As is his wont, my best friend, who lives in New York, told me he is in town on short-notice, like 24 hours' notice. There was one time he did it and left me a voicemail, but I was at a concert and ate afterward and by the time I turned my phone on and heard he was in Minnesota, it was 1 in the morning. This is kind of annoying, but he's my best friend, and I love him, so I made some time last night after the football game's win to see him.
Because of my rough week and that I ate at the game I wanted to overrule him, and because I was feeling kind of self-destructive I wanted to go to a stripclub. But almost immediately after saying or messaging that (can't remember which), I regretted it. It's not as if I have the money, and I really wanted to talk to him. If I had to buy yet another beer at a bar to do so, you know, maybe that'll be fine.
But then I hedged again when I called him back. There was one place he would be amenable to going, and eventually I kind of coaxed him (and myself too, actually) into going all the way down to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division). I didn't initially want to go and spend money at this club so far away from me this night; that just was not my mood. But I wanted to talk to him, so I figured we'd just kick it and ignore, or at least give no more than a passing glance, at the strippers.
So we talked. It was a battle of controlling the conversation; I wanted to vent about the club and this guy at work, but he wanted to have his questions answered, all of them about the club. I needed validation from him that what I was feeling was OK. Moreover, I am going to trust him when he said that both situations will blow over. Finally, I felt a sense of salvation and confidence when he said I should not apologize to this guy at work on Tuesday. I will thus come in and do my job. Because my friend said so.
And through all of this, almost three-and-a-half hours, not once, not once, did we spend a dime on strippers. I bought the first round of beers and he bought chicken wings for us to share, and he had a couple more beers and obviously we both paid for cover. (Plus I gave a dollar to the bouncers on the way out.) But despite us saying late in the night that we thought about getting dances, we didn't. Most of the girls saw us chatting with each other and stayed away. Only near closing time, when we were kind of itching for some action, did two girls come up to us. We both said no because we had specific girls in mind, and none of them approached us. So, we left.
I spent $28 on cover, drinks and tip. And that's it. And this is the first time I hung out at a stripclub without spending money on strippers. There were a couple times where I dashed in quickly at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) to see who's working and left five seconds later. But this was a full-fledged strip club event, and I didn't spend a penny on ass nor titties.
I think that's ... notable.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Dude, This Guy At Work Went Off On Me
Wow, this guy, who technically works above me, seemed to be a mild-mannered guy, if overworked. And all I did, because I thought this was something that needed to be done now, was interrupt him during lunch Friday. And he basically fucking lost it. How was I supposed to know he was there since 6:30? After he got done with eating he came over. I thought he was going to let it slide, but instead he in fact doubled down on yelling at me. Some shit about Human Resources I don't understand. He accepted my apology except that he didn't. All because I asked him for his help during his lunch time.
This blindsided the shit out of me. I still can't fucking believe that happened. To be charitable, however, I have been where he was. If he has been working all day, I can empathize with being tired and constantly bothered. I have gone off when somebody said or did something that I didn't like, or said it with a tone that I found disrespectful. Hell, I grabbed a girl's wrist when I lost my temper. So this might be a case where a guy with a long day and thus a short fuse took what I said the wrong way. That can describe me. Therefore, maybe I need to limit pitying myself. And maybe I shouldn't have used words to the effect of, "You need to help me now."
Yet I still have to worry about how we're going to interact after this, because we will have to. He doesn't seem to be the talkative type, so I don't know if he's going to be one to forgive and forget. I need to say hi to him the first time we pass by each other to gauge his temperature. He could give me the cold shoulder, which means this could be a rocky season. Shit, I tried to say goodbye to him on my way out and he so did not want to be bothered he was listening to his iPhone, first time I ever saw that. Man, this could suck.
The one big thing I'm focusing on is what he said the second time he yelled at me. He said that his bosses can grab him during lunch, but no one else can. To me, that makes me think that he is referring to the company's organizational structure. In other words, he was not going to be bossed around by someone beneath him. Again, I understand that, and I'm sure I have pulled shit like that when I was mad. But right now I have to deal with being an underling, and again, I'm not sure if he's not going to lord this power dynamic over me. Also, if he got angry over my tone, will he wait until he deems that I am sufficiently contrite? If so, he's going to be waiting a fucking long time, because I have a job to do. That's why I marched into the break room.
Fuck this guy. Why do I let him into my brain? Why do I have to fucking blog about assholes like him?
---
I will say this: Although I had this cringing feeling come over me when he came after me the second time, like all the times I was a child and my parents yelled at me to the point where I cried, I am not close to tears. Partially that's because I'm an adult, partially that's because I have done to other people what he did to me. But partially it's also because I need to see if the other shoe is going to drop.
My best friend is in town. I did not tell him about this until after I told him about the alumni club watch party tonight (Saturday night), specifically that key members might be pissed at me. He told me he has never heard me this stressed. I don't think this is stress -- the real bad shit hasn't happened yet. So right now I am not stressed. More like confused. There is a lot of uncertainty of what could happen to me, and yet none of that is under my control at this point. If it all goes sideways, then I have to face the very, very bad consequences of it, and then I would be stressed.
---
So my actual boss (or at least one of the two) stressed me out for one day a couple weeks ago, but otherwise he's been pretty easygoing (whenever he's not been buried in work and didn't say hi to me). Didn't hear it from me, but I heard that my former boss, the guy who got fired at the tail end of last season, hated this guy. And the girl whose wrist I grabbed in anger last season didn't like him either, at least according to another of my co-workers, who also happened to be her boyfriend, at least at the time. They found him to be kind of a dick, and the phrase "piss-poor planning" came up more than once.
But this weird episode where the guy went postal on me illustrates his positive traits, hopefully something that I really, really hope will remain consistent throughout the project. I was hanging out with him for a chunk of Friday and he was trying to joke with me. I was having none of it, mostly because I had other duties to do for my other boss. But what we were doing was something that was delayed for a long time, as well as something that is very, very important that could not be fucked up. If he can still provide some levity despite all of that, well, that's grace under pressure. So maybe he's kind of a slob when it comes to work. Maybe he could have gotten this shit done if he straightened up and flew right. But right now, I would rather have a guy like him, someone who doesn't have his act together but will at least have some perspective on stress and his workload, than a guy who gets the job done but will snap under the weight of the day.
---
Still don't know what's gonna happen come Tuesday.
This blindsided the shit out of me. I still can't fucking believe that happened. To be charitable, however, I have been where he was. If he has been working all day, I can empathize with being tired and constantly bothered. I have gone off when somebody said or did something that I didn't like, or said it with a tone that I found disrespectful. Hell, I grabbed a girl's wrist when I lost my temper. So this might be a case where a guy with a long day and thus a short fuse took what I said the wrong way. That can describe me. Therefore, maybe I need to limit pitying myself. And maybe I shouldn't have used words to the effect of, "You need to help me now."
Yet I still have to worry about how we're going to interact after this, because we will have to. He doesn't seem to be the talkative type, so I don't know if he's going to be one to forgive and forget. I need to say hi to him the first time we pass by each other to gauge his temperature. He could give me the cold shoulder, which means this could be a rocky season. Shit, I tried to say goodbye to him on my way out and he so did not want to be bothered he was listening to his iPhone, first time I ever saw that. Man, this could suck.
The one big thing I'm focusing on is what he said the second time he yelled at me. He said that his bosses can grab him during lunch, but no one else can. To me, that makes me think that he is referring to the company's organizational structure. In other words, he was not going to be bossed around by someone beneath him. Again, I understand that, and I'm sure I have pulled shit like that when I was mad. But right now I have to deal with being an underling, and again, I'm not sure if he's not going to lord this power dynamic over me. Also, if he got angry over my tone, will he wait until he deems that I am sufficiently contrite? If so, he's going to be waiting a fucking long time, because I have a job to do. That's why I marched into the break room.
Fuck this guy. Why do I let him into my brain? Why do I have to fucking blog about assholes like him?
---
I will say this: Although I had this cringing feeling come over me when he came after me the second time, like all the times I was a child and my parents yelled at me to the point where I cried, I am not close to tears. Partially that's because I'm an adult, partially that's because I have done to other people what he did to me. But partially it's also because I need to see if the other shoe is going to drop.
My best friend is in town. I did not tell him about this until after I told him about the alumni club watch party tonight (Saturday night), specifically that key members might be pissed at me. He told me he has never heard me this stressed. I don't think this is stress -- the real bad shit hasn't happened yet. So right now I am not stressed. More like confused. There is a lot of uncertainty of what could happen to me, and yet none of that is under my control at this point. If it all goes sideways, then I have to face the very, very bad consequences of it, and then I would be stressed.
---
So my actual boss (or at least one of the two) stressed me out for one day a couple weeks ago, but otherwise he's been pretty easygoing (whenever he's not been buried in work and didn't say hi to me). Didn't hear it from me, but I heard that my former boss, the guy who got fired at the tail end of last season, hated this guy. And the girl whose wrist I grabbed in anger last season didn't like him either, at least according to another of my co-workers, who also happened to be her boyfriend, at least at the time. They found him to be kind of a dick, and the phrase "piss-poor planning" came up more than once.
But this weird episode where the guy went postal on me illustrates his positive traits, hopefully something that I really, really hope will remain consistent throughout the project. I was hanging out with him for a chunk of Friday and he was trying to joke with me. I was having none of it, mostly because I had other duties to do for my other boss. But what we were doing was something that was delayed for a long time, as well as something that is very, very important that could not be fucked up. If he can still provide some levity despite all of that, well, that's grace under pressure. So maybe he's kind of a slob when it comes to work. Maybe he could have gotten this shit done if he straightened up and flew right. But right now, I would rather have a guy like him, someone who doesn't have his act together but will at least have some perspective on stress and his workload, than a guy who gets the job done but will snap under the weight of the day.
---
Still don't know what's gonna happen come Tuesday.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Blogging This While At Work
I don't think I should be on the Internet anyway, but blogging while working seems like a definite no-no. But I'll be going to volleyball matches after work, two of them, and then once I come home (earlier than I would like to) Mother has some final instructions for me, and then I'll be too tired to do anything.
I haven't even had time to take a shower. I think the last time was Sunday? That usually doesn't bother me, but I have new responsibilities at work and you'd think I should smell at least halfway decent. Oh, and I should shave, too.
I'm busy, have to go back to work.
I haven't even had time to take a shower. I think the last time was Sunday? That usually doesn't bother me, but I have new responsibilities at work and you'd think I should smell at least halfway decent. Oh, and I should shave, too.
I'm busy, have to go back to work.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
48 Hours And I Still Don't Fucking Know If They're Pissed At Me Or Not
So the first game of the season is on Saturday, two days away, and I still have not heard from the two people in the club who still might be really, really pissed at me -- one for what I didn't do for the party, the other for, I hear, acting weird and being an asshole guest. I mused on Wailing And Failing that I should e-mail them, but I so far haven't. I might be over-dramatizing things, so I don't want to come off as desperate. Instead, this silent treatment means I'm banking on them being all hunky-dory with me even despite all I have heard.
This is killing me. I need the active members of this club to continue to come to games, and I don't know if they're going to do it because they seem to be angry with me. If they are pissed at me, what's the use of reaching out ... unless I'm totally wrong and, in fact, I might be making things worse by not reaching out and asking if everything is OK between us.
This is my second year as president of the club, and I don't remember freaking out over how the club's going to react last year. Part of my fear this year is that I'm not 100% sure that we can watch games at this bar even though we've been going here for two years now. Until I hear it from the horse's mouth -- which is the owner's -- my heart's beating a mile a minute. Plus, I have to start fundraising again, and whoring for money is something I am never comfortable with.
But those things are in the back of my mind. I need to know if these two people are cool with me. The question is, Should I e-mail them? Fuck if I know what to do.
This is killing me. I need the active members of this club to continue to come to games, and I don't know if they're going to do it because they seem to be angry with me. If they are pissed at me, what's the use of reaching out ... unless I'm totally wrong and, in fact, I might be making things worse by not reaching out and asking if everything is OK between us.
This is my second year as president of the club, and I don't remember freaking out over how the club's going to react last year. Part of my fear this year is that I'm not 100% sure that we can watch games at this bar even though we've been going here for two years now. Until I hear it from the horse's mouth -- which is the owner's -- my heart's beating a mile a minute. Plus, I have to start fundraising again, and whoring for money is something I am never comfortable with.
But those things are in the back of my mind. I need to know if these two people are cool with me. The question is, Should I e-mail them? Fuck if I know what to do.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). Woofie Dog fans, our long national nightmare is finally over. After waiting 30 days, Kevin Love has been traded from the only team he has played for, and a place where he could not wait to leave. And for all his insolence and bitching he gets to play against The Best Basketball Player On Planet Earth, also known as This Generation's Jordan, LeBron James.
I have succumbed to those who say that the Timberwolves got a lot more for a star player everybody in the National Basketball Association knew was going to walk away from the club as soon as possible than most teams have been in similar situations. This turned into a three-team traded with Philadelphia: The Wolves traded Love to Cleveland and Luc Mbah a Moute and Alexey Shved (more like their expiring contracts) to Philadelphia; the Cavaliers give Minnesota reigning #1 NBA Draft pick Andrew Wiggins, last year's #1, Anthony Bennett, and a future first-round draft pick; and the 76ers give the Woofs the man who is going to take over Love's spot at the four, Thaddeus Young. A possible franchise player, a serviceable four and what could be a valuable man off the bench, plus a future #1? It could have been a hell of a lot worse.
Like the fact that the three new Wolves, alongside the "homegrown" squad's #1 pick, Zach LaVine, were all introduced to Minnesota at, where else, the Minnesota State Fair. Great PR move from an organization that has little to crow about.
So where did it all go wrong? I continue to hear that the inability for the fans to totally believe that Love bought 100% into Minnesota was echoed inside the locker room. I was close to blame everything on ex-General Manager David Kahn and his belief that the franchise's only max contract should go to Ricky Rubio, not Love. But the strange indolence and emotional distance he seemed to ooze from his pores makes me think that he would have bolted Minnesota even if he did get the maximum of five years.
So even though they may be worse than the 40-42 record they wound up with last season, at least this is over. In its wake is a future which is uncertain but young. A Rubio-LaVine-Wiggins-Young-Nikola Pekovic fivesome might be the most entertaining bad team the Twin Cities has seen in a long time.
Finally, I don't mind the drama that seems to be whipping up now that the trade is official. With decisions finally made and Love traded away to Cleveland, the terrain seems to be safe for the principals to say what they really want to say. And that begins with Wolves Owner Glen Taylor, who regaled an interesting tale over the radio Tuesday that Al Jefferson personally called him and said he wouldn't mind being traded. Taylor praised Jefferson for being honest and for reaching out -- something Love didn't do. His agent did all the trade demanding for him. Oh, and Taylor questions how successful and happy Love is going to be playing next to James and Kyrie Irving. And he doubts he'll be even mediocre defensively.
Hearing this, Love may have shown his true self, or at least confirmed the worst feelings T-Wolves fans have of him. On Wednesday Love just said that he's looking forward and that Taylor should mind his own goddamn team. Oh, I smell a cat fight!
Three things:
#-2: Gopher soccer (Re-Entry!). Once again I say that the NCAA, or at least the enterprising Big Ten Network, has failed to capitalize on the fact that although the college football season Thursday, the true college sports season began with women's soccer matches on Friday. Hey, even the SEC Network noted that the first-ever live sporting event in its life was a soccer match Friday, Georgia at Ole Miss. (The game finished a 1-all draw, by the way.) So you may not have noticed that the University of Minnesota women's soccer club, after reaching the NCAA Tournament, started its season in Florida and split its two games. They crushed Stetson at Stetson 10-0 Friday, but then were soundly defeated by the team ranked second in the country, Florida St., 4-1. So this weekend told us nothing about the strength of this team. One, by the way, that was predicted to be one-and-done again in the tourney by what I still believe is the only blog dedicated to women's soccer, All-White Kit. They open up their home schedule Labor (this) Weekend with games Friday night against Marquette and Sunday after vs. South Dakota St.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). Finally, a survey that reflects the true impotence of this club. I am doing this extremely late on Wednesday because I decided to take in one final St. Paul Saints game at Midway Stadium before they move into a brand-new ballpark in the Lowertown part of downtown St. Paul next year, and the game went to a dozen innings. (They lost, like, 10-6 to Winnipeg and aren't going to the playoffs, so Thursday's potential rain-delayed or -canceled contest will be The Last Game Ever At Midway ... unless the rain and thunder postpones or cancels it.)
The Saints no longer get the sell-out crowds they got when they began 21 years ago. Nevertheless they have a record just above .500, which is a hell of a lot better than the Twinks, who, because I'm doing this after they lost Wednesday evening to Kansas City 6-1, finished this week 3-5. I wonder how in the hell they won three games this screening week, but they have lost four in a row, the most stomach-churning Tuesday's 2-1 loss to the Royals. The club was hanging on for dear life, but Glen Perkins served up a slider to Alex Gordon with a man on in the bottom of the ninth inning to give K.C. the dramatic victory. It was the first time all season Perkins gave up a home run to a left-hander.
Surprisingly, the Twinks are sixth in Major League Baseball in hitting since some arbitrary point in the season. That was probably padded by 20-6 and 12-4 wins back-to-back against imploding Detroit. But that was the Tigers. The Twins are currently getting their asses kicked by powerhouse Kansas City. When was the last time you could say that, 1983?
This week: Finish up with the Royals tomorrow (Thursday) evening, then spending Labor Weekend in Baltimore. They then come home to play a pair with the Chicago White Sox starting on Tuesday.
I have succumbed to those who say that the Timberwolves got a lot more for a star player everybody in the National Basketball Association knew was going to walk away from the club as soon as possible than most teams have been in similar situations. This turned into a three-team traded with Philadelphia: The Wolves traded Love to Cleveland and Luc Mbah a Moute and Alexey Shved (more like their expiring contracts) to Philadelphia; the Cavaliers give Minnesota reigning #1 NBA Draft pick Andrew Wiggins, last year's #1, Anthony Bennett, and a future first-round draft pick; and the 76ers give the Woofs the man who is going to take over Love's spot at the four, Thaddeus Young. A possible franchise player, a serviceable four and what could be a valuable man off the bench, plus a future #1? It could have been a hell of a lot worse.
Like the fact that the three new Wolves, alongside the "homegrown" squad's #1 pick, Zach LaVine, were all introduced to Minnesota at, where else, the Minnesota State Fair. Great PR move from an organization that has little to crow about.
So where did it all go wrong? I continue to hear that the inability for the fans to totally believe that Love bought 100% into Minnesota was echoed inside the locker room. I was close to blame everything on ex-General Manager David Kahn and his belief that the franchise's only max contract should go to Ricky Rubio, not Love. But the strange indolence and emotional distance he seemed to ooze from his pores makes me think that he would have bolted Minnesota even if he did get the maximum of five years.
So even though they may be worse than the 40-42 record they wound up with last season, at least this is over. In its wake is a future which is uncertain but young. A Rubio-LaVine-Wiggins-Young-Nikola Pekovic fivesome might be the most entertaining bad team the Twin Cities has seen in a long time.
Finally, I don't mind the drama that seems to be whipping up now that the trade is official. With decisions finally made and Love traded away to Cleveland, the terrain seems to be safe for the principals to say what they really want to say. And that begins with Wolves Owner Glen Taylor, who regaled an interesting tale over the radio Tuesday that Al Jefferson personally called him and said he wouldn't mind being traded. Taylor praised Jefferson for being honest and for reaching out -- something Love didn't do. His agent did all the trade demanding for him. Oh, and Taylor questions how successful and happy Love is going to be playing next to James and Kyrie Irving. And he doubts he'll be even mediocre defensively.
Hearing this, Love may have shown his true self, or at least confirmed the worst feelings T-Wolves fans have of him. On Wednesday Love just said that he's looking forward and that Taylor should mind his own goddamn team. Oh, I smell a cat fight!
Three things:
- Taylor remains a very enigmatic character to MSP sports fans, I think. He owns what probably is the most moribund professional franchise in the state. But because he's a Mankato native -- he's One Of Us -- I think he gets a pass for a decade-plus of futility. And you know what? I'm one of those people. Maybe that's why I'm kind of OK with this Love trade and what it brought the Wolves.
- Jefferson never screamed, "stand-up guy" to me. This story is surprising.
- I kind of want to think that confirmation that he allowed his agent to do all the dirty work so that Love can continue to say all the right things about wanting to build a winner in Minnesota means that he is nothing but a two-faced asshole. But isn't that what agents do?
#-2: Gopher soccer (Re-Entry!). Once again I say that the NCAA, or at least the enterprising Big Ten Network, has failed to capitalize on the fact that although the college football season Thursday, the true college sports season began with women's soccer matches on Friday. Hey, even the SEC Network noted that the first-ever live sporting event in its life was a soccer match Friday, Georgia at Ole Miss. (The game finished a 1-all draw, by the way.) So you may not have noticed that the University of Minnesota women's soccer club, after reaching the NCAA Tournament, started its season in Florida and split its two games. They crushed Stetson at Stetson 10-0 Friday, but then were soundly defeated by the team ranked second in the country, Florida St., 4-1. So this weekend told us nothing about the strength of this team. One, by the way, that was predicted to be one-and-done again in the tourney by what I still believe is the only blog dedicated to women's soccer, All-White Kit. They open up their home schedule Labor (this) Weekend with games Friday night against Marquette and Sunday after vs. South Dakota St.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). Finally, a survey that reflects the true impotence of this club. I am doing this extremely late on Wednesday because I decided to take in one final St. Paul Saints game at Midway Stadium before they move into a brand-new ballpark in the Lowertown part of downtown St. Paul next year, and the game went to a dozen innings. (They lost, like, 10-6 to Winnipeg and aren't going to the playoffs, so Thursday's potential rain-delayed or -canceled contest will be The Last Game Ever At Midway ... unless the rain and thunder postpones or cancels it.)
The Saints no longer get the sell-out crowds they got when they began 21 years ago. Nevertheless they have a record just above .500, which is a hell of a lot better than the Twinks, who, because I'm doing this after they lost Wednesday evening to Kansas City 6-1, finished this week 3-5. I wonder how in the hell they won three games this screening week, but they have lost four in a row, the most stomach-churning Tuesday's 2-1 loss to the Royals. The club was hanging on for dear life, but Glen Perkins served up a slider to Alex Gordon with a man on in the bottom of the ninth inning to give K.C. the dramatic victory. It was the first time all season Perkins gave up a home run to a left-hander.
Surprisingly, the Twinks are sixth in Major League Baseball in hitting since some arbitrary point in the season. That was probably padded by 20-6 and 12-4 wins back-to-back against imploding Detroit. But that was the Tigers. The Twins are currently getting their asses kicked by powerhouse Kansas City. When was the last time you could say that, 1983?
This week: Finish up with the Royals tomorrow (Thursday) evening, then spending Labor Weekend in Baltimore. They then come home to play a pair with the Chicago White Sox starting on Tuesday.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
My Schedule's Up In The Air, Yet He Might Ground Me For Good (I'm Trying To Be Poetic With This Title, But I Think I Failed)
When my temp agency said the guys from the flu biller place wanted me back, my contact told me that some things were going to change this year. Since my boss was fired, I was brought on earlier to shoulder some of his more menial duties. Fair warning, fair enough. More drastically was the hours would change. Specifically, I would be working 10-hour Wednesdays but nevertheless 40-hour weeks, so I would have to shorten some of my workdays.
My contact wasn't specific about which ones or how long because, as he said, the flu biller place was flexible. Good; I was thinking that to make up for the two extra hours I would work on Wednesdays I would just take off a half-hour early. But apparently that was not the case. Not to get into too many details, I have to work 9 1/2 hours on Mondays and have a total of ten hours dedicated to Wednesday and Friday (well five apiece, not ten each day). Moreover, I have to stay until 6 Mondays and Wednesdays. So that kind of screws up my original plans, as well as my schedule.
And on top of all of that there are so huge things I need to do this and only this week. In preparation for their wintering overseas and out of town, my parents want me to visit their banks to be their signatory or something. Plus I have some alumni club stuff I should do in preparation for the game on Saturday, to make absolutely sure. And it struck me like a thunderbolt during work Monday that I haven't paid my monthly premium for September yet. I tried doing it online but they locked me out of my account, goddammit. I need to write a post about how MNSure sucks donkey dick, by the way.
So my new formulation was to try and get out of work mid-afternoon today (Tuesday) so I could take care of my health insurance and talk to the bar owner, then go to the St. Paul Saints game; this week is the last three games the independent minor league baseball team will ever play in traditional (read: decrepit) Midway Stadium. I then would spend Thursday mid-afternoon going to these banks with my parents. In exchange I would make Wednesday a 10-hour day, which, ironically enough, would be what I was told I would have to do before this assignment began. This isn't the greatest schedule, but I definitely need some time free in the afternoons. My boss could have me work any other schedule ... after this week, is all.
I was going to try and hash out my schedule with my boss, who, it now seems, is going to be one of two people I directly answer to. It's the other one who expects me to be around these 20 hours per week; my feeling is that the other 20 will be dictated by him. Unfortunately we didn't figure things out today, like I had hoped. Worse yet, he spat out an initial thought of just cutting me early on Fridays. That certainly wouldn't help me do all the errands I need to do this week, and that idea runs into another scenario: My other boss states that this other job involves keeping track of inventory. I have to make sure that we have the number of supplies that our computer has. She has gone through instances where the count was wrong and she had to stay late to figure out where the mistake came from. I am supposed to do the same if I screw up. But again I cannot go beyond 40 hours a week.
I have five hours in the morning on Fridays where I have to be there, keeping track of supplies and inventory. If something comes up wrong on Fridays, I believe I am expected to take what is the end of my 40-hour workweek to figure it out. I cannot just wait till noon, when the room closes, realize that the count is wrong and go, "Sorry, can't help you, I've reached my 40!" and take off. And I'm sure that it would be my fault if I somehow appear to try to weasel my way into overtime. Bottom line, I don't think just cutting me early on Fridays is the solution. But the way I left it with my male boss, I don't think he sees it that way.
So I guess I'm going to know in several hours whether or not I can convince him to do it my way, or at least reach a compromise where I can do everything I need to do this week and still be flexible enough to be able to stick around to clean up messes in the room Fridays. Hell, it'd be even better if he was cool with me setting my own schedule from week to week and not need to tell anyone. But is he that type of guy? Actually, no. And that'll mean I won't have time to pay my premium, make sure the alumni club has a bar to watch the games nor get signed up with my parents' banks. Which means I'm totally fucked.
We'll see.
My contact wasn't specific about which ones or how long because, as he said, the flu biller place was flexible. Good; I was thinking that to make up for the two extra hours I would work on Wednesdays I would just take off a half-hour early. But apparently that was not the case. Not to get into too many details, I have to work 9 1/2 hours on Mondays and have a total of ten hours dedicated to Wednesday and Friday (well five apiece, not ten each day). Moreover, I have to stay until 6 Mondays and Wednesdays. So that kind of screws up my original plans, as well as my schedule.
And on top of all of that there are so huge things I need to do this and only this week. In preparation for their wintering overseas and out of town, my parents want me to visit their banks to be their signatory or something. Plus I have some alumni club stuff I should do in preparation for the game on Saturday, to make absolutely sure. And it struck me like a thunderbolt during work Monday that I haven't paid my monthly premium for September yet. I tried doing it online but they locked me out of my account, goddammit. I need to write a post about how MNSure sucks donkey dick, by the way.
So my new formulation was to try and get out of work mid-afternoon today (Tuesday) so I could take care of my health insurance and talk to the bar owner, then go to the St. Paul Saints game; this week is the last three games the independent minor league baseball team will ever play in traditional (read: decrepit) Midway Stadium. I then would spend Thursday mid-afternoon going to these banks with my parents. In exchange I would make Wednesday a 10-hour day, which, ironically enough, would be what I was told I would have to do before this assignment began. This isn't the greatest schedule, but I definitely need some time free in the afternoons. My boss could have me work any other schedule ... after this week, is all.
I was going to try and hash out my schedule with my boss, who, it now seems, is going to be one of two people I directly answer to. It's the other one who expects me to be around these 20 hours per week; my feeling is that the other 20 will be dictated by him. Unfortunately we didn't figure things out today, like I had hoped. Worse yet, he spat out an initial thought of just cutting me early on Fridays. That certainly wouldn't help me do all the errands I need to do this week, and that idea runs into another scenario: My other boss states that this other job involves keeping track of inventory. I have to make sure that we have the number of supplies that our computer has. She has gone through instances where the count was wrong and she had to stay late to figure out where the mistake came from. I am supposed to do the same if I screw up. But again I cannot go beyond 40 hours a week.
I have five hours in the morning on Fridays where I have to be there, keeping track of supplies and inventory. If something comes up wrong on Fridays, I believe I am expected to take what is the end of my 40-hour workweek to figure it out. I cannot just wait till noon, when the room closes, realize that the count is wrong and go, "Sorry, can't help you, I've reached my 40!" and take off. And I'm sure that it would be my fault if I somehow appear to try to weasel my way into overtime. Bottom line, I don't think just cutting me early on Fridays is the solution. But the way I left it with my male boss, I don't think he sees it that way.
So I guess I'm going to know in several hours whether or not I can convince him to do it my way, or at least reach a compromise where I can do everything I need to do this week and still be flexible enough to be able to stick around to clean up messes in the room Fridays. Hell, it'd be even better if he was cool with me setting my own schedule from week to week and not need to tell anyone. But is he that type of guy? Actually, no. And that'll mean I won't have time to pay my premium, make sure the alumni club has a bar to watch the games nor get signed up with my parents' banks. Which means I'm totally fucked.
We'll see.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Well, At Least *He's* Got My Back
Sunday for brunch I had to take in a meeting with the only other guy on the board. It was important because, even though our meetings have been infrequent (although, to be honest, there really isn't a whole lot we needed to talk about over the spring and summer), we needed to talk at some point. There was no better time than now because 1) football season is heating up and 2) I feel embattled and besieged at my job.
So after dispensing with actual news -- is the bar set up, how's the money situation, neither of us can go to Los Angeles -- I finally dove into the crux of the meeting, or at least what I wanted to get out of it: How was I felt disrespected and betrayed at my job in light of the party we had last month. I did fall on my sword and was honest in thinking that if people were so unhappy with my performance I could just quit. But he reassured me that 1) I was overreacting, 2) if they were so goddamn unhappy then can show up next year and run for the board, unlike last year when we were the only two people who showed up, and 3) I shouldn't beat myself up over screwing the pooch planning the party.
I was afraid that he was going to rip me a new asshole for what I did and didn't do last month, so having that show of support from the only other person who is in a position of authority made me feel a lot better. I don't know if I can call him a friend per se, but at least I know someone who's on my side. And besides, because he totally forgot about our first meeting time earlier this month, he paid for brunch. What a swell guy!
So after dispensing with actual news -- is the bar set up, how's the money situation, neither of us can go to Los Angeles -- I finally dove into the crux of the meeting, or at least what I wanted to get out of it: How was I felt disrespected and betrayed at my job in light of the party we had last month. I did fall on my sword and was honest in thinking that if people were so unhappy with my performance I could just quit. But he reassured me that 1) I was overreacting, 2) if they were so goddamn unhappy then can show up next year and run for the board, unlike last year when we were the only two people who showed up, and 3) I shouldn't beat myself up over screwing the pooch planning the party.
I was afraid that he was going to rip me a new asshole for what I did and didn't do last month, so having that show of support from the only other person who is in a position of authority made me feel a lot better. I don't know if I can call him a friend per se, but at least I know someone who's on my side. And besides, because he totally forgot about our first meeting time earlier this month, he paid for brunch. What a swell guy!
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Oh Yeah, University Avenue Is A Fucking Parking Lot
Ever since Central was closed down for the summer -- parts of it around my neck of the woods has been shut down, some not, some days and weeks while they're tearing out the pavement to put in new pavement -- all of the traffic going through here northbound goes through University, the other non-highway main street that parallels the house in which I live. And since a couple weeks ago, it's been a goddamn shitshow whenever I come back home in the afternoon. Or at least try to. But once I'm forced off Central onto University, it's a crawl. Again, I'm not hoping to tear ass at 70 m.p.h. up 47, and, once again, I'm glad I don't have to get into a race with my hobbled car. But it's no damn fun being stuck in traffic, especially at a place where you don't expect it to take 15 minutes to travel four miles.
I have thought about letting the traffic pass by stopping for coffee between work and home. I decided not to do that because my folks are expecting me for dinner, but with them gone that becomes a more viable solution. Another thing that might help me avoid traffic coming home is the introduction of a weird, flexible schedule for work. My flu billing job has morphed into something different, and that involves being available for ten hours Monday but five Wednesday and Friday. It appears that I won't have a usual 9-to-5 gig this year, but I can only get 40 hours a week, therefore I need to think of something. I could take advantage of having a few days a week where I can get home early and thereby beat the traffic home.
But what I really want to happen is to see Central open again. I do understand the need to rebuild roads, and Central was getting pretty torn up, including a huge fucking pothole that sat just south of the railroad tracks. That alone necessitated the absolute destruction of that entire strip. Now, just like the remodel of 694 last summer, I wait until MNDOT is done so I can see how good The New Central Avenue is. And I wait in the summer heat on University.
I have thought about letting the traffic pass by stopping for coffee between work and home. I decided not to do that because my folks are expecting me for dinner, but with them gone that becomes a more viable solution. Another thing that might help me avoid traffic coming home is the introduction of a weird, flexible schedule for work. My flu billing job has morphed into something different, and that involves being available for ten hours Monday but five Wednesday and Friday. It appears that I won't have a usual 9-to-5 gig this year, but I can only get 40 hours a week, therefore I need to think of something. I could take advantage of having a few days a week where I can get home early and thereby beat the traffic home.
But what I really want to happen is to see Central open again. I do understand the need to rebuild roads, and Central was getting pretty torn up, including a huge fucking pothole that sat just south of the railroad tracks. That alone necessitated the absolute destruction of that entire strip. Now, just like the remodel of 694 last summer, I wait until MNDOT is done so I can see how good The New Central Avenue is. And I wait in the summer heat on University.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Counting The Days, I Think
So, once again, like with the oil leaks and the power steering leaks and I think a few other things, I'm counting the days until my parents leave so I have the use of their car so I can bring my car in while still being able to get to work and tool around the Twin Cities. I haven't literally counted down from ... well, I don't know when the countdown was supposed to begin, but I haven't counted down literally, nor set up a calendar with a series of smaller numbers, crossing them off after I wake up in the morning.
Nevertheless I'm just holding on, hoping that the car doesn't blow up or stall permanently on the highway. I am blessed, therefore, that my work commute is a short one that doesn't involve freeway speeds but does involve a lot of traffic. Well, not too much traffic -- I should talk about University Ave. -- but my car is in no shape to compete in a track meet, especially with other cars around, so I'm glad the majority of my necessary time in the car involve side streets.
Meanwhile my car keeps giving me curveballs. The Check Engine light has started to come on earlier and earlier, to the point where, after a two-day respite last week, I could expect it to come on well before I got on the main side streets on the way to and from work. The engine wouldn't even be hot and the light would be on, that's how ridiculously consistent it became.
But then it became inconsistent. After work Thursday I decided to take in the first day of the State Fair. Of course I would set the light off then, but hey, it's The Great Minnesota Get-Together, I had to go. But shockingly, from the time I drove from work (in the Quarry) to the Park and Ride lot (basically Roseville), then, after less than two hours, from that lot to a condo in St. Louis Park (where I got a handjob from ***e*), the Check Engine light did not come on once. I did keep my speed below 60, aka the actual speed limit in Minnesota, even when I was on the highway. But it didn't come on. Strange: I crawl all around the Twin Cities and the Check Engine light does not come on, yet when I drove the nine miles to work through side streets it comes, now virtually immediately.
Fuck it. I won't have to worry about it, hopefully, once I get it fixed. Then again, if my parents decide they want to not pay for insurance for one of the two cars we're operating, I still might not get my car fixed, but it wouldn't matter because I wouldn't be using the car.
Nevertheless I'm just holding on, hoping that the car doesn't blow up or stall permanently on the highway. I am blessed, therefore, that my work commute is a short one that doesn't involve freeway speeds but does involve a lot of traffic. Well, not too much traffic -- I should talk about University Ave. -- but my car is in no shape to compete in a track meet, especially with other cars around, so I'm glad the majority of my necessary time in the car involve side streets.
Meanwhile my car keeps giving me curveballs. The Check Engine light has started to come on earlier and earlier, to the point where, after a two-day respite last week, I could expect it to come on well before I got on the main side streets on the way to and from work. The engine wouldn't even be hot and the light would be on, that's how ridiculously consistent it became.
But then it became inconsistent. After work Thursday I decided to take in the first day of the State Fair. Of course I would set the light off then, but hey, it's The Great Minnesota Get-Together, I had to go. But shockingly, from the time I drove from work (in the Quarry) to the Park and Ride lot (basically Roseville), then, after less than two hours, from that lot to a condo in St. Louis Park (where I got a handjob from ***e*), the Check Engine light did not come on once. I did keep my speed below 60, aka the actual speed limit in Minnesota, even when I was on the highway. But it didn't come on. Strange: I crawl all around the Twin Cities and the Check Engine light does not come on, yet when I drove the nine miles to work through side streets it comes, now virtually immediately.
Fuck it. I won't have to worry about it, hopefully, once I get it fixed. Then again, if my parents decide they want to not pay for insurance for one of the two cars we're operating, I still might not get my car fixed, but it wouldn't matter because I wouldn't be using the car.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Addendum To: Two Coincidences Of Very Bad Timing At Work
I was checking out a piece on Ferguson, Mo. when my boss sidled up to me. Unlike the first time he did speak with me on occasion today. It was just that I got caught up on this really good piece by Charlie Pierce and I had to read it.
Hopefully he'll appreciate that I was reading up on a serious subject, just like last time. But goddammit I hate getting caught like that.
I'm so getting not hired for another season after this.
Hopefully he'll appreciate that I was reading up on a serious subject, just like last time. But goddammit I hate getting caught like that.
I'm so getting not hired for another season after this.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
I'm Just Kinda Rocked Right Now
I am sorry if this comes off as incoherent. I need to write this down, yet if I try to ruminate what happened over dinner last (Tuesday) night in my head in an effort to organize my thoughts, I'll just roll back into bed and cry, and I can't do that because I have to go to work.
After My Fucking Father "broke the ice" by complaining I'm back to not drinking water again, the interrogation from my folks began. It started with him commenting that he's thinking about cutting off the insurance for the minivan. That would fuck up my plans for 1) bringing my car in to replace the knock sensor and 2) just having the luxury of two cars because hey, two cars. That led Mother to chastise me for thinking I should fix the car again, which led to her thinking I should buy a Kia. That's bullshit. First of all, and I told her this, I would rather keep my twenty-plus-old car than get a Kia. And second, what happened to my sister's Mercedes-Benz? Are you just going to keep it like a prized curio in the garage?
Subsequently Mother asked me another goddamn question: What kind of job do you have now? And I knew they weren't going to like the actual answer of temping back at the flu billing place. So I said I went back there and that it's permanent, that my boss got fired and I took his job. That last part is true, but from there I leaped into a lie. Fuck, these assholes are breathing down my neck again, what I am supposed to do? And besides, the questions didn't stop. My Fucking Father said I should get a job with a pension. A pension?! What does he think this is, 1972?
That was all bad, but Mother was the one who dropped the bombshell. She asked if I had insurance through them. I told her no, it's through the state, still. I didn't think I needed to lie with that; it's good insurance, and so I sure as hell am not going to apologize. But she asked that question because they have big plans for themselves starting with this vacation. Eventually they want to live in Las Vegas full-time, and that means divesting themselves of the house. So, they want to sell me the house ... if I can afford it. And if I can't -- if the job isn't stable enough for me to support myself -- they'll make an arrangement where I "pay rent."
Through this conversation I noticed something: Streams of sweat pouring from my forehead. It was hot and humid outside, and the air conditioning wasn't on. But I know, just know, that that sweat came from their big move.
I'm not begrudging them moving away for the winter. It's not being alone that scares me, although five months (at a minimum) is the longest I'll go without seeing them in my lifetime. And it's not as if they'll never be back; after all, they have real estate interests here that I'll do my best to keep up for them while they're away. Hell, it's not giving up the house per se that worries me. What worries me are more abstract. For one thing, I love this house but I don't know if I can keep it financially. Hope to Buddha they've paid off the mortgage because I know I wouldn't be able to pay that. Gas bill, electric bill, maintenance? That also would probably destroy me. Shit, I don't think I have enough to pay for the phone and Internet, and I'm already paying for that.
But beyond the responsibility of the house, their intention of giving me the house and/or making me a renter (which allows them to become residents of Nevada) represents the passage of time, not a rite of passage. I've known this house all my life, and although that's not going away, and though ownership of the house was never something I thought about, I've never not thought that my parents would be the ones who own the house. However, that is what they want to do. So now what? That's a future I never contemplated possibly because I never wanted to contemplate it. And, eventually, that means more change and, finally, death.
---
That is a decision that needs to be made once they come back. Right now the more pressing issue is the cars. I volunteered to pay insurance for both my car and theirs, and I even volunteered to shut down my car so I can continue to drive theirs. I'd prefer two, but they at least understand I need one. We'll see -- and all this other shit I'll keep down the sidewalk because I can't even. Not right now, although, to be honest, I never will.
After My Fucking Father "broke the ice" by complaining I'm back to not drinking water again, the interrogation from my folks began. It started with him commenting that he's thinking about cutting off the insurance for the minivan. That would fuck up my plans for 1) bringing my car in to replace the knock sensor and 2) just having the luxury of two cars because hey, two cars. That led Mother to chastise me for thinking I should fix the car again, which led to her thinking I should buy a Kia. That's bullshit. First of all, and I told her this, I would rather keep my twenty-plus-old car than get a Kia. And second, what happened to my sister's Mercedes-Benz? Are you just going to keep it like a prized curio in the garage?
Subsequently Mother asked me another goddamn question: What kind of job do you have now? And I knew they weren't going to like the actual answer of temping back at the flu billing place. So I said I went back there and that it's permanent, that my boss got fired and I took his job. That last part is true, but from there I leaped into a lie. Fuck, these assholes are breathing down my neck again, what I am supposed to do? And besides, the questions didn't stop. My Fucking Father said I should get a job with a pension. A pension?! What does he think this is, 1972?
That was all bad, but Mother was the one who dropped the bombshell. She asked if I had insurance through them. I told her no, it's through the state, still. I didn't think I needed to lie with that; it's good insurance, and so I sure as hell am not going to apologize. But she asked that question because they have big plans for themselves starting with this vacation. Eventually they want to live in Las Vegas full-time, and that means divesting themselves of the house. So, they want to sell me the house ... if I can afford it. And if I can't -- if the job isn't stable enough for me to support myself -- they'll make an arrangement where I "pay rent."
Through this conversation I noticed something: Streams of sweat pouring from my forehead. It was hot and humid outside, and the air conditioning wasn't on. But I know, just know, that that sweat came from their big move.
I'm not begrudging them moving away for the winter. It's not being alone that scares me, although five months (at a minimum) is the longest I'll go without seeing them in my lifetime. And it's not as if they'll never be back; after all, they have real estate interests here that I'll do my best to keep up for them while they're away. Hell, it's not giving up the house per se that worries me. What worries me are more abstract. For one thing, I love this house but I don't know if I can keep it financially. Hope to Buddha they've paid off the mortgage because I know I wouldn't be able to pay that. Gas bill, electric bill, maintenance? That also would probably destroy me. Shit, I don't think I have enough to pay for the phone and Internet, and I'm already paying for that.
But beyond the responsibility of the house, their intention of giving me the house and/or making me a renter (which allows them to become residents of Nevada) represents the passage of time, not a rite of passage. I've known this house all my life, and although that's not going away, and though ownership of the house was never something I thought about, I've never not thought that my parents would be the ones who own the house. However, that is what they want to do. So now what? That's a future I never contemplated possibly because I never wanted to contemplate it. And, eventually, that means more change and, finally, death.
---
That is a decision that needs to be made once they come back. Right now the more pressing issue is the cars. I volunteered to pay insurance for both my car and theirs, and I even volunteered to shut down my car so I can continue to drive theirs. I'd prefer two, but they at least understand I need one. We'll see -- and all this other shit I'll keep down the sidewalk because I can't even. Not right now, although, to be honest, I never will.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). This is, sadly, the last week where the WMNSS is only comprised of one team. (It might be the last time in a long time too, seeing that the Lynx are leaking oil bad right now and, IMHO, Phoenix is poised to win the WNBA title.) That means that the Twinks will finally be knocked down from the top peg, as they seemingly are slouching to Gomorrah for a fifth straight year.
These 2-4 weeks, like getting stopped by a cop for Driving While Black in Ferguson and repeatedly having the local government nickel-and-dime you into poverty, wears away at the integrity of a ballclub. Despite avoiding sweeps against Houston and Kansas City, Tuesday night's soul-crushing 7-5 loss, where the squad scored all of its runs in the bottom of the first yet was unable to keep the lead, put them, as of right now, 14 games under .500, a season worst. There have been few highlights beyond the semi-emergence of Dany Santana, and now the bullpen is matching the rotation in futility and shamefulness. Even with the victories, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, good that I can single out about this team.
So we look into the minors where, my goodness, Great "White" Hope Byron Buxton will be shut down for the rest of the year after suffering a scary collision in a game a week ago. He has a concussion and, because the Twinks have nothing else going on up and down the organization, they have to keep their golden goose good for the future, therefore they are telling him to stop playing now.
The future is all they have. The present absolutely stinks.
After getting down with Cleveland (at home) and playing Detroit for four games over the three-game weekend (Saturday afternoon's game is a make-up of a rainout on April 27), they go to Kansas City for three starting on Tuesday.
These 2-4 weeks, like getting stopped by a cop for Driving While Black in Ferguson and repeatedly having the local government nickel-and-dime you into poverty, wears away at the integrity of a ballclub. Despite avoiding sweeps against Houston and Kansas City, Tuesday night's soul-crushing 7-5 loss, where the squad scored all of its runs in the bottom of the first yet was unable to keep the lead, put them, as of right now, 14 games under .500, a season worst. There have been few highlights beyond the semi-emergence of Dany Santana, and now the bullpen is matching the rotation in futility and shamefulness. Even with the victories, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, good that I can single out about this team.
So we look into the minors where, my goodness, Great "White" Hope Byron Buxton will be shut down for the rest of the year after suffering a scary collision in a game a week ago. He has a concussion and, because the Twinks have nothing else going on up and down the organization, they have to keep their golden goose good for the future, therefore they are telling him to stop playing now.
The future is all they have. The present absolutely stinks.
After getting down with Cleveland (at home) and playing Detroit for four games over the three-game weekend (Saturday afternoon's game is a make-up of a rainout on April 27), they go to Kansas City for three starting on Tuesday.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
What The Hell Was I Thinking?
I've talked about oil stains on our driveway. They largely abated when I got the leaks from my engine sealed up, but they're back -- not as bad as they were, but they're back. I've been trying to use this compound which they say will get it out, but so far it hasn't worked.
I drove home last (Monday) night as it was starting to rain. The forecast called for a shower, maybe even a thunderstorm. It would be sporadic and it probably was going to be brief, but the likelihood of that occurring some time in the evening was high. So I was thinking about the rain pelting the oil stains on the driveway when I thought, Well, it would be nice if those stains were exposed to the rain, wouldn't it? Instead of having my car shield it during the storm, maybe the rain could attack it away, you know?
So in the last minute, I decide to park at the part of the driveway right next to the stains. My driveway is three car lengths wide, and I usually park in the right-most third. I parked in the middle third, and my parents usually park in the left-most third, which is the part furthest from the front door. Anyway, the drops were starting to get bigger and become more frequent, and I thought I did the right thing and headed inside.
But as the storm started to come I realized another thing. That right-most part of the driveway is under our tree's overhang. It's not a complete canopy, but it does shield some of the incoming rain. And all I thought about was this deluge pelting my car relentlessly. Never the mind the fact that it's a car (and old one, but nevertheless a car) and not a lump of sugar; it's not going to melt in the oncoming rain, as it hasn't many times when I've taken it to work or the shopping mall or the strip club and it poured; I was looking outside and seeing my poor car tremble in the face of an imminent rainstorm as the driveway next to it, and the shelter over it, was ... well, you see, it was getting rained on over there, too. There are branches overhead, but it's not complete cover, and I could see that part of the driveway get wet, too. But all I could think of, after trying to convince myself not to go outside, was, "Fuck the stains! I can't leave my poor car out in the open like that!!"
So I toss away the Doritos I'm eating, dash outside before the rain really starts to come, and start my car. Like a reckless idiot I back it down just a tad, steer my front wheels rightward towards the stains and stick-shift it from Reverse to Drive. But as I step down on the accelerator -- not to gun it because you're not supposed to when you're just on your driveway -- my car does what it has been doing too goddamn often these days: Not move. It was in stasis for two, maybe three seconds before the nose of the car not so much as went forward as shook like it was about to vomit though its hood. From there it shimmied ever so terrifyingly (for the car like it was scared and for me like I was scared of the car) before it finally got to the spot where I wanted it to go.
It got bad during this minute, and it got a whole hell of a lot worse once I got back inside. Looking at my car the tree offered little shelter; there is a huge branch above where the hood is, and so I don't think too many raindrops hit the front of my car, but from the reflection of the drops of my (cracked) sunroof it made no damn difference whether I parked it there or the space over. And now I knew once again how this awful knock sensor is hurting my car -- information I kind of knew already, but that for which I unnecessarily made happen again because I became too chickenshit scared that my car was going to be destroyed in a rainstorm ... a rainstorm, by the way, that was heavy but lasted no more than ten minutes.
I drove home last (Monday) night as it was starting to rain. The forecast called for a shower, maybe even a thunderstorm. It would be sporadic and it probably was going to be brief, but the likelihood of that occurring some time in the evening was high. So I was thinking about the rain pelting the oil stains on the driveway when I thought, Well, it would be nice if those stains were exposed to the rain, wouldn't it? Instead of having my car shield it during the storm, maybe the rain could attack it away, you know?
So in the last minute, I decide to park at the part of the driveway right next to the stains. My driveway is three car lengths wide, and I usually park in the right-most third. I parked in the middle third, and my parents usually park in the left-most third, which is the part furthest from the front door. Anyway, the drops were starting to get bigger and become more frequent, and I thought I did the right thing and headed inside.
But as the storm started to come I realized another thing. That right-most part of the driveway is under our tree's overhang. It's not a complete canopy, but it does shield some of the incoming rain. And all I thought about was this deluge pelting my car relentlessly. Never the mind the fact that it's a car (and old one, but nevertheless a car) and not a lump of sugar; it's not going to melt in the oncoming rain, as it hasn't many times when I've taken it to work or the shopping mall or the strip club and it poured; I was looking outside and seeing my poor car tremble in the face of an imminent rainstorm as the driveway next to it, and the shelter over it, was ... well, you see, it was getting rained on over there, too. There are branches overhead, but it's not complete cover, and I could see that part of the driveway get wet, too. But all I could think of, after trying to convince myself not to go outside, was, "Fuck the stains! I can't leave my poor car out in the open like that!!"
So I toss away the Doritos I'm eating, dash outside before the rain really starts to come, and start my car. Like a reckless idiot I back it down just a tad, steer my front wheels rightward towards the stains and stick-shift it from Reverse to Drive. But as I step down on the accelerator -- not to gun it because you're not supposed to when you're just on your driveway -- my car does what it has been doing too goddamn often these days: Not move. It was in stasis for two, maybe three seconds before the nose of the car not so much as went forward as shook like it was about to vomit though its hood. From there it shimmied ever so terrifyingly (for the car like it was scared and for me like I was scared of the car) before it finally got to the spot where I wanted it to go.
It got bad during this minute, and it got a whole hell of a lot worse once I got back inside. Looking at my car the tree offered little shelter; there is a huge branch above where the hood is, and so I don't think too many raindrops hit the front of my car, but from the reflection of the drops of my (cracked) sunroof it made no damn difference whether I parked it there or the space over. And now I knew once again how this awful knock sensor is hurting my car -- information I kind of knew already, but that for which I unnecessarily made happen again because I became too chickenshit scared that my car was going to be destroyed in a rainstorm ... a rainstorm, by the way, that was heavy but lasted no more than ten minutes.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Allergies Are Out In Full Force, And The Drugs Don't Work
There are two points of the year where I get allergies: Around April, where the trees bloom and throw of their pollen, and August, which is ragweek season, I believe. The ones in April have traditionally been worse for me; I get the usual symptoms of runny nose, sneezing and watery eyes, pollen essentially renders me a zombie. It gets bad in the late summer, but while the medications I have gotten ever since I was a child usually didn't work in the spring, oftentimes they take care of the ragweed.
This year has been, according to the media, The Worst Allergy Season In The History Of Planet Earth. I don't think I have an objective perspective on it because allergy season has always been shitty for me. But I didn't think this spring's allergy season was any worse than any other year. It may not be the right way to gauge how bad allergies are, but that one day when I was scoring tests early and my nose was producing snot the whole time in early June 2013 makes me think that last year was The Worst Allergy Season In The History Of Planet Earth.
However, I am mentally keeping track of the fall season. I saw a tease on the news that ragweed season may be the worst it's ever been, and I thought, yeah right, I don't feel anything. But starting on, say, Thursday, my nose has been alternately stuffy and running, and the faucet has been turned on ever since. Right now it's bad, very bad. I'm going through so many tissues that I emptied the box of the co-worker in the next cubicle. I've been stacking used tissues of the box on my nightstand, something I usually do in the spring, and I've been throwing tissues by the half-dozen away into the trash can in the kitchen. As I type this at a Caribou coffee on a Sunday afternoon I have two Kleenexes folded up -- one I believe is fully used and one I think has a pocket within the folds big enough for me to stick my nose in and blow.
From what I remember late-summer allergies are less bad and last shorter than what I have to suffer through in the spring. I'm not saying my ragweed reactions last only a week, but right now I feel like crap and I don't remember ever feeling so this time of year. Maybe this is the Worst Ragweed Season In The History Of Planet Earth after all.
---
When I was young I used to annually get and drink these two generic-looking bottles of medicine for allergy season. One of them was purple liquid, and on the daisywheel-printed label it said it was for congestion. I liked the taste of that very much, don't know why. The other one, which I hated to the point of fear, was red liquid and was for my cough. I think the taste at the time was too bitter for me to withstand. I think I had fights with Grandmother and my parents over having to take these two damn things every year. My brother didn't have to, and my sister probably didn't, at least not regularly like I, and I thought that was unfair, and I was very vocal about voicing this unfairness. Still is, but I guess I can blame my parents for passing down the wrong genes when they conceived me.
I've graduated from the purple and red stuff a long time ago, probably before the pharmacy I got the medicine from graduated from daisywheel printers. In its place, once I started thinking for myself in high school, became over-the-counter pills. And they didn't work. Well, it didn't work at all for the pollen for some reason, but it was OK for the ragweed, enough for me to buy every year to try and combat my allergies in August.
Nevertheless I am always looking for a better way, if not something that would eliminate my allergies for good. A couple times over the years I've been told by doctors in visits that I could get a shot, but for some reason it's not advisable for me to get one, a response that leaves me puzzled as I leave the office and really pisses me off in times like this, when my nose is running so much I can't do anything else. So in the spring of 2012 I get this prescription for Nasonex, which was advertised on TV by an animated bee voiced by Antonia Banderas. And it worked wonders. That nasal spray built up a wall around my sinuses, and I barely needed to blow my nose once every day of that allergy season. It was manna from heaven.
One of the unfortunate consequences of working full-time this year was not having the time to go see the doctor to get more Nasonex. Instead I tried going to Target's MinuteClinic and hoping I could get one from a Nurse Practitioner. But the NP said there is a similar medication that's now available OTC, Nasacort. It would save me money for the drugs, let alone the co-pay to see her.
Unfortunately I've tried it and it doesn't work. It didn't really relieve my symptoms back in the spring/early summer, and they definitely are not working at all now. I keep using it because I know I'll be sneezing and blowing if I do nothing. But I got so tired of dealing with it Sunday afternoon that I caved and bought some Claritin (with, luckily, a $3 off coupon). The first pill I took tonight (which I did not know was dissolvable, like I'm a kid) may have knocked me out for an hour, but when I woke up it kind of worked. I had to blow my nose a few times, but my nose isn't gushing mucus, and even though I've got one mother of a headache, my head isn't throbbing so much I want to crawl into bed and die. Maybe it's not the pill so much as the quick rainstorm that washed the ragweed to the ground, but right now I think buying Claritin was a good idea.
I just want to be fucking done with this season, you know?
This year has been, according to the media, The Worst Allergy Season In The History Of Planet Earth. I don't think I have an objective perspective on it because allergy season has always been shitty for me. But I didn't think this spring's allergy season was any worse than any other year. It may not be the right way to gauge how bad allergies are, but that one day when I was scoring tests early and my nose was producing snot the whole time in early June 2013 makes me think that last year was The Worst Allergy Season In The History Of Planet Earth.
However, I am mentally keeping track of the fall season. I saw a tease on the news that ragweed season may be the worst it's ever been, and I thought, yeah right, I don't feel anything. But starting on, say, Thursday, my nose has been alternately stuffy and running, and the faucet has been turned on ever since. Right now it's bad, very bad. I'm going through so many tissues that I emptied the box of the co-worker in the next cubicle. I've been stacking used tissues of the box on my nightstand, something I usually do in the spring, and I've been throwing tissues by the half-dozen away into the trash can in the kitchen. As I type this at a Caribou coffee on a Sunday afternoon I have two Kleenexes folded up -- one I believe is fully used and one I think has a pocket within the folds big enough for me to stick my nose in and blow.
From what I remember late-summer allergies are less bad and last shorter than what I have to suffer through in the spring. I'm not saying my ragweed reactions last only a week, but right now I feel like crap and I don't remember ever feeling so this time of year. Maybe this is the Worst Ragweed Season In The History Of Planet Earth after all.
---
When I was young I used to annually get and drink these two generic-looking bottles of medicine for allergy season. One of them was purple liquid, and on the daisywheel-printed label it said it was for congestion. I liked the taste of that very much, don't know why. The other one, which I hated to the point of fear, was red liquid and was for my cough. I think the taste at the time was too bitter for me to withstand. I think I had fights with Grandmother and my parents over having to take these two damn things every year. My brother didn't have to, and my sister probably didn't, at least not regularly like I, and I thought that was unfair, and I was very vocal about voicing this unfairness. Still is, but I guess I can blame my parents for passing down the wrong genes when they conceived me.
I've graduated from the purple and red stuff a long time ago, probably before the pharmacy I got the medicine from graduated from daisywheel printers. In its place, once I started thinking for myself in high school, became over-the-counter pills. And they didn't work. Well, it didn't work at all for the pollen for some reason, but it was OK for the ragweed, enough for me to buy every year to try and combat my allergies in August.
Nevertheless I am always looking for a better way, if not something that would eliminate my allergies for good. A couple times over the years I've been told by doctors in visits that I could get a shot, but for some reason it's not advisable for me to get one, a response that leaves me puzzled as I leave the office and really pisses me off in times like this, when my nose is running so much I can't do anything else. So in the spring of 2012 I get this prescription for Nasonex, which was advertised on TV by an animated bee voiced by Antonia Banderas. And it worked wonders. That nasal spray built up a wall around my sinuses, and I barely needed to blow my nose once every day of that allergy season. It was manna from heaven.
One of the unfortunate consequences of working full-time this year was not having the time to go see the doctor to get more Nasonex. Instead I tried going to Target's MinuteClinic and hoping I could get one from a Nurse Practitioner. But the NP said there is a similar medication that's now available OTC, Nasacort. It would save me money for the drugs, let alone the co-pay to see her.
Unfortunately I've tried it and it doesn't work. It didn't really relieve my symptoms back in the spring/early summer, and they definitely are not working at all now. I keep using it because I know I'll be sneezing and blowing if I do nothing. But I got so tired of dealing with it Sunday afternoon that I caved and bought some Claritin (with, luckily, a $3 off coupon). The first pill I took tonight (which I did not know was dissolvable, like I'm a kid) may have knocked me out for an hour, but when I woke up it kind of worked. I had to blow my nose a few times, but my nose isn't gushing mucus, and even though I've got one mother of a headache, my head isn't throbbing so much I want to crawl into bed and die. Maybe it's not the pill so much as the quick rainstorm that washed the ragweed to the ground, but right now I think buying Claritin was a good idea.
I just want to be fucking done with this season, you know?
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Recommend You Read This Twitter Feed
It's from a guy who was at Saturday night/Sunday late night's curfew in Ferguson, Mo. Robert Klemko is a journalist, and his blow-by-blow of what happened, when some protesters decided to defy the midnight curfew and police forces decided to move in, is as intimate a story in the Internet age can take you into what has, in the past week, become a war zone in the United States. Harrowing and, I must say, exciting, if I may extract the tragic and confusing causes of the riots and unrest from the scene Klemko paints overnight. On a couple tweets he called what he was going through an "adrenaline high" and a "rush." I have to admit that I felt the same thing reading his tweets and seeing his photos.
The thing is, Klemko isn't a news reporter. He's a sports reporter. He writes on football for Sports Illustrated's Peter King's online NFL offshoot microsite TheMMQB. Hell if I know why and how he's in suburban St. Louis reporting on the aftermath of a neighborhood roiling over the death of a young black man, but circumstances reveal character, and Klemko has shown he has it in spades.
Peter King, pay this man.
The thing is, Klemko isn't a news reporter. He's a sports reporter. He writes on football for Sports Illustrated's Peter King's online NFL offshoot microsite TheMMQB. Hell if I know why and how he's in suburban St. Louis reporting on the aftermath of a neighborhood roiling over the death of a young black man, but circumstances reveal character, and Klemko has shown he has it in spades.
Peter King, pay this man.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
I Am Now Confident Enough To Believe A Diagnosis For The Check Engine Light
The O'Reilly's I wanted to reach before work that one morning I finally reached Thursday morning after I actually checked the directions. The guy -- with the help of two dudes, both wearing tank tops, who apparently were friends with the O'Reilly's person because they were helping him as all three of them hovered over my open hood -- seemed to know what he was doing, up to and including plugging the company's code reader into the ... what is it called .. the Diagnostic Code Connector, which was located and whose lid was popped open, by the way, by one of these two dudes.
I just stepped away and let him (well, them) do their thing. I've seen people plug things into two different places and another say it goes into a third. I've seen diagnoses of a knock sensor, an air pump, five different things and, in what is the final straw, "I don't know, I can't read the thing."
And that is basically what this guy said, even though he promptly plugged the reader into a place that seemed to make sense and told me to turn off the car before putting the key into the "On" position. Maybe that was the key; the Check Engine light comes on after the car's been driven, but it doesn't come on as soon as I start the engine. Maybe that's why this guy couldn't read anything. So maybe this guy doesn't know what he's doing after all.
He told me to go to the O'Reilly's closer to my house; either it's a sensor, or the code reader he's holding is bad. This O'Reilly's is the one where I stopped by on my way to work one morning, the one whom I kind of told the woman who helped me that she should plug the reader underneath the steering wheel and not to this Diagnostic Code Connector in the engine bay, and the one who said, "I don't know, I can't read the thing." At this point I was tired of getting all these "I don't know" error messages after I kept getting these mixed messages on what's wrong with my car.
But in the meantime, the car's getting worse. After what seemed to be a two-day respite the middle of last week, the Check Engine light has come on, fairly quickly, on any trip of more than five minutes. It was at its worst, I believe, on the drive home from work Thursday, the day of this trip to O'Reilly's in the morning. Once it came on I had a bitch of a time getting my to accelerate. At one point I slammed my foot down but the car would only creep along the road for what seemed like five seconds before I saw the tachometer needle spike all the north as the car finally responded and went, "VROOOOOOOOOOOOM!" as it finally sped up. Probably took some years off my transmission's life, but that just shows that there is something seriously wrong with the car.
By the way, I am both cursed and blessed that my car's current ailment is happening now. I don't like the fact my car's inability to accelerate is happening during afternoon rush, but on the other hand I am fortunate that my drive home is currently a parking lot. I can't accelerate, but I'm not accelerating because there are too many cars in front of me that are stopped. Now if this was, say, late at night on the highway, there would be cars going 70 miles per hour that have to swerve around me to avoid my slow ass.
So since the Check Engine light came on on the way home Thursday afternoon I decided to go to this O'Reilly's close to home for a second time. I was helped by this guy who may or may not have known what he was doing, but he was very nice. I told him my story about the O'Reilly's I went to in the morning, and told him he plugged in that reader underneath the hood. He told me it should be plugged underneath the steering wheel, and I said OK.
I then told him what I learned about reading OBD-I codes while at work Thursday, something I should have done way sooner: To really read Check Engine lights for really old cars, you have to put the car in Neutral, then count the number of times the Check Engine light blinks. That's how it's supposed to go. Weird, huh? After I told him, he said to do it because the code reader told him that had to be done.
So I'm in the driver's seat, car running but in Neutral, and I'm looking at the Check Engine light. It was very strange looking at that damn light finally doing something other than stare at me menacingly. But it was communicating with me: Five blinks, a short pause, then five more blinks, then a long pause. That long pause meant the car was done telling what the problem is. That translates to "55" -- A knock sensor code. And the guy showed me the reader, which said the same thing and more: "55, Knock Sensor - Right-Hand Circuit."
I saw the Check Engine light and the code reader with my own eyes, therefore that has to be it. So The Mechanic Around The Corner, even though they ripped me off, was right, as well as the first O'Reilly's girl who helped me, even though there were four other codes her reader showed me, all of which may have been erased after My Father's Favorite Mechanic cleaned up the engine. And everyone else was wrong. And to those who did and thought that reader had to go underneath the hood ... well, that's what the Internet says it should go to, but again, I saw the code with my own eyes, I think that's right.
So, that's it. The car needs a new knock sensor, right-hand circuit. Hopefully my car will make it to the point where my folks leave on vacation so I can use their minivan to get around, then after my credit card's current billing cycle flips so the charge for what I think will be a very expensive fix can be pushed back a month. Can it? It's acting worse, so we'll see.
Meanwhile, even though I had many of their folks steer me wrong, ultimately I have to thank O'Reilly's. They are the only ones who have a diagnosis tool that can read Check Engine lights from cars older than 1996. AutoZone, CarQuest and (I think) Advance don't seem to have that. That separates these guys from the others when it comes to service, and to being able to help me. So call this a recommendation for O'Reilly's. Thank you!
I just stepped away and let him (well, them) do their thing. I've seen people plug things into two different places and another say it goes into a third. I've seen diagnoses of a knock sensor, an air pump, five different things and, in what is the final straw, "I don't know, I can't read the thing."
And that is basically what this guy said, even though he promptly plugged the reader into a place that seemed to make sense and told me to turn off the car before putting the key into the "On" position. Maybe that was the key; the Check Engine light comes on after the car's been driven, but it doesn't come on as soon as I start the engine. Maybe that's why this guy couldn't read anything. So maybe this guy doesn't know what he's doing after all.
He told me to go to the O'Reilly's closer to my house; either it's a sensor, or the code reader he's holding is bad. This O'Reilly's is the one where I stopped by on my way to work one morning, the one whom I kind of told the woman who helped me that she should plug the reader underneath the steering wheel and not to this Diagnostic Code Connector in the engine bay, and the one who said, "I don't know, I can't read the thing." At this point I was tired of getting all these "I don't know" error messages after I kept getting these mixed messages on what's wrong with my car.
But in the meantime, the car's getting worse. After what seemed to be a two-day respite the middle of last week, the Check Engine light has come on, fairly quickly, on any trip of more than five minutes. It was at its worst, I believe, on the drive home from work Thursday, the day of this trip to O'Reilly's in the morning. Once it came on I had a bitch of a time getting my to accelerate. At one point I slammed my foot down but the car would only creep along the road for what seemed like five seconds before I saw the tachometer needle spike all the north as the car finally responded and went, "VROOOOOOOOOOOOM!" as it finally sped up. Probably took some years off my transmission's life, but that just shows that there is something seriously wrong with the car.
By the way, I am both cursed and blessed that my car's current ailment is happening now. I don't like the fact my car's inability to accelerate is happening during afternoon rush, but on the other hand I am fortunate that my drive home is currently a parking lot. I can't accelerate, but I'm not accelerating because there are too many cars in front of me that are stopped. Now if this was, say, late at night on the highway, there would be cars going 70 miles per hour that have to swerve around me to avoid my slow ass.
So since the Check Engine light came on on the way home Thursday afternoon I decided to go to this O'Reilly's close to home for a second time. I was helped by this guy who may or may not have known what he was doing, but he was very nice. I told him my story about the O'Reilly's I went to in the morning, and told him he plugged in that reader underneath the hood. He told me it should be plugged underneath the steering wheel, and I said OK.
I then told him what I learned about reading OBD-I codes while at work Thursday, something I should have done way sooner: To really read Check Engine lights for really old cars, you have to put the car in Neutral, then count the number of times the Check Engine light blinks. That's how it's supposed to go. Weird, huh? After I told him, he said to do it because the code reader told him that had to be done.
So I'm in the driver's seat, car running but in Neutral, and I'm looking at the Check Engine light. It was very strange looking at that damn light finally doing something other than stare at me menacingly. But it was communicating with me: Five blinks, a short pause, then five more blinks, then a long pause. That long pause meant the car was done telling what the problem is. That translates to "55" -- A knock sensor code. And the guy showed me the reader, which said the same thing and more: "55, Knock Sensor - Right-Hand Circuit."
I saw the Check Engine light and the code reader with my own eyes, therefore that has to be it. So The Mechanic Around The Corner, even though they ripped me off, was right, as well as the first O'Reilly's girl who helped me, even though there were four other codes her reader showed me, all of which may have been erased after My Father's Favorite Mechanic cleaned up the engine. And everyone else was wrong. And to those who did and thought that reader had to go underneath the hood ... well, that's what the Internet says it should go to, but again, I saw the code with my own eyes, I think that's right.
So, that's it. The car needs a new knock sensor, right-hand circuit. Hopefully my car will make it to the point where my folks leave on vacation so I can use their minivan to get around, then after my credit card's current billing cycle flips so the charge for what I think will be a very expensive fix can be pushed back a month. Can it? It's acting worse, so we'll see.
Meanwhile, even though I had many of their folks steer me wrong, ultimately I have to thank O'Reilly's. They are the only ones who have a diagnosis tool that can read Check Engine lights from cars older than 1996. AutoZone, CarQuest and (I think) Advance don't seem to have that. That separates these guys from the others when it comes to service, and to being able to help me. So call this a recommendation for O'Reilly's. Thank you!
Friday, August 15, 2014
Two Coincidences Of Very Bad Timing At Work
So at the flu billing place I have left off where I started, at least when it comes to wasting time on the Internet. I never did that while I had claims, but since my first boss got fired at the turn of January, I had an existential attitude towards this job: If my boss could get fired, why can't I? That plus the lack of a need to churn out forms meant that I gave myself permission to dick around online. That has continued when I got back at the start of this season; the ramp-up to the frenzy hasn't started yet (a marked contrast to the previous two seasons, when we basically were told to just go), so I feel I can just slowly ease into the project. That meant reviewing forms, making edits for clarity, grammar and appearance, and going on the Web for, say, looking at the latest sports headline.
My current boss (formerly my boss' boss) has been busy doing the workload of what seems like three people. And that has meant he couldn't get to some of the things I needed his IT expertise to give me. That gave me further permission to dink around, to the point where, honestly, my work/pleasure percentages at work has been 50/50.
I was left to my own devices largely since Tuesday because he's been so busy. In fact, I didn't speak to him once Thursday. To sort of put a cherry on top of his work-mandated silent treatment towards me, I took the long way out leaving work yesterday, just to make sure he didn't even look at me. I don't dislike the guy; I just like that I sit three cubicles away from him yet we didn't even speak once all day.
That silence ended abruptly early this afternoon ... much to my surprise. I try to do my best to ALT+TAB from the Internet to work whenever I hear somebody come up from behind. Maybe it works, who knows. But this time the footsteps I did not hear were my boss'; he wasn't walking past me, he actually wanted to do some stuff on my computer, specifically something I asked for Tuesday. And he probably approached my cube just as I trying to move away from the Internet window. He didn't say anything, thank God, but I may have been lucky I was looking at a CNN page of the riots in Ferguson, Mo. instead of, say, porn.
But will this cost me later on?
---
I don't exactly remember what prompted me to, but earlier this week I had to know: How exactly am I Hepatitis B positive again? So I decided I would call the clinic and ask them to relay the tests of a blood panel I had during a physical a long time ago. I've known I've been Hep B+ ever since I got this really scary letter from the American Red Cross after I donated blood at school.
Since work is slow, I thought about all the times I meant to call these places (so many places, all of them having to do with money) and decided I want to call during work. But when and where? My main worry is that someone will overhear the results of my test -- not as I'm listening to the nurse giving them back to me, but just in case I had questions about them. There are private study bays at work, but I didn't think the walls were thick enough to prevent someone from eavesdropping, and besides, the bays were all taken.
But this morning I realized something when I pulled into work early: They're open at 7, I don't have to go to work till 8 -- why don't I call now? Unlike Thursday afternoon, when I was put on hold until 5 p.m., when I was automatically sent into the clinic's "sorry, we're closed" voicemail message, I had to wait only a couple minutes before getting a live nurse. She didn't have my information, but she took down my questions and promised a nurse would get back to me.
And according to the voicemail I checked at lunchtime, I did. So I called back, immediately got the nurse, and we talked about my Hep B results. Turns out I am not a carrier, therefore I can fuck all I want and not worry about transmitting any disease -- line up, ladies!
I was talking to her while I was in my car, which was perfectly situated for what I wanted to do after I got done with my call, which was to take a nap. This parking spot gets shade from a nearby tree at that time of day, so taking a nap with the windows down is pure bliss, unlike Wednesday afternoon, when I tried doing napping at a spot without sufficient shade, and even though that day was a lot less humid, I was sweating through my underwear. There are cars parked right next to me, but I no longer care that someone might come while I nap. Well, I care if they wake me up, but my first trepidation was them seeing me take a nap, and now I don't give a shit.
But having someone overhear me while I'm reviewing my positive and negative Hepatitis B results in my car? Uh, problem. And I rolled the dice and it came up craps; just as I was relaying back to the nurse what she told me, I heard these footsteps followed by an opening and closing of a car door. And it was loud enough for me to be sure that it was the car next to me. I had no idea who it was, but I hope to Buddha it isn't someone who works with me, and if it is, I hope it isn't someone who hates me, because now he or she knows that I got tested for Hepatitis B.
You know, if I didn't reiterate the results over the phone, and if the nurse didn't put me on hold for a couple minutes to make certain of my tests, I would have ended the call before this person went to his or her car. But I did, and she did, and now something very private is out in the open.
Maybe I shouldn't've asked for these results.
My current boss (formerly my boss' boss) has been busy doing the workload of what seems like three people. And that has meant he couldn't get to some of the things I needed his IT expertise to give me. That gave me further permission to dink around, to the point where, honestly, my work/pleasure percentages at work has been 50/50.
I was left to my own devices largely since Tuesday because he's been so busy. In fact, I didn't speak to him once Thursday. To sort of put a cherry on top of his work-mandated silent treatment towards me, I took the long way out leaving work yesterday, just to make sure he didn't even look at me. I don't dislike the guy; I just like that I sit three cubicles away from him yet we didn't even speak once all day.
That silence ended abruptly early this afternoon ... much to my surprise. I try to do my best to ALT+TAB from the Internet to work whenever I hear somebody come up from behind. Maybe it works, who knows. But this time the footsteps I did not hear were my boss'; he wasn't walking past me, he actually wanted to do some stuff on my computer, specifically something I asked for Tuesday. And he probably approached my cube just as I trying to move away from the Internet window. He didn't say anything, thank God, but I may have been lucky I was looking at a CNN page of the riots in Ferguson, Mo. instead of, say, porn.
But will this cost me later on?
---
I don't exactly remember what prompted me to, but earlier this week I had to know: How exactly am I Hepatitis B positive again? So I decided I would call the clinic and ask them to relay the tests of a blood panel I had during a physical a long time ago. I've known I've been Hep B+ ever since I got this really scary letter from the American Red Cross after I donated blood at school.
Since work is slow, I thought about all the times I meant to call these places (so many places, all of them having to do with money) and decided I want to call during work. But when and where? My main worry is that someone will overhear the results of my test -- not as I'm listening to the nurse giving them back to me, but just in case I had questions about them. There are private study bays at work, but I didn't think the walls were thick enough to prevent someone from eavesdropping, and besides, the bays were all taken.
But this morning I realized something when I pulled into work early: They're open at 7, I don't have to go to work till 8 -- why don't I call now? Unlike Thursday afternoon, when I was put on hold until 5 p.m., when I was automatically sent into the clinic's "sorry, we're closed" voicemail message, I had to wait only a couple minutes before getting a live nurse. She didn't have my information, but she took down my questions and promised a nurse would get back to me.
And according to the voicemail I checked at lunchtime, I did. So I called back, immediately got the nurse, and we talked about my Hep B results. Turns out I am not a carrier, therefore I can fuck all I want and not worry about transmitting any disease -- line up, ladies!
I was talking to her while I was in my car, which was perfectly situated for what I wanted to do after I got done with my call, which was to take a nap. This parking spot gets shade from a nearby tree at that time of day, so taking a nap with the windows down is pure bliss, unlike Wednesday afternoon, when I tried doing napping at a spot without sufficient shade, and even though that day was a lot less humid, I was sweating through my underwear. There are cars parked right next to me, but I no longer care that someone might come while I nap. Well, I care if they wake me up, but my first trepidation was them seeing me take a nap, and now I don't give a shit.
But having someone overhear me while I'm reviewing my positive and negative Hepatitis B results in my car? Uh, problem. And I rolled the dice and it came up craps; just as I was relaying back to the nurse what she told me, I heard these footsteps followed by an opening and closing of a car door. And it was loud enough for me to be sure that it was the car next to me. I had no idea who it was, but I hope to Buddha it isn't someone who works with me, and if it is, I hope it isn't someone who hates me, because now he or she knows that I got tested for Hepatitis B.
You know, if I didn't reiterate the results over the phone, and if the nurse didn't put me on hold for a couple minutes to make certain of my tests, I would have ended the call before this person went to his or her car. But I did, and she did, and now something very private is out in the open.
Maybe I shouldn't've asked for these results.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
The Car: Three Things
When I drove downtown for my previous job the Check Engine light rarely came on. Now that I have resumed being a flu biller, and despite this workplace being a little closer, for some reason it's gone on twice since I began Monday. Maybe it's the weather or the fact that this commute demands more stops and starts. But it has.
When it came on on my way to work Tuesday I thought I had time to get it checked, but the woman who helped me said that she couldn't get her diagnostic tool to read, or something. At least there are other auto shops, and thankfully they're all open before I have to go to work, so when it came on again Wednesday morning, and it looked like I had time to go out of my way to find a spot before I had to come in for work at 8, I decided to cast my fate to the winds and go to an O'Reilly's to get the light diagnosed. After all, it seems as if only that store has the OBD-I code reader I need for my 1993.
But then I got lost. Decided to hang a left that turned into the entrance ramp into 35WS. I was nowhere near where the O'Reilly's was, and I wound up having to hightail it back to work a few minutes late.
---
Tried to sleep in my car in the afternoon. First of all, bad idea because it was hot. I was sweating through my clothes and I was miserable. Won't do that again, even if I have to sleep in the eatery next door.
But I tried to bring down my driver's-side window before I tried falling asleep, and I couldn't. All the other windows were find, but the driver's-side wasn't. That reminded me of the time my rear passenger window inexplicable broke and opened up, requiring me to prop it closed with tape. And for the rest of the day I was wondering, What the hell is can go wrong with the car?
However I try it again at the end of the day, and it worked. So I guess my driver's-side window does not work unless my car's starting. I don't think that's "working" per se, but as long as I can bring it down when I need to, such as a drive-thru, guess I'm OK.
---
Meanwhile in the afternoon I called another spot during work to see if they had the right diagnostic tool. They said yes. My Check Engine light did not turn on till I passed the store on way home, but I decided to go back because of the traffic (I should talk about that in a blog post soon).
Went in and said that I was here to get it diagnosed. The guy at the counter said they can't do OBD-I's. Told him I was told this. He asked one guy if he helped me, then went into the back. Came out and said that that guy back there heard a year different from the "1993" I said over the phone. Well, that's bullshit. I was extremely clear what year my car is. And so I had to waste my time, pulling my car out of traffic and driving out of my way here, just to drive back.
You know, I've had nothing but trouble from this place. I will admit that all my problems with this store stem from one guy, some short dumbass. Whenever I purchase something, he always tells me I have to go to another register at the counter because I'm paying by cash. I have no idea what that means, and that happens to me every time, and I especially don't like the stupid tone this asshole takes with me whenever I have step to another counter. What the hell does that even mean?
And now, this. I don't know if it's the same guy, but if it is, the next time I see him, I'm clawing his eyes out. Now this guy who helped me yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon was at least a stand-up person. But there's no fucking way I'm giving this store any more business, not after this.
So to the AutoZone on Central Avenue, go fuck yourself. Cheapo should have never sold you the building.
When it came on on my way to work Tuesday I thought I had time to get it checked, but the woman who helped me said that she couldn't get her diagnostic tool to read, or something. At least there are other auto shops, and thankfully they're all open before I have to go to work, so when it came on again Wednesday morning, and it looked like I had time to go out of my way to find a spot before I had to come in for work at 8, I decided to cast my fate to the winds and go to an O'Reilly's to get the light diagnosed. After all, it seems as if only that store has the OBD-I code reader I need for my 1993.
But then I got lost. Decided to hang a left that turned into the entrance ramp into 35WS. I was nowhere near where the O'Reilly's was, and I wound up having to hightail it back to work a few minutes late.
---
Tried to sleep in my car in the afternoon. First of all, bad idea because it was hot. I was sweating through my clothes and I was miserable. Won't do that again, even if I have to sleep in the eatery next door.
But I tried to bring down my driver's-side window before I tried falling asleep, and I couldn't. All the other windows were find, but the driver's-side wasn't. That reminded me of the time my rear passenger window inexplicable broke and opened up, requiring me to prop it closed with tape. And for the rest of the day I was wondering, What the hell is can go wrong with the car?
However I try it again at the end of the day, and it worked. So I guess my driver's-side window does not work unless my car's starting. I don't think that's "working" per se, but as long as I can bring it down when I need to, such as a drive-thru, guess I'm OK.
---
Meanwhile in the afternoon I called another spot during work to see if they had the right diagnostic tool. They said yes. My Check Engine light did not turn on till I passed the store on way home, but I decided to go back because of the traffic (I should talk about that in a blog post soon).
Went in and said that I was here to get it diagnosed. The guy at the counter said they can't do OBD-I's. Told him I was told this. He asked one guy if he helped me, then went into the back. Came out and said that that guy back there heard a year different from the "1993" I said over the phone. Well, that's bullshit. I was extremely clear what year my car is. And so I had to waste my time, pulling my car out of traffic and driving out of my way here, just to drive back.
You know, I've had nothing but trouble from this place. I will admit that all my problems with this store stem from one guy, some short dumbass. Whenever I purchase something, he always tells me I have to go to another register at the counter because I'm paying by cash. I have no idea what that means, and that happens to me every time, and I especially don't like the stupid tone this asshole takes with me whenever I have step to another counter. What the hell does that even mean?
And now, this. I don't know if it's the same guy, but if it is, the next time I see him, I'm clawing his eyes out. Now this guy who helped me yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon was at least a stand-up person. But there's no fucking way I'm giving this store any more business, not after this.
So to the AutoZone on Central Avenue, go fuck yourself. Cheapo should have never sold you the building.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). Whoop-de-fucking-do. Last (Tuesday) night's 10-4 (good buddy) loss to the Houston Astros completes a 2-5 week. That's a shitty performance, but I just got back from the Lynx's loss to L.A. tonight (Tuesday night), and I hate it when I could have just saved my money and gone home straight home from work when I instead decided to shell out money (even if it was just ten bucks for a ticket with a student ID) to see the home team lose. It makes me feel like I wasted my fucking money ... and I did. Pisses me the fuck off. So I'm not going to give a quarter to the Twinks, who are much, much worse.
Seriously, even though Houston technically has a worse record than them, they seem to be moving in opposite directions. Despite all the bullshit the Astros' Regional Sports Network is putting Houstonians through, and despite the fact that they may be the only club who has been worse than the Twinks the past four years, they have guys like Jose Altuve and George Springer who are really good. It's not too far to believe that they are the foundation from which Houston can have a great team, something that, for example, the Kansas City Royals finally seem to have after three decades in the wilderness.
On the other hand you have an organization like the Twinks, who, staring into the abyss of fourth consecutive 90+ loss season, seem to find new depths of futility. With another rudderless, below-.500 season assured, they once again are casting off those people who have no future with the team if it becomes good again. So say goodbye to Josh Willingham, traded to the Royals earlier this week. He was a find the first year of his tenure in Minnesota but failed to reproduce that magic since. (Hope Kurt Suzuki, really the only bright spot of this otherwise dark year, does not follow that same downward trajectory.) Also, say good goddamn riddance to the awful Kevin Correia, who, of course, won his first game with his new squad, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Eventually you just need bodies to fill out a 25-man major league roster, but you might as well cut bait if there's no use keeping them around. Of course, that'll mean the losing will continue unabated.
After this (Wednesday) afternoon's series finale in Houston, they have a day off, then embark on a ten-day, 11-game homestand against the teams in the American League Central that are ahead of them in the standings. Oh wait ... all of the other teams are ahead of the Twinks in the standings. I'll narrow it down; they don't meet Chicago. They will start off with Kansas City this weekend, then host Cleveland for three starting Tuesday. Wonder if bad can get worse.
Seriously, even though Houston technically has a worse record than them, they seem to be moving in opposite directions. Despite all the bullshit the Astros' Regional Sports Network is putting Houstonians through, and despite the fact that they may be the only club who has been worse than the Twinks the past four years, they have guys like Jose Altuve and George Springer who are really good. It's not too far to believe that they are the foundation from which Houston can have a great team, something that, for example, the Kansas City Royals finally seem to have after three decades in the wilderness.
On the other hand you have an organization like the Twinks, who, staring into the abyss of fourth consecutive 90+ loss season, seem to find new depths of futility. With another rudderless, below-.500 season assured, they once again are casting off those people who have no future with the team if it becomes good again. So say goodbye to Josh Willingham, traded to the Royals earlier this week. He was a find the first year of his tenure in Minnesota but failed to reproduce that magic since. (Hope Kurt Suzuki, really the only bright spot of this otherwise dark year, does not follow that same downward trajectory.) Also, say good goddamn riddance to the awful Kevin Correia, who, of course, won his first game with his new squad, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Eventually you just need bodies to fill out a 25-man major league roster, but you might as well cut bait if there's no use keeping them around. Of course, that'll mean the losing will continue unabated.
After this (Wednesday) afternoon's series finale in Houston, they have a day off, then embark on a ten-day, 11-game homestand against the teams in the American League Central that are ahead of them in the standings. Oh wait ... all of the other teams are ahead of the Twinks in the standings. I'll narrow it down; they don't meet Chicago. They will start off with Kansas City this weekend, then host Cleveland for three starting Tuesday. Wonder if bad can get worse.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Caroline Wozniacki
Wozniacki the tennis player and golfer Rory McIlroy was once destined to be the power couple in sports, or at least the Beyonce and Jay-Z. So young, so cute together, yet willing to commit to each other for the rest of their lives. And they weren't bad in their careers.
But then, apparently, McIlroy dumped Wozniacki over the phone earlier this year in a call that lasted only three minutes. And ever since? McIlroy has won the last three tournaments he's entered, including the British Open and, last week, the PGA Championship, both of which gives him the third and fourth majors of his career (he's only 25) and, even if only an instant by fans quick to give their hot takes based on a sample size as small as three weeks, makes him the heir apparent to Tiger Woods -- and, in fact, because Woods missed the cut at the PGA, the heir apparent to probably The Best Golfer Ever In The History Of The Universe, Jack Nicklaus.
Meanwhile, even though it's not as if Wozniacki has been winless in 2014 -- she's 15-3 since June's French Open -- she has won a tournament which is not a major. She is not even close to being the #1 women's tennis player in the world -- that belongs to Serena Williams, who has been on top for the past, oh, 15 years. And no one is comparing her to Martina Navratilova.
Now, he can't be playing like this because of the breakup, can he? Well, according to some people in the media (even though I think it's kind of a stretch), McIlroy, in his post-tournament press conference, said, basically, yes:
But she's single, and she's not being called The Next Big Thing, while theasshole man who dumped her just because seems to have done a whole lot better since. He has been rewarded, while she has had to suffer the consequences.
I know this is a woman, but ... Poor Bastard.
But then, apparently, McIlroy dumped Wozniacki over the phone earlier this year in a call that lasted only three minutes. And ever since? McIlroy has won the last three tournaments he's entered, including the British Open and, last week, the PGA Championship, both of which gives him the third and fourth majors of his career (he's only 25) and, even if only an instant by fans quick to give their hot takes based on a sample size as small as three weeks, makes him the heir apparent to Tiger Woods -- and, in fact, because Woods missed the cut at the PGA, the heir apparent to probably The Best Golfer Ever In The History Of The Universe, Jack Nicklaus.
Meanwhile, even though it's not as if Wozniacki has been winless in 2014 -- she's 15-3 since June's French Open -- she has won a tournament which is not a major. She is not even close to being the #1 women's tennis player in the world -- that belongs to Serena Williams, who has been on top for the past, oh, 15 years. And no one is comparing her to Martina Navratilova.
Now, he can't be playing like this because of the breakup, can he? Well, according to some people in the media (even though I think it's kind of a stretch), McIlroy, in his post-tournament press conference, said, basically, yes:
"What else do I have to do? I get up in the morning, I go to the golf course, I go to the gym. ... It obviously works pretty well, so I'm going to keep doing it. ... Just seems like over the past couple of months, I've really just buried myself in my golf game and it seems to be working."Well, I don't think he's a bachelor. It looks like McIlroy has found a new piece in Irish model/actress/singer (these triple threats are a dime a dozen these days; maybe they're just diversifying in an increasingly tough economy) Nadia Forde. And she's a hot piece of Irish (l)ass, with many people on the Internet thinking McIlroy has traded up. But the fact is -- and it's a fact -- Wozniacki ain't that bad-looking herself. In fact, she's quite sexy, and I don't think anybody else thinking objectively can say otherwise.
But she's single, and she's not being called The Next Big Thing, while the
I know this is a woman, but ... Poor Bastard.
Masturbatable Video Of The Night
I was going to talk about Tony Stewart, which may be the most gob-smacking incident in a world rushing headlong into hell, what with Iraq and the Middle East. Now comes the suicide of Robin Williams, which I can't even begin to talk about.
But as I was going to summon up my thoughts on Stewart, I go to The Big Lead's daily Roundup (posted early Monday morning) and I see this video of a hot chick shaking her bare ass in a thong bikini and I decide that I need to jerk off to it. Her name is Debbie St. Pierre and she's a model for Wilhelmina, but her Instagram handle is "stpierredebbie," and the first few times I saw it it looked like "stripper debbie." Besides, she's dancing like a stripper here, and my cock likes it, a lot:
Turns out she's a MILF; there are pictures of her with her daughter. In one way it's weird to be pulling out my dick through the fly of pajama pants to wank off to her. On the other hand, she's a fucking hot MILF who has no qualms showing off her ass, so I'm not gonna be ashamed (well, too ashamed, I'm not telling you my name or anything) to beat off to this, again and again.
Fuck, is it it not working? Then go here to commit onanism. (ETA at 11:52 p.m. August 12 that yes, the Instagram video does show up on WAF even though I can't see it on the work page.)
But as I was going to summon up my thoughts on Stewart, I go to The Big Lead's daily Roundup (posted early Monday morning) and I see this video of a hot chick shaking her bare ass in a thong bikini and I decide that I need to jerk off to it. Her name is Debbie St. Pierre and she's a model for Wilhelmina, but her Instagram handle is "stpierredebbie," and the first few times I saw it it looked like "stripper debbie." Besides, she's dancing like a stripper here, and my cock likes it, a lot:
Turns out she's a MILF; there are pictures of her with her daughter. In one way it's weird to be pulling out my dick through the fly of pajama pants to wank off to her. On the other hand, she's a fucking hot MILF who has no qualms showing off her ass, so I'm not gonna be ashamed (well, too ashamed, I'm not telling you my name or anything) to beat off to this, again and again.
Fuck, is it it not working? Then go here to commit onanism. (ETA at 11:52 p.m. August 12 that yes, the Instagram video does show up on WAF even though I can't see it on the work page.)
Monday, August 11, 2014
Preview Of The Week: The Enemies In The Shadows
I was lolling around in bed this evening because I sensed that although I was not too tired to do something, I didn't have the energy to do anything more than try to fall asleep. Does that make sense? I did fall asleep listening to the ESPN Radio Sunday Night Baseball game where The Bastard Boston-By-Way-Of-Milwaukee Braves beat The Bastard Montreal Expos 3-1.
When I came to, I realized that this week seems copacetic on the surface, but if I'm not careful, this week could get away from me very, very quickly. And since I usually am not careful, I am afraid something will blindside me, and I will get to the end of the week regretting not doing something I should have done.
But what could that be? Let me think aloud and put what I think could or should be done here. Obviously this is not a complete list, because if it were complete, I would not be afraid to be blindsided this week:
Have to go to bed. Have a new job in the morning. 'Night.
When I came to, I realized that this week seems copacetic on the surface, but if I'm not careful, this week could get away from me very, very quickly. And since I usually am not careful, I am afraid something will blindside me, and I will get to the end of the week regretting not doing something I should have done.
But what could that be? Let me think aloud and put what I think could or should be done here. Obviously this is not a complete list, because if it were complete, I would not be afraid to be blindsided this week:
- The things regarding the club are still up in the air. For example, I haven't apologized to my predecessor for making him step in for the party yet. Still don't want to freak him for saying sorry about things he truly doesn't think I should be sorry for. But still there's the chance that he thinks I should be saying something and that he doesn't think I'm doing my job of taking care of things. So until a bolt of lightning strikes me with the perfect thing to say, I'll keep kicking around ideas in my head.
- The host I apologized to on facebook has not replied yet. It appeared that, for some time, she did not even see it, if not seeing a "Seen" timestamp is any indication. But I checked just now and, yes, she did see it. Back on Wednesday, in fact. It's technically Monday now. If she hasn't replied to me, I can only think of three things: 1) She's tremendously busy; 2) She has no clue why in the hell I'm saying sorry to her that she just doesn't know what to say; or 3) She really is upset with my and the club's conduct at her place (unbeknownst to me, I'll say again) and she no longer cares to speak with me. I felt better knowing that she hadn't seen my message yet. Now I don't know what to do.
- I am not totally convinced that we have a spot to see football games. This past weekend I stopped by the place. The manager wasn't there, but a waitress who recognized me was, and she assured me that we can see our games here. I'm just about ready to start declaring dates and stuff, but I'm not exactly exactly sure. And I need to be, because if we don't have a spot, especially this close to football season, we're fucked.
- Online classes at the University of Minnesota begin the 15th of every month -- so if I want to take a class, I'll have to enroll this week. But what? This takes on added urgency because I'll need to lean on my folks to pay for a class, and they'll be out of the country for what could be the next six months. Hard to get them to pay things when they're half a world away. But I have to go back to, What the hell class would I take?
- The car isn't getting any better, although the Check Engine light never came on Thursday or Friday, thank God. But I'm back at the flu biller place today (Monday), and even though it's close to home, I'm sure it's going to light up. And Buddha forbid it actually conks out this time (the car shuddered badly when I tried to put the gas down Sunday afternoon); although these guys know me, it's not the best impression to be out a car to begin the project.
- There's a woman I should call that could help me with a read on a new job. There's a sports company that is hiring that I should apply to. Haven't yet 'cause I'm lazy.
- Oh yeah -- this guy who was with the testing project a few months ago offered me this writing position. I said at the time I was interested, but I then e-mailed my apologies that I was too busy to do it at this time. I should revisit that statement; I hadn't delved into it too much to make an actually informed decision, and in the meantime I should say hello to make sure he isn't pissed at me. Communication Is The Key To Life ... ?
- And I wanted to fill out my monthly expense list in my Franklin Quest, too.
Have to go to bed. Have a new job in the morning. 'Night.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Last Night The Racists Came Out
So I was leaving My Favorites Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). There are a bunch of guys that were just hanging out at the parking lot but broke up to go to their cars. As usual, I walk around my car, starting with the passenger side, just to make sure no one has done any stupid shit, like scratched the paint or put a ketchup pack behind a wheel or something.
When I do it this time I run right into these three douchebags whose car is parked right next to mine. They're wearing neon pink and green golf polos, you know, like a bunch of Rickie Folwers are walking my way. And one of these white assholes says to me, in the year 2014, "Ni hao, ni hao!" and everybody laughs.
Wanted to yell or pick a fight. All I could do is shake my head and mutter as I get into my car, "Ignorant racist motherfuckers." What do you do in a situation like that? This takes me back to all the times I was bullied. But to that point, I don't remember the last truly racist thing someone said to me. There was this one time a guy shoved me at a comic book store and when I stared back at him he started whooping Chinese "Wah!" sounds at me. There's also this frenemy, but we eat at fancy place once a week and he's been a friend, so he can't really count, so ... yeah, there was that time at a comic book store, which was at least a decade ago. That was the last time a racist thing was said to me.
And the thing is, this entitled prick is probably in his late twenties or early thirties -- younger than me. Assuming that he doesn't live in rural Minnesota -- his douchelord duds makes me think he lives in the suburbs, if not in the city -- he has to run into people who aren't white. He has to. SO WHY IN THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE CAN GET AWAY WITH SAYING RACIST SHIT LIKE THAT?!?! My God, we were at a stripclub in one of the poorest parts of the Twin Cities -- it's not crawling with only white people!!!
Oh my God, fuck this guy.
---
Have I told you about this guy who always hangs out at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place? He's a quiet gentleman who sits by himself once a week at this place. Nice, although he can kind of chatty, and really intrusive especially when I'm trying to work on my computer. But he has a good heart, and so we talk, mostly about sports.
After this run-in with Racist Asshole downtown, I went here. Saturdays are not the nights he's supposed to be here, so I was surprised when I pulled into the parking lot and saw his car (I've known him so long I know what his car looks like). But I haven't seen him in a while, and I like the dude, and I did kind of promise him that we'd see a Twins game together, so it was time to talk.
And we talked about a lot of things, most notably the Tony Stewart incident where he apparently killed a fellow driver. But before that, we talked about ... I think about our love of the NFL. And I don't know what led to this, but eventually he said, and I think I'm quoting: "... and I don't like that you hear so many of these black football players wind up broke after they're done playing."
Whoa.
I never thought this guy to be a bigot. And this is one of those cases where he said something so beyond the pale that I'm still in denial that he said it. Seriously, where the hell did that come from? I hope -- hope -- he regrets saying that. But, of course, this raises the question -- maybe it's not in doubt -- of whether he really just culls black football players in his mind into "broke and stupid." Regardless, I don't think I can see this guy, a meek man who, it turns out, has some prejudiced thoughts, in the same way ever again.
---
I want to blame yesterday's bad day on the moon and be done with it.
When I do it this time I run right into these three douchebags whose car is parked right next to mine. They're wearing neon pink and green golf polos, you know, like a bunch of Rickie Folwers are walking my way. And one of these white assholes says to me, in the year 2014, "Ni hao, ni hao!" and everybody laughs.
Wanted to yell or pick a fight. All I could do is shake my head and mutter as I get into my car, "Ignorant racist motherfuckers." What do you do in a situation like that? This takes me back to all the times I was bullied. But to that point, I don't remember the last truly racist thing someone said to me. There was this one time a guy shoved me at a comic book store and when I stared back at him he started whooping Chinese "Wah!" sounds at me. There's also this frenemy, but we eat at fancy place once a week and he's been a friend, so he can't really count, so ... yeah, there was that time at a comic book store, which was at least a decade ago. That was the last time a racist thing was said to me.
And the thing is, this entitled prick is probably in his late twenties or early thirties -- younger than me. Assuming that he doesn't live in rural Minnesota -- his douchelord duds makes me think he lives in the suburbs, if not in the city -- he has to run into people who aren't white. He has to. SO WHY IN THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE CAN GET AWAY WITH SAYING RACIST SHIT LIKE THAT?!?! My God, we were at a stripclub in one of the poorest parts of the Twin Cities -- it's not crawling with only white people!!!
Oh my God, fuck this guy.
---
Have I told you about this guy who always hangs out at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place? He's a quiet gentleman who sits by himself once a week at this place. Nice, although he can kind of chatty, and really intrusive especially when I'm trying to work on my computer. But he has a good heart, and so we talk, mostly about sports.
After this run-in with Racist Asshole downtown, I went here. Saturdays are not the nights he's supposed to be here, so I was surprised when I pulled into the parking lot and saw his car (I've known him so long I know what his car looks like). But I haven't seen him in a while, and I like the dude, and I did kind of promise him that we'd see a Twins game together, so it was time to talk.
And we talked about a lot of things, most notably the Tony Stewart incident where he apparently killed a fellow driver. But before that, we talked about ... I think about our love of the NFL. And I don't know what led to this, but eventually he said, and I think I'm quoting: "... and I don't like that you hear so many of these black football players wind up broke after they're done playing."
Whoa.
I never thought this guy to be a bigot. And this is one of those cases where he said something so beyond the pale that I'm still in denial that he said it. Seriously, where the hell did that come from? I hope -- hope -- he regrets saying that. But, of course, this raises the question -- maybe it's not in doubt -- of whether he really just culls black football players in his mind into "broke and stupid." Regardless, I don't think I can see this guy, a meek man who, it turns out, has some prejudiced thoughts, in the same way ever again.
---
I want to blame yesterday's bad day on the moon and be done with it.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Addendum To: What The Fuck Was That All About?
Today I was vacillating on whether or not I should help My Fucking Father with the printer when I got ready to leave for the day. In the end, I didn't think ignoring him since Thursday night after he told me he fixed the printer and that it needed more ink was going to help family relations. So I went down there to investigate. He told me that in fact the printer was not fixed, but, in a weird case where we flipped opposing viewpoints, he was wrong again and that it really was fixed, he just needed to make sure a page was printing to that particular printer and not to some fax feature that was there that I never knew got there.
So after cleaning the nozzle heads it's all good again, and the ink levels are more than fine. So I was about to leave when he asked me where I was going (to work, I lied) and then, once again, he goes, "Hey, when you have time, why don't you go looking for a better job." Out of the blue. Even though I have one -- well, had one but then immediately going to another one on Monday, and no, I won't tell you. And after all the shit I did for you, this is the fucking thanks I get?
I walked away from him. Then, while I was putting on my shoes I had to vent under my breath: "You're fuckin' welcome." Guess family relations are kind of fucked right now, huh?
Seriously, though -- go fuck yourself, old man.
So after cleaning the nozzle heads it's all good again, and the ink levels are more than fine. So I was about to leave when he asked me where I was going (to work, I lied) and then, once again, he goes, "Hey, when you have time, why don't you go looking for a better job." Out of the blue. Even though I have one -- well, had one but then immediately going to another one on Monday, and no, I won't tell you. And after all the shit I did for you, this is the fucking thanks I get?
I walked away from him. Then, while I was putting on my shoes I had to vent under my breath: "You're fuckin' welcome." Guess family relations are kind of fucked right now, huh?
Seriously, though -- go fuck yourself, old man.
Friday, August 8, 2014
The Last Day, And I Go Anonymously
Barring something very unforeseen, this will be my last day at the project in downtown Minneapolis. I have been told that the flu billing position is all set up for me to begin on Monday, but I had been led to believe that the workflow at this downtown project not only was drying up but would be, in all actuality, completely done this week. Not only would it make sense, seeing as I was cut the previous two weeks by Thursday and I was told by my supervisor that there's a day-and-a-half of work this week tops, but it would be perfect because I could go and do some other stuff ... except that it's Friday and I'm not done. In fact I don't think the workload for the week will be done if I'm the only one doing it. I wonder if my boss is OK with that or disappointed. If it's the latter, well, maybe it's best that today's my last day.
And we're still stuck doing the same routine: Going in, getting into our cubicle, putting on our headsets or headphones, bringing up the list of stuff we need to do, opening up an Internet window, and we work, just sitting at our desks and staring at our screens, until we are done for the day. Sure, some of the veteran callers have spoken to each other. But I find it really funny that I spoke with none of these people when I began this project over two months ago, and then we had this pretty huge lunch/party/get-to-know-you shindig at the park a little over a week ago meant to break the ice -- and I literally have spoken to no one at this place after it. Hell, I learned names at this party from people who sit close to me, and I have not said a word to these people since. In fact I don't know if they've looked in my direction once. It's weird, and I guess it doesn't matter since it's my last day and I wasn't here all that long anyway, but you'd think we would give each other eye contact and a quick wave or even a "hello." Nope, none of that.
Is it me or is it them, or is it both?
Should add another thing: Very early on in the project the secretary, probably because it was policy, slipped a name card into my cubicle plate. Made me feel official. Now, no one came up to me, looked at it and introduced him- or herself (besides my boss) but I consider that to be a sign of respect, even if that is how things are supposed to be done for all employees, including temps. Have a badge with my name and picture on it, too, and I got that on Tuesday. Sure, I'll only be using it for three days, but as long as I am working there, I need a badge, and I get that and a name card, and in combination both tell what my name is and what I look like.
I AM SOMEBODY!!! Well, until the end of day (or whenever the work runs out), in which case I have to turn in my badge and the name tent will go bye-bye presumably Monday. And I will be gone, and since no one really got to know me in the two-plus months I was there, it would be like I had never been there. Leave only footprints and take only memories, and all that stuff. ...
You know, this wasn't a bad place to work. Could've paid better, but besides that, wasn't the worst place in the world.
And we're still stuck doing the same routine: Going in, getting into our cubicle, putting on our headsets or headphones, bringing up the list of stuff we need to do, opening up an Internet window, and we work, just sitting at our desks and staring at our screens, until we are done for the day. Sure, some of the veteran callers have spoken to each other. But I find it really funny that I spoke with none of these people when I began this project over two months ago, and then we had this pretty huge lunch/party/get-to-know-you shindig at the park a little over a week ago meant to break the ice -- and I literally have spoken to no one at this place after it. Hell, I learned names at this party from people who sit close to me, and I have not said a word to these people since. In fact I don't know if they've looked in my direction once. It's weird, and I guess it doesn't matter since it's my last day and I wasn't here all that long anyway, but you'd think we would give each other eye contact and a quick wave or even a "hello." Nope, none of that.
Is it me or is it them, or is it both?
Should add another thing: Very early on in the project the secretary, probably because it was policy, slipped a name card into my cubicle plate. Made me feel official. Now, no one came up to me, looked at it and introduced him- or herself (besides my boss) but I consider that to be a sign of respect, even if that is how things are supposed to be done for all employees, including temps. Have a badge with my name and picture on it, too, and I got that on Tuesday. Sure, I'll only be using it for three days, but as long as I am working there, I need a badge, and I get that and a name card, and in combination both tell what my name is and what I look like.
I AM SOMEBODY!!! Well, until the end of day (or whenever the work runs out), in which case I have to turn in my badge and the name tent will go bye-bye presumably Monday. And I will be gone, and since no one really got to know me in the two-plus months I was there, it would be like I had never been there. Leave only footprints and take only memories, and all that stuff. ...
You know, this wasn't a bad place to work. Could've paid better, but besides that, wasn't the worst place in the world.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
What The Fuck Was That All About?
So after dinner I disappear into my bedroom. But I have to go on Facebook because I need to talk to a couple people about this concert tomorrow.
So I go out and, fucking out of the blue, My Fucking Father gets on me: "Hey, maybe for once after dinner you don't go into your bedroom. Maybe do something."
What the fuck? There is, like, a multitude of things going through my head after he says this:
So I go out and, fucking out of the blue, My Fucking Father gets on me: "Hey, maybe for once after dinner you don't go into your bedroom. Maybe do something."
What the fuck? There is, like, a multitude of things going through my head after he says this:
- Where the fuck did this come from?
- My Fucking Father hasn't said a cross thing to me in a long, long time. Things were going so good -- why would he ruin it? Or, I could look at it pessimistically and figure it's about time that asshole said something mean to me.
- I totally, totally forgot that I wanted to go to tonight's Lynx game. I was downtown working, too; I could've just pulled out of the ramp, found free parking, and got in for ten bucks -- and all of that would have taken the hour between work and the game. Would have been able to avoid that ugly insult from My Fucking Father.
- So, why did I forget? Oh, a bunch of things. There was the concert I planned for tomorrow, there's this Amway salesman whose stuff I need to return but I didn't know when, plus I wasn't sure if my last day at this temp job was going to be this afternoon or tomorrow. If I was leaving this project for good before a full day today I definitely would not stick around downtown for the Lynx game, but in the end ... fuck, I guess it just slipped my mind.
- I'm taking it OK, for now. First of all, this was a total blindside, so my only thought really is, "What the fuck was that all about?" Second, like I said before, it's been a long time since he took a cheap shot at me, so maybe my self-esteem withstood this. Finally, I'm too busy coordinating with these two people about tickets and shit, and I don't have the time to fully process what he said to me.
- Well, this will be one of those things where I'm not upset now, but as I let it stew in my head I'll get angrier and angrier till I let My Fucking Father have it when he innocuously asks me a question, oh, a week from now. Or I could just not replace the ink in the printer.
- Shit, they'll be leaving on vacation in a month. Won't have to worry about his fucking ass for the rest of the goddamn year.
Expenses Without Receipts
To me it is scary how dependent I have gotten on my credit card. On the one hand it makes it easier to compile EWRs, even if I blog about them months apart. But on the other hand it makes for big, or at least long, credit card statements. I keep rationalizing it by saying that the only charges I make to it are for parking, but I'm scared to actually read my statement to see if that's actually true.
Starting from Wednesday, August 6:
Starting from Wednesday, August 6:
- Go back to Sunday, August 3, when I parked and found a nickel lying on the ground somewhere. Hey, it's legal tender. An Infusion of: 5 cents.
- ETA at 2:40 a.m. Tuesday the 12th that I forgot that on Sunday, August 3 I stopped off at Dairy Queen just before going home. Got a mini-sized Oreo Blizzard, probably the only size I can afford at DQ these days. Cost: $2.99
- Saturday the 2nd ... guess I was itching to use cash for the weekend. Started off at Dunn Bros. where I was supposed to have a meeting with the other person on the board, but he totally forgot. Whatever. Got a mocha ice crema. Have I written EWRs on expenses for receipts I do have because I keep track of the tips here? I should, and I hope to continue to do that. In this case, the tip at Dunn Bros. is: 30 cents.
- Then I took in the soccer doubleheader at TCF Bank Stadium, which I described here. Enjoyed myself even if I rationalized the truth: Soccer's kind of boring. Guinness was the title sponsor, and they had a presence at the stadium. However, the beer garden in which Guinness was offered was only open during the games. I wanted to get one inbetween so I wouldn't miss a second of the "action," but I would have to divert my attention away from the pitch to get a glass of the alcoholic drink that fronts the tournament. Now I'm not a huge of Guinness, but I wanted to buy one because they were sponsoring this international (if contrived) tournament. So why would they turn away customers who also wanted to see the game? Mind-boggling. So I drank a Coke to chase down the hot dog. Total: $10.50.
- I like days where I have the day all to myself. I'll expound on this, hopefully, some other time, but even though it takes a long time, it was fun to be able to hop on the light rail and go from the U. to the West Bank to the Mall of America. Not needing to worry about driving, especially when my Check Engine light's on, is an acceptable trade-off for being beholden to Metro Transit's schedule, at least for this day. And it only cost me one ticket, even though I technically rode the rails for more than the 2 1/2 hours one ticket gets you: $1.75.
- Speaking of the West Bank ... because I had the time and the means to do it, I wanted to light-rail over to a couple of food spots and eat. I could not conceive of another day and opportunity to try these places, and so Saturday was it. I have heard and read that the Wienery is a good place for hot dogs. It was ... OK. Maybe I was a little jaded because I had a hot dog at Das Bank, but I liked the Minneapolis Dog I got, especially the slaw and sea salt, part of which dripped onto the fries, of which there was an appropriate amount, not like the heaps you get at Five Guys and I got when I ate at Annie's Parlour. (The Wienery advertises that you get one potato's worth of fries, which seems like a lot, so either it's not a lot or it's not really a potato's worth.) The place is dingy -- what West Bank spot isn't -- and it would have been nice to know where the bathroom is so I could have washed my hands. But at this place the price on the menu is the price you pay; tax is already included. Tip isn't, yet I didn't mind throwing some extra into the tip pitcher. If you go, and you should, bring cash with you; they do not take credit cards. Total amount: $8.50.
- And speaking of the Megamall ... I decided to risk getting a ticket for riding without paying for a fare by taking an hour or so to light-rail it down there and have Pinkberry. Whenever I go to an ice cream place I usually get something unhealthy and indulgent -- chocolate/dessert stuff, you know? But Pinkberry pushes lighter, sorbet-like stuff, such as their Sugarpova toppings, gummy candies with the branding of tennis hottie Maria Sharapova. But I didn't see any Sugarpova toppings. Is the marketing deal over? Without that I pivoted over to trying another thing Pinkberry offers, the smoothie. Got a strawberry banana, and it was good, even though I wouldn't be able to distinguish that from a smoothie Mother makes from time to time. I should only write down the tip, but without the receipt I got from Pinkberry in hand now I can only tell you the total amount I had the foresight to type in shortly after I bought it; I'll go back and change it before publishing (ETA at 9:53 p.m. on Saturday, August 16 that, no, I did not change it before I published it, and in fact I don't feel like it. In fact, I'm not sure if I'll follow my policy of strictly only typing down EWRs for tips when I have a receipt for the item itself. What the hell, why not have two records of the same expense: 4.76.
- It took a long time and a long walk through campus, but after I got off the LRT I was in my car, a mere nine hours after I left it. And it was still in one piece! I thought about going to Caffetto, but I had traveled so much on public transportation I decided against driving down to South Minneapolis. Besides, I wanted to see some boobs. So I went over to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division). They bumped up the price of coffee by a quarter. Waitress said it was because of the rise of the minimum wage. Bullshit. It's because he wants to maintain a level of profit. I understand that motivation, but why don't you just say so and not solely pin the blame on governmental actions that help the common good? Ah, whatever, it's not as if I'm going to pay more; it just means a quarter less in tips for the waitress. Stage tips remain at two bucks, however, making this trip cost: $11.
- Ended this relaxing Saturday with a trip to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place. Got someone new working there -- cute, probably still in high school. Should keep myself familiar there so it doesn't look weird that some guy plops down in a booth and sets up his laptop like he's going to the office. Had so much pop that I decided to have a beer, one small can of Pabst Blue Ribbon -- rare for me to do that here. With small salad and soup: $8.25.
- On Friday, August 1 I dropped my car off to get it fixed, which it wasn't. The best thing about this mechanic, the one Father trusts, is that it is extremely close to the Green Line, which means I have the ability to go anywhere if I had the time. And I took advantage of that, going back into downtown Minneapolis to meet a new club member, then going inbetween the cities to try this place called the Russian Tea House, a small restaurant that's only open between 11 and 3 Fridays. I got what appears to be its signature dish, the piroshki, which they describe (in an effort to make Russian food a bit more familiar) as a "Russian hamburger." A little bit on the small side for more than four bucks, but it was good. Plus the woman serving me was nice, the Russian tea was good, and I liked having the restaurant (actually a converted house) by myself for a half-hour: $5.60.
- Thursday, July 31 ... I was surprised that I only had 90 minutes' worth of work. That's OK; that meant I could LRT it down to the Mall of America and eat at Hooters! Got my Mug Club renewal card with this visit, so the clock on the year is ticking. Hot chick, too -- small but well-defined arms. She said she was winded filling up the ice machine. I don't think she had any problem carrying the buckets of ice! With tip: $18.50.
- Tuesday the 29th -- special day. Work cut out early for a picnic. Actually worked only three hours, ate at the park (via the light rail!) for another three, went back to the office, picked up my stuff, went to the parking ramp where I took a nap, and I was off ... to this hotel in the west metro, where a guy who was trying to sell me on working as an Amway salesman. (Ran into him downtown the week the Green Line opened -- long story not worth rehashing, unless I think it's a good blog post.) I then went to the library, realized that Edge of Tomorrow was starting twenty minutes earlier than I thought, then went (although I'm still cheesed off I missed the very first minutes; have to remember that films that have been in theaters for some time don't have seven trailers to give you time to get to the screen -- oh, great movie, BTW). Any expense I paid I put on my credit card. But somewhere in my busy day I found a dime and penny on the ground. So, an Infusion of: 11 cents.
- Sunday, August 27 was the day of the huge party, the ripple effects I still am dealing with today. I gave myself some decompression time at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). I also had some leftovers from the party, specifically chips and nuts. I was going to go there but be home in time for dinner, but I got to talking with the host of the party and I just blew dinner off. That allowed me to stay a lot longer at the strip bar, kibitzing with the girls and giving away the chips and some of the nuts. I was going to take rest of the nuts home, but stupid me, I left the bag with the, I think, three jars of nuts there. Probably threw them away. I always do this, bringing stuff into a place but forgetting to take them with me. If it's not part of my routine it is very difficult for me to remember that I brought them with. Hell, I don't remember the last time I brought food into that place. Sigh. Coffee and tips: $14.
- Guess I charged the shit out of my credit card because the preceding Expense Without Receipt was the previous Sunday, July 20, when I learned that afternoon that it was National Ice Cream Day and I decided to commemorate it by driving from the library to Uptown to have an ice cream at Sebastian Joe's. With tip: $4.25.
- Saturday the 19th ... I finally had the time to see my prom date my biological grandmother and my uncle at the cemeteries. I got two dandelions that were being given out, oddly enough, by the Yoplait street team handing out samples of their new Greek yogurt at, of all events, the All-Star Game on Tuesday. I got the flowers and then I thought, "Shit, I'll have to take care of them now, won't I?" But I was able to turn lemons into lemonade; the flowers were the impetus to finally go to the cemeteries. Bought some flowers and was able to add a dandelion to each bouquet for both my prom date and my biological granny. (Also had to bring them from the backyard, where I kept them watered in a tub, into my bedroom, where I put them in a souvenir cup from a sporting event, after I picked up my parents from their weeks-long vacation.) The flowers cost: $3.21.
- After I visited the loved ones past, I wanted to eat, but really didn't know where. I remember it being close to 1, the very end time where I would eat a proper lunch, and I decided that the McDonald's or the Chipotle in Uptown were OK. I was going to go straight down through Hennepin, but just before I got the green light a bus came from my left to take a left turn right in front of where I would be. That bus would eventually pull over to the shoulder so I could pass it, but that thought didn't enter my mind when, in frustration, I decided to take a right instead. That would take me down Lyndale, and I thought I could find some place I could eat, depending on where I would meet Lyndale. Turns out I could take a left and hit Crema Cafe, a place I hadn't been to in two years since the girl behind the counter didn't give me a replacement ice cream after I dropped it. I remembered reading that its affogato, a dollop of ice cream in a cup of espresso, is its signature dish. I thought it was the ice cream. Anyway, it was a bit past 1, which meant I should get something to eat, plus running into this place seemed to be serendipity, therefore I stopped in for 20 minutes to eat there. Didn't drop the affogato, so there was no potentially awkward situation where I would have to ask for a replacement. It was OK, but I don't think I'd get it again for the price. With tip: $6.75.
- Went back home eventually, where I showered but immediately went back out (no dinner) because the local soccer team, Minnesota United FC, was playing host to Swansea City, the first English Premier League organization to ever play in the state. That's cool, although from the 2-0 score (we won!) I don't know how much effort the team put into the game. They have food trucks there, and I decided to try the AZ Canteen, the food truck by food critic, bizarre food eater, Minnesota native and (from what I hear) asshole Andrew Zimmern. I will say that his spicy peanut noodles were really good; spicy enough without it burning my mouth over overwhelming the dish, which was served in a Chinese to-go box that was falling apart. That with Budweiser, a ticket, a program and tips for the food and drink: $36.
- Found a penny at the parking lot at the National Sports Center, and Infusion of: 1 cent.
- Afterwards I drove past home down to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), where I got a dance from Cicily, who was a lot more talkative than usual (she revealed to me her family) but shorted me on the dance, goddammit. With coffee (pre-price rise) and tips: $31.
- I then finished off my day by going back up to my neck of the woods to eat at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, but just for a salad and onion rings. With tip: $9.
- Let's take it back to Wednesday, July 16, the day where ***e* half-assed cleaning my house and giving me a handie. Read all about it here: $120.
- Monday the 14th seems to be the last time I paid for parking at work with cash: $6.25.
- Sunday, July 13 ... ah, the final of the World Cup! I remember parking all the way at Augsburg and walking about ten minute to the Nomad. There was a cover for the final match, but I got in because I had a passport with some stamps in it. Thank goodness! Didn't win anything for the tickets I got from the stamps, but I can't complain about enjoying arguably the greatest sporting event on Planet Earth with a bunch of other soccer diehards. And I pulled out all the gustatory stops here -- Lone Star beer, pulled pork tacos, Belgian fries to eat while waiting for them to have the raffle, and tips come out to: $19.
- Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) to celebrate. Got the waitress who probably doesn't like me. Her getting away from me even though I was about to tip her for getting me coffee probably proves as much. With stage tips: $8.25.
- On Saturday the 12th the only ERW I (apparently) have is at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version), which, as you could tell, does not give out receipts. Although they no longer advertise it on City Pages, I have always been able to bring a food donation (which usually is a Cup O' Noodles, the cheapest food I can buy) in exchange for letting me in free, without paying a cover. I always reward these guys with a dollar tip on my way out. Tips, a Corona (first time in a long time I've had that) and ten, count 'em, ten dances with my Claudia: $139.
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