Red-Dirt Marijuana: And Other Tastes (30 page)

Q. Yes, well that’s the point—when I said “faggot” I didn’t mean to be offensive.

A. Oh
I
know that . . . I
know
that now, that
you
didn’t! But you see . . . well, the thing is you’d be surprised at the kind of people who
do
.

Q. What, here at the hospital?

A. At the hospital . . . well, everywhere, everywhere . . . yes, here at the hospital, yes, this is a kind of . . . of
cross-section
I guess you’d say.

Q. Well, listen, let’s . . . I mean I’d like to ask you some questions about your work and so on, so why don’t—

A. Well go, man, go, ha-ha . . . or
baby—
I don’t know what to say . . . I mean you’re not going to use our names or anything . . .

Q. Well, I’m not going to use
your
name. I mean, you know, isn’t that the–

A. Well, that’s the
thing,
yes, I mean I
can’t
do that—you have no idea, I mean this is a very tough
state,
you can’t just talk about these things with . . . with
immunity
. . .
impunity?
which is it?
You’re
the writer. Ha-ha.
Are
you a writer?

Q.
Impunity
. . . you can’t talk about them with
impunity.

A.
You
didn’t answer!

Q. What, about being a writer?

A. Yes! What do you write?

Q. Yes, well, listen, let
me
interview
you,
and then . . .
you
can interview
me.
Isn’t that good?

A. Oh, ho-ho-ho . . .

Q. No, I mean what I’d like to do, you see, is be able to just put this straight down off the tape, without any editing or anything like that, and, well, if we get, you know, side-tracked . . . well, it’s going to be all mixed up. You know what I mean?

A. Chrysler wouldn’t like it?

Q.
Chrysler?

A. Chrysler? Didn’t you say
Chrysler?
Your boss!

Q. Oh,
Krassner
. . . yes, Paul
Krassner.

A.
Krassner!
Yes, Paul Krassner—what’s he like?

Q. Oh, well, listen, we can’t . . . well, I’ll tell you
one
thing about him, Paul Krassner, he’s got this thing about
format
. . . you know? Tight and bright. “Let’s keep it tight and bright!” he’s always saying . . . and
that’s
why we’ve
got
to stick to this one thing—you know, like
your
story . . . or I’ll be in a real jam with Paul. Dig?

A. Do you call him “Paul”?

Q. Yes.

A. Ha-ha.

Q. What’s wrong with that?

A.
Noth-ing, noth-ing!
Don’t be so
touchy!

Q. Well . . . let me ask you now what attracted you to this sort of work?

A.
People!
I love
people—
I love to
be
with them, and to
help
them. That’s what hospital-work is—
helping people.

Q. What about being a doctor, did that ever—

A. Oh no—no, no, I don’t have the patience for that . . . for that sort of training. It’s too . . . technical, and too, I don’t know,
coldblooded.
No, my approach is different . . . it’s more intuitive, more instinctive, and more
direct,
much more
direct—
you see, I deal
directly
with my patient, and all the time . . . the doctor sees the patient, maybe five minutes a day—I see . . . well, I don’t
see,
I’m
with,
that’s the difference, I’m
with
my patient, all the time, as much as he needs me. The doctor has no . . . no
relationship
with the patients. I have
close
. . .
warm
. . .
wonderful, wonderful
relationships with my patients! They all love me, all of them—not all, no, I won’t say that . . . there are some who, well, you know the kind, they don’t
want
help, they don’t know what love is—they
can’t
love, well, you know the kind . . .

Q. You think they don’t love you due to gayness?

A. Due to gayness? Ha, ha. Due to my gayness? Yes! No, I say yes
and
no! They don’t like me . . . it’s true some of them don’t even
like
me—some of them
hate
me, and the feeling is mutual . . . well, I won’t say that, I
pity
them—they don’t like me because they’re
afraid—
they’re afraid of
love,
and they’re afraid of
themselves—and
this is especially true of the doctors.

Q. The
doctors?
The doctors don’t like you?

A. The doctors, ha, ha . . . well, I don’t get along with the doctors too well—our approaches are different, you see . . . I mean, they don’t really
care
about the patient—and
they
know that I know it! And they’re afraid—they know that my power . . . my
love,
is stronger, and they’re
afraid
. . .

Q. What, for their jobs?

A. Or for their
souls!
Ha, ha.

Q. Well, surely some of the doctors like you—I can’t see how you could stay on unless—

A. Oh
some
of the doctors, yes! The really, really good . . . well,
great
ones, do, yes—they appreciate my work and I appreciate theirs. We respect each other. But how many good doctors are there? One in a
billion?
Not to mention
great
doctors—which are practically non-existent!

Q. Well . . . I don’t understand—do you mean there aren’t any really good ones . . . or any that
like
you?

A. No! I
don’t
mean that, I
don’t
mean that. What
I
mean . . . Well, take Dr. Schweitzer . . . I’ve never met Dr. Schweitzer, but I think he must be a great doctor, and I think . . . well, I
know,
he would understand what I’m doing. And there are others, right here, not
great,
but good . . . the best . . . and they like me; they respect me.

Q. Well . . . let’s see, how about—

A. Listen, don’t get the idea that I’m giving a big
buildup
to the whole . . . well, whole
profession,
if you like, of hospital attendants—or male nurse, whatever . . . I mean, don’t take me as a typical example by any means. I mean some of the others—well I wouldn’t want to say.

Q. Why, what are they like?

A. Well, I’ll tell you this much, it isn’t because they like
people
they’re there!

Q. What is it? Why is it?

A. Well, they’re
sadists,
a lot of them—especially in the mental wards . . .
big, insensitive—
well, you’ve got no idea, what goes on in some of those wards—
animals,
like apes . . . big cruel apes! They just sit around waiting for someone to blow his stack so they can
slam
him!

Q. Really? Slam him?

A. That’s what they call it—”slammin’.” Somebody blows his stack and they yell
“Slam
him, Joel Slam that nut!” What it
really
means, what it’s
supposed
to mean is that you put him in the
slammer,
like, you know, in a padded-cell, and
slam
the door—but it means the subduing part too.

Q. And how do they do that?

A. How? Are you kidding? Any way they feel like. With their
fists,
if they can—that’s what they really like . . . I mean the tough ones are proud of their reputations for never using the sap—you know, the leather thing . . . the black-jack. Or they may say “Big Joe had to use the sap!” which means that it was a
really
bad case if
Big Joe
had to use the sap! But of course a real
nut
is as strong as about four ordinary people.

Q. Well . . . but they aren’t all like that, are they? Is that just the mental ward?

A. The mental ward. No, there’s another kind, the exact opposite—not opposite, but completely different—they work in hospitals to be close to morphine, so they can get morphine. They couldn’t care less about hitting anybody—they just sort of step aside . . . I guess hoping the guy will fall out the
window
or something. And when they have to sap him, they just tap him on the back of the head—no expression, nothing . . . they live in a world apart, some of them have terrible, terrible habits—I mean that would cost them two or three hundred dollars a
day
if they didn’t work at the hospital.

Q. And they get morphine—how do they get it?

A. Oh well, they
get
it! Ha, ha, they
have
to get it—I mean they would
get
it if you . . . if you put it in a
safe
and dropped it to the bottom of the
ocean!
They’re like Houdini when they go after
that—
nothing could stop them,
nothing!
I mean they don’t even
worry
about
how
to get it—all they want is to be in the
vicinity
of it, because, if they
are,
they’ll get it! And you know there’s a lot of morphine in a big hospital.

Q. Well, what do you think . . . I mean, are they good at their work?

A. No! They’re like zombies—no feeling, none at all . . .
they
can’t help the patient. Why I have some
wonderful
relationships in the mental wards—but they don’t care, about the patient, about anything . . . they don’t even
speak
to anyone. Not to
me
anyway
—none
of them will even
speak
to me.

Q. But they must do their job . . .

A. Of course! They do their
job.
They make sure of
that,
that they do their
job!
Yes, that’s true, they do their job and they do it very . . . well, very
thoroughly—
I mean, you see, they
cannot
afford to get fired, so . . . so they do their job very . . . very
well,
in a way. Very
careful
and
serious—
but never a
smile
or a kind word for anyone. Oh no, they’re too serious! Ha! Well, I certainly wouldn’t have them in
my
hospital. I can tell you that!

Q. What, you mean . . . well, do you think about that? About hospital administration?

A. Yes! That’s what I’d
really
like to do—I’d like to organize
my own
hospital!

Q. What would you . . . would you have . . . an all-gay staff?

A.
What?
Ha-ha!
No-ooo!
Don’t be
silly!
What an idea! Ha, ha, ha! An all-gay hospital! Well, who knows . . . maybe it
would
work out that way . . . who knows? I mean, one thing I
do
know, I would
not,
repeat
not,
use
women nurses!

Q. You would not?

A. No! I would
not!
And I know what you’re
thinking,
but I don’t care, it isn’t true, I would
definitely
not use them.

Q. Yes . . . well, why not?

A. Why not? For the very
simple
reason that a hospital . . . a
hospital
should be . . .
clean
. . .
efficient .
. .
well-run!
With an atmosphere of
love
and . . . human affection, human
warmth!
And care for the patient! People who care about the
patient!
And not just constant . . .
bitching
about having their
period!
Or
not
having their period! Or having their
menopause!
Or
not
having their menopause! Or washing their
hair!
Or
not
washing their hair! God!

Q. Is that–

A. Do
you
know . . . let me just say this . . . do
you
know that
nurses .
. . women
nurses,
are one
hell
of a lot more trouble than the patients are? That’s
right.
They’re
always
sick
—always
sick! If it isn’t their
period,
it’s something else. Something’s wrong with their
breast!
Or their insides—ovaries! womb! uterus! vulva! tubes! And God knows what else! Christ, if I hear another
nurse
talk about her goddamn
tubes
. . . !

Q. Well–

A. I know, I know . . . I’m exaggerating. All right, all right, you’re right . . . I am.
But . . . But!
. . . it’s
only
an exaggeration. Do you follow? I mean it is
true
. . . it’s
true,
but exaggerated. Right? Do you dig? And here’s something else, and
this
is true—most nurses, almost
no
nurse, in fact, is
married
. . . they’re sexually frustrated, and
bitter,
baby . . . bitter, bitter, bitter!

Q. Well, can’t they make it with the doctors, or the patients? I mean—

A. Yes! Of course! Oh, they do, they do! With the doctors, patients, interns . . .
ward-boys, janitors—anybody!
Listen, I could tell you . . . well, that’s why you can never
find
one of them! They’re either . . . lying down in the rest-rooms, coddling their
period,
or they’re off somewhere getting laid! In the . . . the
broom-closet
or someplace! Ha!