The Old Cosmic Fuckaround
November 12 Tuesday
I'm in a waiting room at Hollywood/Wilshire County Health Services. Isn't it just like the county not to be able to decide between Hollywood or Wilshire for a name? This place is nowhere near Wilshire. It's on Melrose. Today has been one of those days. I almost feel a fondness for this kind of aggravation. Two weeks ago, I rented some tables for an ill-conceived party. The tables were due the following Monday. I had work and class Monday, so I asked the Thing if he would drop them off for me if I loaded them into his truck before I went to work. The place is on Arlington and Venice, not far at all, no more than a couple of miles. No problem, he said. But on Thursday, I play my messages, and it's the inbred retardo Asian woman who works there asking me where is the equipment? I called her back and told her the equipment had been dropped off Monday. She said she had no receipt. Luckily the Thing left the invoice right here on my desk. I told her I had my copy. She said, "Who signed for it?" I read her the name: "T. Andrew." She said she needed to see the invoice. I asked her what difference it makes? I read her the name; how would seeing it make it more authentic? It's not my mistake, I said; why should I be inconvenienced by having to find time in my busy schedule to assure them that what I said was true. She's the one getting paid, why doesn't she come out to get it?
Friday I had to go to Palm Springs, so I gave Butt the invoice, and asked her if she would take it over there. She said she would. This morning, Tuesday, she told me she hasn't done it. As if she hadn't already fucked with my credit enough. She said she'd lost the paper. Then she said she found it on Saturday, though. I said, "Why didn't you take it on Saturday?" She said she had things to do. I said that makes me mad. The she flipped and wigged and started doing her bitch routine.
My car is still over-heating. I'd asked her earlier if I could use hers to go to court in Van Nuys. When I picked up her keys to go she said, "Oh, did I say you could use my car?" She had, but I threw the keys on the floor. I got mine and walked out the door. Dealing with the over-heating car in rush hour traffic was going to be easier than dealing with her. I stopped at Chief Auto Parts on Highland to buy a new radiator cap and some coolant. They weren't open yet. I thought I'd read over the paper and wait. I went to the news stand. It takes quarters only. I had a nickel and two dimes. Then I spotted a bundle of papers in front of the KWIK-E-MART. I took one and left the twenty-five cents. The auto parts store opened. The clerk got me a radiator cap which his computer said should fit my make and model. I asked if I could try it on before I paid for it. He said I could. I went out and took it out of the cardboard and plastic packaging. Then I took off the leaky cap. As I did so, a scalding geyser of rusty radiator water scalded the inside of my wrist, and stained my never-before-worn clothes. Ha ha. Then I tried on the new cap, but it didn't fit. I went back in. The guy said he would have to charge me a one dollar re-stocking fee. Ha-ha, I said, and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. It wasn't there. I drove back home and got it, then back up to the store to pay the restocking fee and try another radiator cap (I didn't want to be driving all over looking for a less evil auto parts place, if such a thing exists). The second cap fit. I paid for it and coolant, poured in the coolant, screwed on the new cap and drove up to Van Nuys hoping the problem might be solved.
There was no parking near the court unless I wanted to pay two dollars every twenty minutes. Ha ha. Fuck them. I drove a mile away and parked at an International House of Pancakes. A sign in the parking lot says they tow. Ha ha. Fuck them. I wouldn't fall for that old bluff. I walked away. Then I spotted a parking attendant. I went back and moved the car farther away.
I waited in line at court sixty-eight minutes to find out I would have to come back to see a judge. I said, "Do I get any compensation for parking and for the work I've missed because I've had to correct the court's clerical error?"
The lady said, I should have called.
Ha ha.
I said, "I spent half a day yesterday trying to get through to you people; your phone system is a joke.
She said, "Yesterday was a holiday. Nobody was here."
Ha ha ha.
The way she smiled then, I'll let you imagine.
I'm in a waiting room at Hollywood/Wilshire County Health Services. Isn't it just like the county not to be able to decide between Hollywood or Wilshire for a name? This place is nowhere near Wilshire. It's on Melrose. Today has been one of those days. I almost feel a fondness for this kind of aggravation. Two weeks ago, I rented some tables for an ill-conceived party. The tables were due the following Monday. I had work and class Monday, so I asked the Thing if he would drop them off for me if I loaded them into his truck before I went to work. The place is on Arlington and Venice, not far at all, no more than a couple of miles. No problem, he said. But on Thursday, I play my messages, and it's the inbred retardo Asian woman who works there asking me where is the equipment? I called her back and told her the equipment had been dropped off Monday. She said she had no receipt. Luckily the Thing left the invoice right here on my desk. I told her I had my copy. She said, "Who signed for it?" I read her the name: "T. Andrew." She said she needed to see the invoice. I asked her what difference it makes? I read her the name; how would seeing it make it more authentic? It's not my mistake, I said; why should I be inconvenienced by having to find time in my busy schedule to assure them that what I said was true. She's the one getting paid, why doesn't she come out to get it?
Friday I had to go to Palm Springs, so I gave Butt the invoice, and asked her if she would take it over there. She said she would. This morning, Tuesday, she told me she hasn't done it. As if she hadn't already fucked with my credit enough. She said she'd lost the paper. Then she said she found it on Saturday, though. I said, "Why didn't you take it on Saturday?" She said she had things to do. I said that makes me mad. The she flipped and wigged and started doing her bitch routine.
My car is still over-heating. I'd asked her earlier if I could use hers to go to court in Van Nuys. When I picked up her keys to go she said, "Oh, did I say you could use my car?" She had, but I threw the keys on the floor. I got mine and walked out the door. Dealing with the over-heating car in rush hour traffic was going to be easier than dealing with her. I stopped at Chief Auto Parts on Highland to buy a new radiator cap and some coolant. They weren't open yet. I thought I'd read over the paper and wait. I went to the news stand. It takes quarters only. I had a nickel and two dimes. Then I spotted a bundle of papers in front of the KWIK-E-MART. I took one and left the twenty-five cents. The auto parts store opened. The clerk got me a radiator cap which his computer said should fit my make and model. I asked if I could try it on before I paid for it. He said I could. I went out and took it out of the cardboard and plastic packaging. Then I took off the leaky cap. As I did so, a scalding geyser of rusty radiator water scalded the inside of my wrist, and stained my never-before-worn clothes. Ha ha. Then I tried on the new cap, but it didn't fit. I went back in. The guy said he would have to charge me a one dollar re-stocking fee. Ha-ha, I said, and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. It wasn't there. I drove back home and got it, then back up to the store to pay the restocking fee and try another radiator cap (I didn't want to be driving all over looking for a less evil auto parts place, if such a thing exists). The second cap fit. I paid for it and coolant, poured in the coolant, screwed on the new cap and drove up to Van Nuys hoping the problem might be solved.
There was no parking near the court unless I wanted to pay two dollars every twenty minutes. Ha ha. Fuck them. I drove a mile away and parked at an International House of Pancakes. A sign in the parking lot says they tow. Ha ha. Fuck them. I wouldn't fall for that old bluff. I walked away. Then I spotted a parking attendant. I went back and moved the car farther away.
I waited in line at court sixty-eight minutes to find out I would have to come back to see a judge. I said, "Do I get any compensation for parking and for the work I've missed because I've had to correct the court's clerical error?"
The lady said, I should have called.
Ha ha.
I said, "I spent half a day yesterday trying to get through to you people; your phone system is a joke.
She said, "Yesterday was a holiday. Nobody was here."
Ha ha ha.
The way she smiled then, I'll let you imagine.
posted by johnz at 5:42 PM
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