Prefacing my post. Some other subreddits imagine a lot of posts in r/nosleep to be fiction. What I am posting is 100% nonfiction.
How to begin? I’ve never really shared my story with anyone. Not for lack of people asking though. My ex, my girlfriend, my therapist, my best friend, my dog, countless escorts. No one knows this part of me. I wonder if it’s pride, narcissism, denial, or perhaps hope that keeps me from sharing my life with people. I don’t know the answer. I truly wish I did.
While you don’t know me, there used to be a time, an older version of me that wasn’t a successful Project Manager running big figure tech projects for ubiquitous three, four, and five letter companies. I guess the sixth letter and beyond always eluded me. If you’d acquiesce to story time, then please let me share with you a little about the life I’ve been (un)fortunate to live, when money was a dream and stealing Maruchan ramen from Food Lion was the crime du soup. Crime du jour? Soup du crime? Something like that.
At the tail end of 2004, after years of military boarding school, I found myself on the receiving end of a fistfight with my father. A father, who for said years of military boarding school, wanted nothing to do with me until the day I graduated with top honors, being actively offered officer level enlistment bonuses. Being on the receiving end of a beat down by a patriarchal figure changes something inside of an eighteen year old dude who tends to be book smart instead of street smart.
Following said beatdown, I assessed my options. I could either shove that shit down deep and follow my CO’s recommendations to enlist in the military as an officer orrrr I could say “fuck you” to the kind man who paid for my secondary school education and completely dash his hopes of becoming something he would be proud of.
Clearly I made the right choice.
10 days later I found myself in the small town of Claremont, NC wondering how to fix my broken down POS Ford Astro van. Why a van? I don’t know. When I got my driver’s license, I thought girls would love the van. I scraped every bit of allowance, yard, and student work (i.e. child labor) money just to be able to buy that fucker outright when I turned 16. To be fair, late 20s single moms DID love the van for various reasons. Many, various reasons. But 20 year old college girls did NOT love the van.
I DID love the van. Creepy white paint and all. Perhaps I should have written “Candy” on the side of it? Probably makes it worse that I did give her the name Candy. And before you fucks throw around accusations - there never was any candy in there. So fuck you, I don’t have Michael Jackson tendencies.
The sugar mobile ended up needing an alternator and I was quoted $300 for parts and labor at a very very disreputable shop in Claremont. I assessed my situation. A few pairs of boxers and socks. A pair of jeans. Three dirty tee shirts. A can of Campbell’s tomato soup (it’s the only food source I grabbed before leaving home; fuck you), and a pack and a half of Camel Menthol Lights. Wallet? Maybe 20 bucks in assorted bills. Maybe another 2 in change. Sociables? Just a partial dime bag of something green. Valuables? A watch I got for graduation. Taking the assessment into account, I did the only logical thing.
I sold fucking Candy for 200 bucks to the garage owner.
Looking back, I didn’t even have the title so I don’t know what he did with it. In my mind, I figured I could just buy another car. Back before high speed internet and 3G/4G/5G were everywhere, we had to do our internet surfing on computers. Hell, I didn’t even have a cell phone. FaceTime was about 9 years away. So I did the next best thing - went to to public library, also knows as the public masturbation spot.
In between internet porn that took 5 minutes to load on dial up with muted speakers and some AskJeeves, MapQuest, and this new site called Google, I was able to locate a few relatively cheap vehicles in nearby towns. Zero down! Low payments! No credit minimum! I was hyped to buy a new car so I decided to take my now ripening ass on the bus to the next few towns to purchase myself a vehicle. A Pontiac Sunfire in fact! Why a Pontiac Sunfire?
Only my 18/19 year old idiot self knows. Current me doesn’t even remember the why.
A short trip to Conover, and another slightly longer trip to Hickory, proved that 200 bucks, no credit, no job, and body odor stronger than Mike Tyson cannot buy you a car. But dropping 8 credit apps in a day can fuck your credit if you have none. Did I know? Absolutely not. Did I care? What the fuck do you think? Was I upset? Gee, take a guess.
I ugly man cried for at least a few hours before I got too hungry to care about a vehicle.
Speaking of hungry, remember when Burger King used to do their 2 for $3 deals? No? How old are you fucking children? Well, that deal is the sole reason I took the next ratty, black smoke billowing bus back to Claremont. The kind of bus where you’re sure at least one passenger has long died, missed their stop, and is in a state of decomposition. The kind of bus that almost makes the D.A.R.E. “lessons” real. The kind of bus where sitting at the back near the bathroom is NOT the worst spot to sit. Yeah, THAT kind of bus.
But hunger is a powerful force. Sometimes I wonder if anyone remembers the homeless guy with the ripped up Jansport backpack who showed up to that Burger King off I-40 and would only buy the two Whoppers for $3. Every day. Repeatedly. For like two months. Rain or shine. Random mugging or not. If they do, they’re probably not on Reddit. You fuckers are.
So yep - for a couple months my daily routine was to sleep in until 11 in the morning, “brush” my teeth with a fern branch (no, not because I was poor - I just liked the taste of chlorophyll), trek the 1000 feet to the Burger King from under the I-40 overpass, buy my two Whoppers, trek the 1000 feet back, eat one in the afternoon, and then one in the evening. Preferably after spanking the monkey, but sometimes before if I felt daring. Interestingly enough, I once got a handy from a girl who worked there. It wasn’t pleasant. I’ve had much better handies since then. But that’s neither here nor there.
The burger bridge troll routine went on for a couple months until I met someone - a friend who introduced me, very adamantly, to the rental showers at the Pilot truck stop down the interstate. They even paid for my soap and shower. This kind, brave, gentle soul (who would later be convicted of possession of CP) would also guide me to find temp jobs, offer me a rental room, introduce me to a decade long addiction known as WoW, and make me sit in a corner and watch while he and his girlfriend went at it.
I’ll never forget you G. For more reasons than you could possibly imagine.
Why am I posting this? I don’t know. I’ve lived a weird life full of rights, wrongs, gaming, murder, alcoholism, love, heartbreak, and the best 5 person orgy ever. Three girls, two guys. Recently, I’ve been thinking I might be coming to the end of it. I guess one story is as good as another, so why not put mine out there? At the very least, I know I’m not Kanye’ing myself out of a job here. At best, I hope my words and life story can be as entertaining for you as it has been for me.
I don’t know if you want to hear more, or even cared to read this post. But I’m willing to keep on posting as long as you’ll keep on reading. There’s a chance someone, somewhere, will read this and think that a part of this is about them. They’re probably right (fuck you M for giving up on me right before I made it). But I won’t ever share names, personal details, or identifying information. I WILL, however, share locations of where these events happened. And if YOU happen to read this, then FUCK YOU. And you KNOW why.
Yours,
T