So, the tale of John O.
Years and years ago when I was a tiny Tet out in Washington, I was doing my own freelance computer repair service. It was going pretty good, except for the part where I was having a ton of vehicle problems. At the time, I had a shitty work van that I bought from an automotive audio shop, like mobile music but more generic. Was having issues with the engine, was sucking coolant into the engine, shit sucked.
One evening I got a call to come out and do data recovery from a mac drive. Shit, I can do that in my sleep. I load up my kit, grab my book of disks and my hard drive toaster, and head out to his address. Coming up to the house, the first thing I notice is the dogs, three smaller spaniels of some sort. As I get to the house, I knock on the door and he lets me in, and the first thing I notice when I get in there is the smell. The entire house smelled like an ashtray, there was a thick crust of ash and tobacco residue on everything. I try to breathe thru my mouth to avoid smelling it but thats a mistake, I can taste it in the air. Looking around, (and looking back now) it seems that the place I'm in is a place I should not be. On the door, various photographs of people from around town. not candid shots, but almost like he was keeping photos of friends. Behind the door on the right hand wall, floor to ceiling carvings and sculptures and glass spheres and snow globes, all of dragons. Many are actually rather pretty and cool, but from wall to wall, multiple shelves, down to the floor in places. In many places, they couldn't reach to the floor, because the floor was stacked waist high with porn magazines. Playboys. Hustlers. all sorts, in stacks on stacks lining the wall in the room, out of the room, down the hall and into the other room, and probably more. I didn't dare look. On the other wall across from the wall of dragons was two tables end to end and shelves on the wall, all covered with empty and partially empty bottles of alcohol. There were binders full of papers on one of the tables, and under the tables hundreds and thousands of porn DVDs. On a small card table next to the door, he had the laptop and printer and the nasty keyboard, covered in who knows what. A lotion bottle sits next to the ash tray to the right. Yes, I wore gloves. I've learned that lesson years ago.
John was a dirty old man in every sense of the phrase. Short, unshaven, a fat stomach that pushed past his shirt, thin grey hair, and absolutely zero filter. Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, and loved to brag about shit he's done in his life.
He has a hard drive, and says he needs files off it. Cool. Plug it in to his new nasty laptop, it spins, and just craps out. Ended up putting it in a towel in the fridge to get the info off it, recovered via testdisk so didn't see what it was. don't wanna. during the service we talk about stuff and he learns about my vehicle issues. He gives me a loan to fix it. I spend the next couple of years in contact with him to pay off this loan. During this time I also meet a friend of his, jim, who needs my computer services too. Jim ends up having me fix stuff for him regularly, and we get to know each other. after a few years, the loan is paid, and I don't hear from john for a while. Time goes by and I get a call from jim. he tells me that john has died and he wants me to help him clean out his house since I knew them both. I reluctantly agree.
It turns out john had gotten a big head and withdrew thousands of dollars and went to the casino, and lost everything in twenty minutes. It broke him, and he drank himself stupid, had a heart attack and died. we cleared out the house and sent the wall of dragons to the local thrift shops, jim had to go through the house because john's got weapons all over the damn place, and a loaded crossbow on the wall. we pulled bags of bottles out of there and crates of nudie mags. Jim took a hammer to the computer, he had found that john had cheese pizza and apparently john thought that if you paid for it it's legal.
Not sure where I'm going with this, but witnessing someone turn from a disgusting motormoth braggart and into a complete implosion, a smouldering crater with his skeletons out in the open stuck with me.