my boss. Joy and I kept walking.