So it all started when I went to the library with the intention of just vegging out. I was lucky to get a desk in the quiet room with nobody around me. But just in case, I started from the end of the row where the guy was, alternated what should be an empty desk with a potentially filled one, then went to the other end of the row to plant my computer and bookbag. That way, if there was another person who wanted to come in, he would see that there was a perfect space in that row for him or her to work while leaving an empty desk to his/her left and right while also giving me and this other guy space as well.
That is how it's supposed to work. But this asshole who came just after me was too stupid to understand such social mores. He plops into the desk right to my left -- and gives me a nod as if to say, "What's up?" while he does it. Dude, I ain't your friend -- move your ass to the desk to the left and give me some fucking privacy!! Now I have to worry about this guy stealing my shit. I was going to get a coffee, now I don't think so.
And the final straw came when yet another guy came into the quiet room and took the desk just to my right. Now I'm surrounded by two dudes who won't leave me alone. And this asshole actually nodded to the guy who sat on my left before he sat down, like it was their plan to piss me off. And that I was. I just wanted to listen to a couple basketball games over the afternoon and not spend anything. But I was so upset that I packed up my things and left. I decided to go to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the games instead. Sure, I'll have to spend money I don't have. But you have to understand I was feeling panicky, desperate and, most of all, screwed by my plans being ruined by these two dicks who wouldn't leave me alone. And if my plans were all fucked up, why not just fucking run up my credit card bill by drinking away my bitterness?
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Before I left I looked up directions to the nearest BWW online. It's three miles away from the library, but it wound its way through side streets. And yet I felt confident I could get there without a hitch, even though I've never been there nor the streets that get me there.
And once I found myself driving on a street that I did not remember seeing on the online map, I turned around. And then when I saw that the road I was supposed to be on was the road I was on, I fucking turned back. And then the road name I needed (which I saw when I flipped a bitch) appeared again; for some goddamn reason I was on the right road, but the name switched, then switched back.
That's annoying enough. What's even more upsetting is that I often do this to myself, doubling back and realizing I was right in the first place so I had to reverse my reverse, so to speak. That wastes a lot of time, which was particularly crucial today; there were several games which were concluding, specifically the very last Georgetown-Syracuse matchup as members of the Big East (the Hoyas routed the Orange, but witnessing the end of the great rivalry was the reason I wanted to see it, not to see a close game). If I didn't do a U-turn, I probably would have had time to get into the restaurant and see it. But since I was driving in circles for three minutes, I caught the end only on my satellite radio. At least I caught the end -- thank Buddha for satellite radio -- but it's not like seeing it as it happens.
But do you know what pissed me off most of all? My gas gauge. At the beginning of the day I was at the notch below full. But because of all the left turns I took, by the time I reached Buffalo Wild Wings I was closer to the next notch below, which is half full. Now, it's not as jumpy as my previous car, a Jeep, nor is it as bad as it had been a few months back when I had to have the fuel damper and some O-rings in the engine replaced. But for the past year it's been very movable, going down or up depending on how fast I am going and which way I turn. Now there have been times where the gauge has been low but after I straighten up and drive slower, the needle moves up a bit. But all this moving proves to me that the gas gauge is no longer showing me how much gas is actually in the car. Moreover and more immediate, it's a bummer to see that I drove about 16 miles, yet the gauge is showing me I used up a third of my gas. That's fucked up, even if it's not entirely true.
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So I get to BWW, pissed off after the shitty trip I had. Customer service was great; hostess invited me in, said that if I wanted any TV changed to a game I wanted to watch I could (first time anyone has offered to do that -- great touch), and my waitress alerted me to the fact that I have to renew my driver's license by my birthday. I totally would not have noticed if she did not tell me. So I am kind of glad I got there.
But I was still bothered there, too. I go in to look for a place at the bar. There were three at the very end, but they're oriented away from many of the TV's I wanted to see. I was going to grit my teeth and bite the bullet and sit, but then I two other guys swooped in to take them. Fuck!
Then they didn't; they moved to a table. But before I went over there to claim a stool I saw the reason they may have eschewed the bar for a table: The guy at the end was noticeably twitchy, like he was of limited mental capability. Oh, great. So I went to the other end of the bar because I thought I saw a few stools open ... nope, some guy staked his claim to the one right in the middle. Shit, I had to take a table.
My initial trepidation of this guy was right on the money. First of all, he had motor skill issues, namely facial expressions that would not stop, his arms jutting all over the place, and when he got up (which he did several times in the two-plus hours I was there) he walked haltingly, with his head back, his chest out, and with one of his feet dragging.
Moreover, several times during my stay there he broke into a chant from watching the Iowa-Nebraska college basketball game, which was on the big TV at the restaurant and whose sound was the one we heard. For some reason he would stand up out of his chair and scream, without consistent melody or cadence, "Here we go Hawkeyes, here we go! Here we go ... Cornhuskers ... go get the ball!" or something like that, I was trying to ignore him. It was starting to get really creepy and annoying when he would step away from his chair and do it at the table next to him, or across the bar area.
Oh, and he was wearing a kilt, too. Now that's just fucking weird.
OK, maybe I should be a little more understanding. But many of the other customers were not understanding. I didn't see any of them immediately bolt for the door, but I think several there left a little earlier than they planned because of this guy. Who is he? A mentally challenged relative of one of the people who work there? A guy planted there so his Personal Care Assistant could run errands and/or just get away from this guy and feel secure in knowing he's in a safe place?
I stayed as long as I could, but this guy was bothering the shit out of me, so I left.
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I guess I was bothered that I was late to the Class AA Final of the Boys' State High School Hockey Tournament, and that I chose from a scalper a lower level seat that put me in the end of the Edina zone right next to the Edina student section, not a club seat that might have put me right on center ice, where I like it. But I only spent ten bucks. Plus, during a time out I looked up and saw that virtually every single seat was taken. And then I realized that I'm glad I chose to come, despite being rejected for a press credential (more on that some other time). Eighteen-thousand-plus people, all there to watch a high school hockey game. It's one of the best things that makes Minnesota Minnesota. So I guess I can't complain too much.
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Something that really bothers me, for real, however: My car fucking started to buck on me on red lights again. Fucking car can't take the damp weather we've been having. And it's been good the past couple weeks. I was afraid of driving it today, and I thought about just staying home and walking to oatmeal and coffee. But I didn't really have the money to spend for oatmeal and coffee, and so I braved it.
Well, it wasn't idling roughly, but the ride was not smooth. Now, when I try to accelerate from a complete stop, the gas pedal is unresponsive. This is an issue with the distributor cap and rotor, plus the spark plugs and ignition wires. But I've replaced (and fucking paid for) all those fucking things, twice, in the past 18 months. Fuckin' A, I'll just blame it on the moisture.
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