Friday, January 30, 2004
All Because of a Turkey Gobble
Today was a shitty morning, but out of shit comes roses (that's if you use it for fertilizer) - so this little story is a stinking rose. Before I get into why this morning was total shit, I must start with a preface of the events that occurred last night (well, very early this morning). I was in my apartment alone - I knew that Jen, my roommate, was spending the night over at Rob's, so when I went to bed, I left my bedroom door slightly ajar for Oscar to come and go at his leisure. Cats are nocturnal creatures, and they get ants in their pants at night. Oscar can't decide if he wants to sleep with me or go prowling around the place (a behaviour not so uncommon for many males), so he's developed this annoying habit of pawing at my door when he's decided he'll be happier on the other side.
I've had an exhausting week from working a ton - one night I worked until 1 AM. So last night, sleep settled in like dust on a country road. Around 1:30 in the AM, I'm awoken by a sound that I can only describe as a turkey being choked to death. This sound was coming from right outside my door - the same door I was happy, absolutely delighted, to leave open for the freedom of my cat's movement. The sound wasn't human, at least I didn't think such. But I was groggy - I had no idea if this was some kind of scare tactic an intruder was using to catch me off guard; or if it was possibly an injured animal who had found its way into the apartment through a forgotten open window - an animal soo injured that it may attack if you came near it. OR and potentially even worse - it maybe an alien. Memories of the movie, Signs, were creeping in - it's possible that an alien nation has decided to attack Mother Earth, and here they are talking in their turkey language with no warning from NASA. Can you imagine the sheer trauma caused by any one of these events? All of this running through my mind in less than one minute. And then a sinking feeling swept over me like a school girl's blush, I knew I had left the apartment door unlocked - Jen and I have developed this bad habit, because the building door automatically locks shut, providing us with an illusion of safety.
I had my cell phone right by me; there are a number of people I could have called, but I was afriad to make a sound and the liklihood of this turkey gobbling noise being any three of the above scenarios was a bet that a half-wit woudn't even make - the potential humiliation and razzing from my friends just wasn't worth it. The noise was incessant too - it continued for a good two minutes with a rhythm that had none. I was petrified in my bed, and Oscar, who decided to sleep with me last night, was sitting stiffly, perched in the direction of the noise - his hair semi-standing on end. The noise stopped abruptly...and then total silence. To make matters worse, I sleep in the nude - I didn't want to make any noise by putting on clothes, but at the same time, what if that retched noise is a perp? Oddly enough, my mind started to wonder onto other situations, where sleeping in the nude may cause some issues. If there was a perp and he decided to hold me hostage with a gun to my head, standing in front of a window facing out onto the street, so that the cops with their cop cars surrounding the building could see that he was serious in causing me harm, if he didn't get the 10 million dollars he was demanding - well, how fucking embarassing would that be? My exposed body would be displayed all over the local news stations. Or what if there was an earthquake or fire, where immediate evacuation was required? I remember seeing footage of a girl clinging to the branches of a tree to keep from falling into rapidly moving waters that had flooded the area. She was rescued by a helicopter with a dangling ladder, and as it took off with her in tow, the torrential winds blew her skirt up, exposing her wet, white britches to the whole world. Sure, she was probably just thinking of how fucking lucky she was to be alive. But goddamn - a good portion of the United States got to see her stuff. Don't call me shallow. You know when you've fallen in front of a lot of people, almost breaking your neck, that embarassment is the third emotion to take hold - fear being the first and relief being the second.
I sat in bed for a little longer trying to decide on the most feasible and least risky maneuver. With my thoughts as collected as they could be, I decided the noise was probably a bird or racoon that was badly injured and maybe even rabid with rabies and lice and stuff. Tonight I didn't feel like dealing with hours of catching a crazy animal in the dark all by myself - the morning would be a better time - a procrastinator I will always be. So shutting the door seemed to me to be the best option. Given that the animal could possibly fly or run at me, my movements should be quick like the flick of a lizard's tongue. I told Oscar to stay put - he was still staring in the direction of the door. Getting to the door isn't as easy as it may seem - I keep my room in total disorder - I'm not proud; it's just the way it is (see "Total Messes"). I have piles of CD's, that I'm intending to organize, scattered in their respective genres on the floor. They posed as the biggest hurdles, but in probably five shakes of a lamb's tail I made it to the door and slammed it shut. After my Florence Griffith show, I settled back into bed with Oscar. We both stared at the door - no noise - no turkey gobbling... A dust of sleep fell lazily over the ragged and trodden tracks traveled in my head, the tracks ragged and trodden by travel, the traveled tracks - ragged and trodden...
Thirty minutes later, a loud sound outside my window awakens me yet again - God Damnit!! I'm exhausted and way tired of being freaked out. I look out my window from the third floor and see a man with a garden hose in the courtyard down below. He's apparently and noisily watering the one tree growing out of the concrete patio - an urban forest, if you will (I hate it when people say "if you will" - if I will what? Suspend disbelief? Allow you to bore the crap out of me?...) Anyway, watering this late at night? Jesus... But who knows? There may be a water main break and all of the tenants will need to evacuate and he's using the hose to... I don't know, but to be sure that all is kosher, as well as to tell him to stick that hose up his ass, I must open my bedroom door and go out on the back patio. Well, opening the bedroom door would potentially expose me to a rabid animal/alien or possibly a murderer with an axe. I grab my umbrella for protection, swing open the door, scream out that I'm not going to take shit from anyone and run through the apartment checking all the closets and under every object that hovers close to the floor. It's clear - none of the three options are present... unless the aliens are invisible.
I was so relieved in not finding any strange creature in my apartment that I forgot to care about what the guy outside was doing with the garden hose. Since I was wide awake, I sat down in the front room for a smoke break to calm my nerves. I was smiling at Oscar realizing that his true color was yellow - he didn't come out of my room until all the lights were on - when suddenly, I heard the noise for a second time. It was coming out of the bathroom - I checked in there already!! Are there really invisible aliens? I bravely sneaked over to the hallway, got down on my hands and knees, crawled over to the bathroom doorway and peeked in. The choked turkey noise was coming from the bathtub drain!! I immediately recalled that Jen mentioned something about the rental company turning off the water earlier that day. So I start putting two and two together, then four and four... when I finally get to 128 I realize that asshole watering the urban forest was causing this horrid noise; well, mind you, this building is probably around 80 to 100 years old and I'm guessing the plumbing is only a couple of decades younger - plumbing that old probably can't take starting and stopping and then starting back up again without making some type of frustrated noise... hmmm, this may be the case for many types of plumbing. Anyway, regardless of the age of the plumbing, that dipshit scared me like I've never been scared before - I was scared enough to vow that if I lived through the night, I would never leave the apartment door unlocked. So out on the back patio I go, where the urban gardner and I exchanged a few obscenities regarding his nightly botanical exploits, after which I went to bed miffed as all Hell and utterly exhausted.
Finally the story of my shitty morning... I live in the City and work in the East Bay - it's opposite commuting, but it still takes me a good 45 minutes to get to my office - that's if I leave at the right time. To ensure, that I do leave at the right time, I park in the 7:00 AM tow away zone along Oak Street. I thought this was really clever a long time ago - it forces me to quit using the snooze button; I get to work on time; and not to mention, that the early AM tow away parking is all that's available by the time I get home. As the months have gone by, my snooze button usage has actually increased, and I have developed this habit of getting out of bed 10 minutes before 7, throwing on whatever clothes are laying on the floor, rushing out the door to get my car, and then parking it at one of the street corners in front of my building; at which point, I turn the hazard lights on to inform any parking nazis that I will be coming to remove it from its illegal position soon. I then run up to my apartment and hurriedly get ready for work. This morning was no exception. I slept through my alarm, probably hitting the snooze button more than twice - no big surprise there - but still managed to get up at 6:45. Phew, plenty of time to get my car out of the tow zone. I was soooo tired to the infinity power. My body was heavy and moving slowly like a mafia victim wearing concrete shoes submerged beneath the nearest body of water. Last night took a horrendous dent into my beauty sleep, as well as my cognitive awareness. I pulled on my jeans that I seriously should only wear while painting and a sweater that I stole from my dad when I was sixteen. I slipped my feet into my oversized flip flops and trudged out of the apartment. While I was shutting the door, I remembered the horrors that crossed my mind very early that morning, and how I had promised myself to lock the apartment door from now on. So like a good girl, I did just that. Running down the stairs I stopped midway and realized that my silly self had forgotten her keys. I trotted back up the steps, got to the door, and...
This isn't FUCKING happening!! This isn't FUCKING happening!!! FUCK!!! This is really happening! My brain scattered like pieces of a completed puzzle that accidently was knocked down from a card table. I gathered the pieces the best I could, but the picture, once two Golden Retriever puppies, now exhibited their tails hanging from their mouths and their tongues wagging from their behinds. The reality of my dire situation permeated through the particles of my body, and complete panic now surrounded every cell. Shit... There's a window in the hallway (it, actually, was unlocked) that opens to the outside stairwell descending to the courtyard. Climbing through this window, I can access the back door of our apartment. Maybe I left that door unlocked when I went out to yell at the guy with the garden hose?... I knew I locked it - the possibility of an intruder last night ensured it, but just maybe... I had to try it. Fuck! It's locked. What to do? My car was going to be towed in 5 minutes. My car keys - all of my keys - are inside my locked apartment. It's funny how my last name is Locke (I didn't think of this until now) Did I mention that I park in the tow away zone forcing my ass to be at work on time? Oh, the irony pissing on me from the Parking God!
I went outside in the rain, knowing my ass was completely shut out of the building. Thank God I had my umbrella - San Francisco winter weather was in full swing that morning. What else could make this morning shittier? Keep reading. While running to Oak Street, I was preparing, in my head, a plea for my case with the intention of coercing the parking ticketer person to give me a break. I really thought my circumstances would gain enough sympathy thereby preventing the towing of my car and a ticket. I mean come on - think of the karma that would eventually bite this parking ticketer person in the ass - not to mention, their conscience being haunted from knowing that they contributed to a sweet girl's having a really bad fucking day AND the depletion of the meager funds in her puddle of a bank account. I got to Oak Street and saw the parking ticketer's vehicle resting along side the road. It looked like a covered, cartoon-like, mini-police motorcycle. The parking clock was ticking. Soon it would chime its alarm, signaling the demon tow trucks to cause a really bad fucking day for probably several nice and well-intentioned people, like myself. I ran up to the blue and white bubble on wheels, and Ms. Parking Ticketer opens her window - I can feel the heat eminating from inside the bubble - she takes a good look at me with her eyes checking me out from head to toe. She stares at my Adidas flip-flopped feet and exclaims, "Girl, you got only one sock on!" The other one was most likely snuggled between the nice, warm, dry sheets tucked in my bed. Good - that adds to my pitiful situation. I explain to her what transpired this morning, leaving out the turkey gobble part. In hindsight, maybe telling her about invisible aliens would have contributed to my cause - nobody likes to piss off a crazy person. I could tell from looking into her eyes, a bit of compassion was brewing underneath her warm, puffy, probably down-filled, water proof jacket. I, on the other hand, stood there - freezing with no coat, hair and teeth unbrushed, holding a dripping umbrella, and in disheveled clothes that the Salvation Army wouldn't even accept - tyring to keep calm. She was thinking, tapping her long purple finger nails on the petite steering wheel. She asked if there was anyone I could call. Well, there's my roommate, but I don't have a phone. Ms. Parking Ticketer reached inside her puffy jacket and took out her cell phone, offering it to me. Man, parking ticketer persons really do have hearts beneath their down-filled, city government issued jackets. I thanked her like I was a starving Ethopian child in the 1980's when given a small bowl of mush. I called Jen - no answer - in fact, there wasn't even a ring; the call went straight to her voicemail. Fuck!! She's sleeping, and Rob's house is a good 2 miles away - not happening. Ms. Parking Ticketer (I later found out that her initials are A.D. which were printed on the rain-soaked parking ticket stuck beneath my windshield wipers) radioed her supervisor to see what options were available - pretty much none. My car would be a road hazard due to its being parked in a lane that soon would open up to traffic. Fuck again!! So I asked A.D. what she thought of my begging the tow truck driver to cut me some slack. She shook her head, "Honey, they make money off towing cars." They make money off of causing a really bad fucking day for nice, community-contributing people, like myself. For a minute there, I thought of bribing the tow truck driver by flashing him my breasts - it worked for a taxi cab driver once.
I thanked A.D. for her kindness and walked away wondering if I would still get a parking ticket on top of the towing fees I would soon have to pay. You dawggone it betcha! Turning from Masonic onto Oak, I saw the tow trucks coming. I kept on - I didn't want to see the horror; I wouldn't be able to stomach the demons sinking their claws into my very dirty but reliable Jetta. I walked to the corner coffee shop, and I explained to the English girl, behind the counter, my whole morning, leaving out the turkey gobble part. She allowed me to use the phone, and I think she even offered me coffee, or maybe I hoped she would (I was craving any kind of affection at that point) - but I wouldn't have accepted it - drinking coffee leads to the merciless need for the comfort of a toilet - pronto. Called twice - again, no Jen. What to do? I walked back to the apartment building and sat on the stoop, waiting for her to come home. My newspaper was there, so I, at least, had something to occupy my mind. I flipped through the paper to find my horoscope - maybe it would give me insight on how to manipulate the cosmos into somehow turning back time. But I'll be goddamned - someone stole the fucking entertainment section; why would they go through the trouble of just taking the entertainment section and not the whole damned paper? I sat around for a while, then it dawned on me that Rob had a land line, but I didn't know his phone number off the top of my head. But!!! Kerry and Becca, who live 3 blocks away, had his number. I ran over to their place - thank God Kerry was there - 10 more minutes and she would have been out the door. Becca ended up hooking up with a guy the night before - there's no way she would have answered the door, that's if she even made it home. Kerry gave me Rob's home number, and I got the answering machine. I left a long desperate message, hoping to awake one of the boys in the household. No luck. I called again, got the answering machine - left another message. I knew if I kept calling, someone would eventually answer the phone. Upon the advent of cell phones and their ever decreasing rates, I saw no use in also having a land line. But the boys at 5th and Fulton are stubborn - technologically, they are still in the '80s. They don't believe in being accessible 24 hours a day - so no cell phones, have they - they're artists... After this morning, my opinion of land lines somersaulted to a complete 180; never again would I question their importance in the home. Finally, on the fourth ring, Jen answers the phone in a panic - one of the roommates woke her up, telling her that I was in trouble. I explained my situation for the fourth time that morning, of course, leaving out the turkey gobble part. She was on her way to my rescue.
When Jen arrived home, the rain had stopped, and she blessed me with a sympathetic smile that a mother gives her daughter after having just skinned her knee. We both showered and got ready for our respective work days. Jen was wonderful; before giving me a ride to the city car impoundment dungeon, she made smoothies.
After shelling out $170 big ones and peeling a $50 parking ticket off my car windshield (thanks A.D.), I arrived at work around 10:30 (did I mention that I park in the early AM tow away zone in order to get my lazy ass to work on time?). By the time I informed everyone of my morning resembling a scene out of a sitcom, it was around 11:00. At noon, my officemates and I were going to watch "The Apprentice" previously shown the night before. We have a couple of betting pools based on the outcomes of this show. So we like to watch it together the next day during lunchtime, on the basis that no one watched it the night before. With only one hour before noon, I didn't feel that I could get the work wheels turning in my brain without probably having to redo it all over again after the noon time showing. So... I started to write this entry. I learned two lessons based on this morning's events - don't lock the apartment door and don't succomb to the dumb ass idea of parking in an early morning tow away zone in hopes of getting to work on time. Oh and one more thing, it's time to start sleeping in pajamas instead of in the nude.
I've had an exhausting week from working a ton - one night I worked until 1 AM. So last night, sleep settled in like dust on a country road. Around 1:30 in the AM, I'm awoken by a sound that I can only describe as a turkey being choked to death. This sound was coming from right outside my door - the same door I was happy, absolutely delighted, to leave open for the freedom of my cat's movement. The sound wasn't human, at least I didn't think such. But I was groggy - I had no idea if this was some kind of scare tactic an intruder was using to catch me off guard; or if it was possibly an injured animal who had found its way into the apartment through a forgotten open window - an animal soo injured that it may attack if you came near it. OR and potentially even worse - it maybe an alien. Memories of the movie, Signs, were creeping in - it's possible that an alien nation has decided to attack Mother Earth, and here they are talking in their turkey language with no warning from NASA. Can you imagine the sheer trauma caused by any one of these events? All of this running through my mind in less than one minute. And then a sinking feeling swept over me like a school girl's blush, I knew I had left the apartment door unlocked - Jen and I have developed this bad habit, because the building door automatically locks shut, providing us with an illusion of safety.
I had my cell phone right by me; there are a number of people I could have called, but I was afriad to make a sound and the liklihood of this turkey gobbling noise being any three of the above scenarios was a bet that a half-wit woudn't even make - the potential humiliation and razzing from my friends just wasn't worth it. The noise was incessant too - it continued for a good two minutes with a rhythm that had none. I was petrified in my bed, and Oscar, who decided to sleep with me last night, was sitting stiffly, perched in the direction of the noise - his hair semi-standing on end. The noise stopped abruptly...and then total silence. To make matters worse, I sleep in the nude - I didn't want to make any noise by putting on clothes, but at the same time, what if that retched noise is a perp? Oddly enough, my mind started to wonder onto other situations, where sleeping in the nude may cause some issues. If there was a perp and he decided to hold me hostage with a gun to my head, standing in front of a window facing out onto the street, so that the cops with their cop cars surrounding the building could see that he was serious in causing me harm, if he didn't get the 10 million dollars he was demanding - well, how fucking embarassing would that be? My exposed body would be displayed all over the local news stations. Or what if there was an earthquake or fire, where immediate evacuation was required? I remember seeing footage of a girl clinging to the branches of a tree to keep from falling into rapidly moving waters that had flooded the area. She was rescued by a helicopter with a dangling ladder, and as it took off with her in tow, the torrential winds blew her skirt up, exposing her wet, white britches to the whole world. Sure, she was probably just thinking of how fucking lucky she was to be alive. But goddamn - a good portion of the United States got to see her stuff. Don't call me shallow. You know when you've fallen in front of a lot of people, almost breaking your neck, that embarassment is the third emotion to take hold - fear being the first and relief being the second.
I sat in bed for a little longer trying to decide on the most feasible and least risky maneuver. With my thoughts as collected as they could be, I decided the noise was probably a bird or racoon that was badly injured and maybe even rabid with rabies and lice and stuff. Tonight I didn't feel like dealing with hours of catching a crazy animal in the dark all by myself - the morning would be a better time - a procrastinator I will always be. So shutting the door seemed to me to be the best option. Given that the animal could possibly fly or run at me, my movements should be quick like the flick of a lizard's tongue. I told Oscar to stay put - he was still staring in the direction of the door. Getting to the door isn't as easy as it may seem - I keep my room in total disorder - I'm not proud; it's just the way it is (see "Total Messes"). I have piles of CD's, that I'm intending to organize, scattered in their respective genres on the floor. They posed as the biggest hurdles, but in probably five shakes of a lamb's tail I made it to the door and slammed it shut. After my Florence Griffith show, I settled back into bed with Oscar. We both stared at the door - no noise - no turkey gobbling... A dust of sleep fell lazily over the ragged and trodden tracks traveled in my head, the tracks ragged and trodden by travel, the traveled tracks - ragged and trodden...
Thirty minutes later, a loud sound outside my window awakens me yet again - God Damnit!! I'm exhausted and way tired of being freaked out. I look out my window from the third floor and see a man with a garden hose in the courtyard down below. He's apparently and noisily watering the one tree growing out of the concrete patio - an urban forest, if you will (I hate it when people say "if you will" - if I will what? Suspend disbelief? Allow you to bore the crap out of me?...) Anyway, watering this late at night? Jesus... But who knows? There may be a water main break and all of the tenants will need to evacuate and he's using the hose to... I don't know, but to be sure that all is kosher, as well as to tell him to stick that hose up his ass, I must open my bedroom door and go out on the back patio. Well, opening the bedroom door would potentially expose me to a rabid animal/alien or possibly a murderer with an axe. I grab my umbrella for protection, swing open the door, scream out that I'm not going to take shit from anyone and run through the apartment checking all the closets and under every object that hovers close to the floor. It's clear - none of the three options are present... unless the aliens are invisible.
I was so relieved in not finding any strange creature in my apartment that I forgot to care about what the guy outside was doing with the garden hose. Since I was wide awake, I sat down in the front room for a smoke break to calm my nerves. I was smiling at Oscar realizing that his true color was yellow - he didn't come out of my room until all the lights were on - when suddenly, I heard the noise for a second time. It was coming out of the bathroom - I checked in there already!! Are there really invisible aliens? I bravely sneaked over to the hallway, got down on my hands and knees, crawled over to the bathroom doorway and peeked in. The choked turkey noise was coming from the bathtub drain!! I immediately recalled that Jen mentioned something about the rental company turning off the water earlier that day. So I start putting two and two together, then four and four... when I finally get to 128 I realize that asshole watering the urban forest was causing this horrid noise; well, mind you, this building is probably around 80 to 100 years old and I'm guessing the plumbing is only a couple of decades younger - plumbing that old probably can't take starting and stopping and then starting back up again without making some type of frustrated noise... hmmm, this may be the case for many types of plumbing. Anyway, regardless of the age of the plumbing, that dipshit scared me like I've never been scared before - I was scared enough to vow that if I lived through the night, I would never leave the apartment door unlocked. So out on the back patio I go, where the urban gardner and I exchanged a few obscenities regarding his nightly botanical exploits, after which I went to bed miffed as all Hell and utterly exhausted.
Finally the story of my shitty morning... I live in the City and work in the East Bay - it's opposite commuting, but it still takes me a good 45 minutes to get to my office - that's if I leave at the right time. To ensure, that I do leave at the right time, I park in the 7:00 AM tow away zone along Oak Street. I thought this was really clever a long time ago - it forces me to quit using the snooze button; I get to work on time; and not to mention, that the early AM tow away parking is all that's available by the time I get home. As the months have gone by, my snooze button usage has actually increased, and I have developed this habit of getting out of bed 10 minutes before 7, throwing on whatever clothes are laying on the floor, rushing out the door to get my car, and then parking it at one of the street corners in front of my building; at which point, I turn the hazard lights on to inform any parking nazis that I will be coming to remove it from its illegal position soon. I then run up to my apartment and hurriedly get ready for work. This morning was no exception. I slept through my alarm, probably hitting the snooze button more than twice - no big surprise there - but still managed to get up at 6:45. Phew, plenty of time to get my car out of the tow zone. I was soooo tired to the infinity power. My body was heavy and moving slowly like a mafia victim wearing concrete shoes submerged beneath the nearest body of water. Last night took a horrendous dent into my beauty sleep, as well as my cognitive awareness. I pulled on my jeans that I seriously should only wear while painting and a sweater that I stole from my dad when I was sixteen. I slipped my feet into my oversized flip flops and trudged out of the apartment. While I was shutting the door, I remembered the horrors that crossed my mind very early that morning, and how I had promised myself to lock the apartment door from now on. So like a good girl, I did just that. Running down the stairs I stopped midway and realized that my silly self had forgotten her keys. I trotted back up the steps, got to the door, and...
This isn't FUCKING happening!! This isn't FUCKING happening!!! FUCK!!! This is really happening! My brain scattered like pieces of a completed puzzle that accidently was knocked down from a card table. I gathered the pieces the best I could, but the picture, once two Golden Retriever puppies, now exhibited their tails hanging from their mouths and their tongues wagging from their behinds. The reality of my dire situation permeated through the particles of my body, and complete panic now surrounded every cell. Shit... There's a window in the hallway (it, actually, was unlocked) that opens to the outside stairwell descending to the courtyard. Climbing through this window, I can access the back door of our apartment. Maybe I left that door unlocked when I went out to yell at the guy with the garden hose?... I knew I locked it - the possibility of an intruder last night ensured it, but just maybe... I had to try it. Fuck! It's locked. What to do? My car was going to be towed in 5 minutes. My car keys - all of my keys - are inside my locked apartment. It's funny how my last name is Locke (I didn't think of this until now) Did I mention that I park in the tow away zone forcing my ass to be at work on time? Oh, the irony pissing on me from the Parking God!
I went outside in the rain, knowing my ass was completely shut out of the building. Thank God I had my umbrella - San Francisco winter weather was in full swing that morning. What else could make this morning shittier? Keep reading. While running to Oak Street, I was preparing, in my head, a plea for my case with the intention of coercing the parking ticketer person to give me a break. I really thought my circumstances would gain enough sympathy thereby preventing the towing of my car and a ticket. I mean come on - think of the karma that would eventually bite this parking ticketer person in the ass - not to mention, their conscience being haunted from knowing that they contributed to a sweet girl's having a really bad fucking day AND the depletion of the meager funds in her puddle of a bank account. I got to Oak Street and saw the parking ticketer's vehicle resting along side the road. It looked like a covered, cartoon-like, mini-police motorcycle. The parking clock was ticking. Soon it would chime its alarm, signaling the demon tow trucks to cause a really bad fucking day for probably several nice and well-intentioned people, like myself. I ran up to the blue and white bubble on wheels, and Ms. Parking Ticketer opens her window - I can feel the heat eminating from inside the bubble - she takes a good look at me with her eyes checking me out from head to toe. She stares at my Adidas flip-flopped feet and exclaims, "Girl, you got only one sock on!" The other one was most likely snuggled between the nice, warm, dry sheets tucked in my bed. Good - that adds to my pitiful situation. I explain to her what transpired this morning, leaving out the turkey gobble part. In hindsight, maybe telling her about invisible aliens would have contributed to my cause - nobody likes to piss off a crazy person. I could tell from looking into her eyes, a bit of compassion was brewing underneath her warm, puffy, probably down-filled, water proof jacket. I, on the other hand, stood there - freezing with no coat, hair and teeth unbrushed, holding a dripping umbrella, and in disheveled clothes that the Salvation Army wouldn't even accept - tyring to keep calm. She was thinking, tapping her long purple finger nails on the petite steering wheel. She asked if there was anyone I could call. Well, there's my roommate, but I don't have a phone. Ms. Parking Ticketer reached inside her puffy jacket and took out her cell phone, offering it to me. Man, parking ticketer persons really do have hearts beneath their down-filled, city government issued jackets. I thanked her like I was a starving Ethopian child in the 1980's when given a small bowl of mush. I called Jen - no answer - in fact, there wasn't even a ring; the call went straight to her voicemail. Fuck!! She's sleeping, and Rob's house is a good 2 miles away - not happening. Ms. Parking Ticketer (I later found out that her initials are A.D. which were printed on the rain-soaked parking ticket stuck beneath my windshield wipers) radioed her supervisor to see what options were available - pretty much none. My car would be a road hazard due to its being parked in a lane that soon would open up to traffic. Fuck again!! So I asked A.D. what she thought of my begging the tow truck driver to cut me some slack. She shook her head, "Honey, they make money off towing cars." They make money off of causing a really bad fucking day for nice, community-contributing people, like myself. For a minute there, I thought of bribing the tow truck driver by flashing him my breasts - it worked for a taxi cab driver once.
I thanked A.D. for her kindness and walked away wondering if I would still get a parking ticket on top of the towing fees I would soon have to pay. You dawggone it betcha! Turning from Masonic onto Oak, I saw the tow trucks coming. I kept on - I didn't want to see the horror; I wouldn't be able to stomach the demons sinking their claws into my very dirty but reliable Jetta. I walked to the corner coffee shop, and I explained to the English girl, behind the counter, my whole morning, leaving out the turkey gobble part. She allowed me to use the phone, and I think she even offered me coffee, or maybe I hoped she would (I was craving any kind of affection at that point) - but I wouldn't have accepted it - drinking coffee leads to the merciless need for the comfort of a toilet - pronto. Called twice - again, no Jen. What to do? I walked back to the apartment building and sat on the stoop, waiting for her to come home. My newspaper was there, so I, at least, had something to occupy my mind. I flipped through the paper to find my horoscope - maybe it would give me insight on how to manipulate the cosmos into somehow turning back time. But I'll be goddamned - someone stole the fucking entertainment section; why would they go through the trouble of just taking the entertainment section and not the whole damned paper? I sat around for a while, then it dawned on me that Rob had a land line, but I didn't know his phone number off the top of my head. But!!! Kerry and Becca, who live 3 blocks away, had his number. I ran over to their place - thank God Kerry was there - 10 more minutes and she would have been out the door. Becca ended up hooking up with a guy the night before - there's no way she would have answered the door, that's if she even made it home. Kerry gave me Rob's home number, and I got the answering machine. I left a long desperate message, hoping to awake one of the boys in the household. No luck. I called again, got the answering machine - left another message. I knew if I kept calling, someone would eventually answer the phone. Upon the advent of cell phones and their ever decreasing rates, I saw no use in also having a land line. But the boys at 5th and Fulton are stubborn - technologically, they are still in the '80s. They don't believe in being accessible 24 hours a day - so no cell phones, have they - they're artists... After this morning, my opinion of land lines somersaulted to a complete 180; never again would I question their importance in the home. Finally, on the fourth ring, Jen answers the phone in a panic - one of the roommates woke her up, telling her that I was in trouble. I explained my situation for the fourth time that morning, of course, leaving out the turkey gobble part. She was on her way to my rescue.
When Jen arrived home, the rain had stopped, and she blessed me with a sympathetic smile that a mother gives her daughter after having just skinned her knee. We both showered and got ready for our respective work days. Jen was wonderful; before giving me a ride to the city car impoundment dungeon, she made smoothies.
After shelling out $170 big ones and peeling a $50 parking ticket off my car windshield (thanks A.D.), I arrived at work around 10:30 (did I mention that I park in the early AM tow away zone in order to get my lazy ass to work on time?). By the time I informed everyone of my morning resembling a scene out of a sitcom, it was around 11:00. At noon, my officemates and I were going to watch "The Apprentice" previously shown the night before. We have a couple of betting pools based on the outcomes of this show. So we like to watch it together the next day during lunchtime, on the basis that no one watched it the night before. With only one hour before noon, I didn't feel that I could get the work wheels turning in my brain without probably having to redo it all over again after the noon time showing. So... I started to write this entry. I learned two lessons based on this morning's events - don't lock the apartment door and don't succomb to the dumb ass idea of parking in an early morning tow away zone in hopes of getting to work on time. Oh and one more thing, it's time to start sleeping in pajamas instead of in the nude.
