Homeless veteran and Krispy Kreme Donut

Nov. 7, 2005
by Andy Lei


Last Thursday night, I played racquetball with some coworkers in our basement gym, so I stayed late until about 8:30pm. Outside my office, I waited for the light before walking to the bus stop across the street. I was carrying a Krispy Kreme box with a sandwich and a donut. One black fellow approached and asked me politely, “You gonna finish that box?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Oh… please, sir. Can I rely on your kindness?”

I opened up the box to give him the remaining donut.

“Oh, no… I can’t eat that!” He declared. Perhaps, he was diabetic, like the doorman. (I had given him couple of donuts just a few minutes earlier. He said he probably shouldn’t eat it, but would accept them anyway.)

So, I offered him the chicken sandwich, instead.

“From the 173rd, I salute you!” He raised his right hand to above his right eye, smiled and saluted me. He was wearing a Ford racing cap, brown coat and dark shoes. He had a thin beard and several gaps in his front teeth. I smelled alcohol on his breath.

“You were in the service?” I asked him.

“Still am! I just returned three months ago from Iraq.” He proudly informed me of his service from 1979-1991 and 1994. “I’ve been to Germany, Koh-rea, Japan…”
“My name is Aries Bond. Aries like the Goddess. Bond like James Bond. The ladies love it!”

“I worked in these buildings before and there are some phat ladies. I mean phat with p-h. Not f-a-t. The trick is to get them to smile. I say, ‘girl, let me smell you. How did you get so beautiful?’ And they smile and they say, ‘I got it from my momma.’ And I say, ‘You got it from Jesus (he points above) when you was in the womb.’ But, whether they black or white or Chi-neese, they all the same.

“You know what they want?” He looked cautiously to his left, right and behind. He then leaned in and said, “the Dick! You know how I know? My six sisters taught me. So, my approach is, “Girl…hey, you dropped something.” They look behind them and I say, “Syke! I got you! And they smile.”

At that moment, two white women passed by and Aries tried his tactic on them. They quickly ignored him as they hurriedly walked by.

A few minutes later, a pair of Latina women walked by. He ignored them, saying, “they don’t speak English.”

“I walk up and down these streets and I see some ho’s.”

“You mean, some loose women?” I ask.

“No, I mean ho’s!—prostitutes. I had me a couple of them. I treat them real nice and after a while, they giving me free pussy. One even asked me, ‘can I stay with you?’”

“So, when you see her, that still happens?”

“No, she’s locked up now, but when I do see her she gives me free head.”

He shows me his Driver’s License. It shows his birthday as 1963 and his residence on New York Ave, NE, somewhat close to my neighborhood.

At that moment, my bus passed by us. I would have to wait another 20-30 minutes for the next one.

Aries asked me, “You got change? I’m trying to get home, too.”

“Sorry, I got a smart card, so I don’t carry change.”

“You alright! What’s you name?”

“Andy. I work here in this building. 7th floor.”

“What do you do?”

“We promote democracy around the world.”

“Man…I been working on a carrier. I been to Germany, Koh-rea. Women all the same.” He steps to his left and spits. “You know what they want? Da Dick! I done a few of them in the stairwells. Me and my friend was out once. We said, “we want to eat out, but we don’t really want hamburgers and that girl that was with us said, ‘oh…you want to fuck me?!’” So, she came home with us. He stepped to his left and spits again.

“What time you get off work usually?”

“About 6pm.”

“ok, tomorrow’s pay day for me. If I see you here, I’ll take you out to lunch. We’ll go to McDonald’s down there. My treat!”

“That’s very kind of you.” I replied.

“I may not dress as well as you, but I bet you that I get more pussy than you any day!” He smiled. He stepped to his left and spits again.

Two black women appeared outside the building, smoking.

Aries turned to me and asked, “You got a quarter?”

“No, sorry.”

“Come with me,” he exhorted, as he headed their way.

“It’s ok. I’ll stay here and watch you work your magic on those ladies.”

He spoke to the two women for a few minutes. I thought this would be a good time to leave, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I stayed. As the women walked back to the building, he returned.

“See…I asked if I could get a sip of their soda. The younger one said yes, but the older one said, ‘don’t give it to him!’”

“So, she was a bit more cautious?” I inquired.

“She smiled, so the door opened. Once you get a smile and a phone number, then you can get the pussy, black, white, Chi-neese....they all the same. What’s your name again?” He stepped to his left and spits again.

“Eddie.”

The next time I see you, I’ll do this. He shook my hand rapper style: with the hooking of the thumbs, and then the quick hug.

Campaign Update: June 25, 2004

Sat. June 12, 2004

Conrad and his assistant Ryan pick me up at the SeaTac airport. He takes me to my new apartment in Renton, south of Bellevue. It is spacious, but the apartment is from the 1970s. The kitchen is small and filled with appliances from another age; however, the bathroom is of a decent size. Later, I discover the shower head leaks. And the apartment manager seems to think Conrad is my uncle.

The weather in Seattle area consists of a persistent, though gentle rain. No one wears a poncho or carries an umbrella; the real Washington natives let the rain fall on their Gore-tex jackets and wear shorts year round. Conrad asked me if I go to Church. I said usually no, but I will if invited. "Well, then you're invited tomorrow." The next morning, we attended service at St. Margaret's Episcopal Church in the neighborhood. It was very Catholic.

My Jewish Father

At the campaign office, I meet an elderly gentleman who tells me he is the landlord to collect on our late rent payment. I am a little nervous. He then laughs and admits he is Howard Katz, one of Conrad's volunteers. Howard is a retired 3M manager who used to commute between Seattle and the SF bay area for business. He is now active with the senior citizens community and comes to the office on a regular basis to advise the candidate. He quickly adopts me and I now call him my "Jewish Father." This past week we made two visits to the neighboring Starbucks for a Mocha Frappaccino and sandwiches. "Oy vey!" he tells me. Or "Oy gevalt" or "oh my god" in Yiddish. He also bought me a Yiddish-English dictionary and promises to make me fluent by the end of the campaign. In time, maybe I'll even be able to find a nice Jewish girl, but definitely not a shiksa. (For you gentiles, that means a non-Jewish girl, usually a blonde)

Campaign Staff

We have three other campaign staff. Kyle is our resident 21-year old computer genius. Somewhat reserved, tall and lanky, Kyle's a junior at U of WA, manages our website and keeps our computers running. He's been to Hong Kong a few times.

Ryan is our 28 year old full-time volunteer. He usually visits us in the afternoons after he's done at the paint shop. Ryan spent four years in the navy right out of high school. He's now a "super senior" at the U of W, with only 10 credits left. He's trying to stretch his student career for another year. Ryan has a Chinese girlfriend.

Tasha, 21, and from Idaho, the Potato State, is our fundraiser. She is an attractive blonde with emerald eyes and fair skin. She has lots of event planning experience, but is doing fundraising for the first time. Her uncle and Conrad are good friends. Already, Bob Keene, the tax accountant at the end of the hall, has made daily visits to see her. When he first met her, he remarked, "There ought to be a law against women like you -- your beauty is too distracting."

We had a few candidate forums the first week. The Sheriff came off as polished, but lacking substance. As the only woman in the race, Diane Tebelius came off as articulate and fairly impressive. State Senator Luke Esser projected himself as the true-blue conservative, although a bit dull. However, Conrad emphasized how he is the living embodiment of the American Dream.

Sat. Juneteenth Dinner:

On Saturday, we attended a Juneteenth dinner in Seattle with the African American community to celebrate the freedom that Black Slaves enjoyed two years after the 1863 Emancipation Proclamation. Although the event consisted of mostly Democrats, Conrad thought it would be a good photo op. One of the guest speakers was a Haitian author named Pierre Louis who talked about how US policies contributed to the end of President Aristide's rule. President Aristide was kidnapped. Although he was democratically elected, he was forced out of office, exclaimed Mr. Louis, in a scratchy, stilted speech. In his right hand was a bottle of water. In his left hand was the microphone. As he spoke, he looked down at the ground, as though he were reciting the speech.

At the dinner, we sat at the Republican table with Dino Rossi, the GOP candidate for Governor. Linda, one of the grassroots volunteers recommended that I go visit a Jon Seaton, the Bush Cheney Campaign Coordinator for WA State. I thought the name was a bit familiar since one of my Berkeley High School classmates was named Jonathan Seaton. I asked Linda if Jon was of the Jewish faith. "Yes."

"Is he skinny, and tall?" Yes.

"Does he have a prominent nose?" Yes

"Does he have a high-pitched voice?"Yes. I suspected that this Jon Seaton and my high school classmate were one and the same. When I visited the Bush Cheney office on Monday, I was greeted by a gorgeous young lady named Jennifer. "Had I known you were here, I would've visited much earlier," I said to her. She smiled and brought me back to Jon's office. Sure enough, it was Jon Seaton from Berkeley.

We are now working on our 6/30 fundraising dinner of several hundred people. To prepare adequately, I visited the restaurant last night with two of our staff. The restaurant owner, Mr. Lo Yu Sun is from Shanghai originally, but his family fled the Japanese and ventured Westward to Sichuan Province. After a few years, they fled again, this time from Chairman Mao. They escaped to Taipei, Taiwan and eventually settled in the Pacific Northwest. Mr. Sun has operated his current restaurant China Harbor for 12 years. He is a jovial man, perhaps in his 60s. His hair is neatly combed, and slicked back. In accented English, Mr. Sun asked the three of us if we had eaten dinner. We had not, but did not want to impose. "Well, you are at a restaurant, my restaurant. And you have not had dinner yet, so naturally you must eat!" With that, he called the waitress over and ordered some fried rice with shrimp and tofu and sweet and sour chicken. I noticed the Airport ID card around his neck. "I understand you just opened a new restaurant at the terminal."

"Yes. I was showing our new chef where to park and how to get through security. He does not speak much English," explained Mr. Sun, who owns a chain of restaurants in the Seattle area.

Tomorrow, we will attend a Veterans Parade in Seattle. Our candidate will ride in a convertible and speak to the masses. More later...

If you want to reach me by cell, call me: 425-802-3982. I should be free Sunday morning to early afternoon.

Meanwhile, please go visit our website: www.conradleeforcongress.org

Church of Scientology visit

Original visit: August 2005

I’ve developed a strong interest in visiting churches over the years. I suppose the root of this desire is my lack of faith or belief in any religion. You see, my parents are atheists. So, when I was growing up, God never played a part in my life. Now that I’m older, I like to visit a church or mosque or synagogue when I pass one. Lately, I’ve been visiting the synagogue in DC’s Chinatown, or rather, China block. There’s a weekly class there with the rabbi, who provides a Kosher pizza lunch and coca cola and a lively hour of Jewish Ethics.

Last weekend, I finally mustered enough courage to visit Tom Cruise’s Church of Scientology in Dupont Circle. I called my friend Monica to join me, but she never returned my call. So, I decided that I would just go by myself. I called the day before and they told me of their weekly Sunday 11am service. So, armed with an address and curiosity, I took the metro over to Dupont. As I leapt off the escalators, I ran into Monica, who was walking her dog. She asked about my plans. I told her I was headed for the Church of Scientology.

“You’re nuts.”
“I’m late already, so I have to go.” I explained to her.
“Alright…I’ll join you…just for a few minutes.”

As we walked up the stairs, a man warily asked Monica about her dog. “Oh…he’s a service dog.” Her explanation seemed to placate him.

A lady greeted us at the lobby and welcomed us into the service. I saw about a dozen people in straw armchairs lined up in 3 or 4 rows. Moses, the preacher, was a middle-aged gentleman with a beard. He wore a shirt and tie and was standing behind the lectern. To his right was a small whiteboard on an easel. He had a magic marker in his right hand and used it to draw some diagrams. To his left was a big black and white portrait of L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the church.

Moses was explaining some concepts about communication.

“You see, anyone can go from point A to point B, but it takes a special someone to make you really understand.”

He then discussed the difference between “Subjective” and “Objective.” Subjective would be thinking about something within yourself, whereas Objective would be thinking about something outside yourself.

“For example, if I asked you how many oranges you’ve eaten in the past month, that’s Subjective. However, if I asked you how many oranges do you see here, then that’s Objective. Also, if I point to the wall and ask you to follow me, then that’s another example. Let’s do that for a few minutes.” So, he pointed to the light and asked us to follow him. He pointed to the wood grain, the camera, the lady by the door, and the wall.

After a few minutes, a young man in the back with a gold tooth and several exquisite pieces of bling-bling raised his hand and said, “Uh…I didn’t understand any of that. Can you repeat the whole thing?”

Moses then conducted an arm-waving exercise. He moved his right arm back and forth like he was waving goodbye to someone. He in turn asked us to return his waves, but in mirror fashion. He repeated the exercise with his left arm.

When he was done, he moved on to the “touching exercise.” Before we began, he asked those who had completed this portion already to leave the room. A few people got out of their chairs and exited. The door closed behind them. Moses asked us to look around the room, find a man and “touch him.” So, each of us found a man and touched his hand. Then, “look around the room and touch a woman.” We followed his command. We repeated this process for the next few minutes until everyone was touched.

We ended the service with a prayer that L. Ron Hubbard had written years ago. It was printed in the back of the book. Appealing to a higher power, it asked that man be free of fear and persecution. Perhaps, the word God was mentioned once or twice in the prayer. But, definitely, no Jesus.

After the service, people scattered about.

I went over to the young man with the bling-bling and asked him about his silver cross. “Are you Catholic?” I inquired.

“No.” he responded.

“Then, why do you have the cross around your neck?” I pressed him.

“I thought that it would protect me. Who’s gonna rob me when I have a cross around my neck?” he explained.

Moses showed us the library, where you can sign up for classes or look at some of their many books.

We bid him farewell and left. Of all the houses of religious worship that I’ve ever visited, whether they are churches, temples, mosques or synagogues, I’ve always felt a sense of holiness whenever I’ve been inside. However, the Church of Scientology gave me no such feeling.

* * *
To learn more about the Church of Scientology, please visit their website:
http://www.scientology-washingtondc.org/