| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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the plumber had big plumber hands. he was a young guy, early twenties, tall, blue eyes, an unfortunate hulk-hogan fu-manchu. i shook his hand and the interior monologue went meek and soft, murmured--i am white collar. (my landscaper buddy told me blue collar guys know us white collar folk by our soft hands. as firm as your grasp may be, it's the skin that gives it away.) he fixed the toilet leak. new gasket, bolted it down tightly; he said the flange should probably be replaced someday but not today. he said, "usually, fat people get this problem. they rock side to side on the toilet, getting their fat ass cheeks to seperate before they take their fat people shits. you don't look fat. is your girlfriend fat?" i replied, "you're a good looking kid, you should fix your attitude. you're going to end up with a wife who sucks off the old man down the street, does meth with the neighborhood homeless dude and eventually cuts your dick off in the middle of the night with your pipecutter." actually, i replied, "no." he said, "oh, well...toilet's fixed. you can shit to your heart's content." phone rang shortly after he left. a woman wanted to talk to fred macke. i told her, wrong number. we've had this number for over a year. fred's calls have been tapering off. with the phone in my hand i decided to call waste management about the bill. $175, out of the blue. well, nearly out of the blue. i should just pay it, but i'm an unethical son of a bitch. do you understand? no, of course not, you need the backstory. we always figured the landlord covered garbage. the first garbage day we were there, we put the can out. it was an experiment. if they pick it up, the landlord must be paying garbage. if they don't pick it up, we call in and get service. they picked it up. they picked it up for eleven months without ever hearing from us. then, the wheel comes off the can. so she calls in and tells them. they tell her that there is no account at our address and ask her how long we've lived there. eleven months. they decide to back bill us six months. take that pint glass down off the shelf. the one with ETHICS etched on one side. pour eight ounces of bourbon into it. didn't they just cut us a deal? eleven months for the price of six? or did we just get the shaft? that's the backstory. when we moved we hadn't gotten a bill from them yet. but the post office forwarded it, and i held it in one hand, with the phone in the other. the guy is a nice guy and i try not to be a total asshole. i tell him that i'm willing to pay for service from the time she called (may) until the time we moved (june). he tells me some things: 1.) garbage is picked up regardless of whether you have an account or not. 2.) they need proof of my move (a new rental agreement, proof of new phone service, etc.) to cancel the account earlier than today. 3.) i'm stuck with the back billing. i ask to talk to his supervisor. he issues a curt 'thank you' and drops me into hold music hell. then, it as if the finger of god has slyly slipped from heaven to gently stroke my neatly shaved scroat. the hold music stops, and i'm issued, in a vaguely synthetic voice, a menu of options. recording has been stopped...press one to restart recording, press pound to remove your satin panties, press two-three to play back your recording. ok, i don't actually remember any of the options other than two-three. i press two-three. it's a voice mail. it's a voice mail from the guy to whom i was speaking intended for cheryl, his supervisor. he's very polite, even behind my back. after i listen to the message, i flag it priority and send it on. i find my way back to the operator. i ask her to send me over the cheryl. i leave cheryl a voice mail. i'm starting to see that pint glass of bourbon in a different light. it is really half-full, isn't it. and regardless, i got garbage service, i should pay for it. i blame her dad. at least a little. he's a vibrant jew. i don't mean that in a bad way. he gets on the phone with anyone and gets his way. early on, she told me she admired that in her dad. so i've been working on this assertiveness. it works, too. i've gotten some shit done that i would have just let slide in the past. like when directv missed their install date. she called me pissed off, she'd wasted four hours of her day waiting for the guy and he never showed. they called and rescheduled. if hbo didn't play Six Feet Under constantly, we would have missed an episode. do you understand? so i called directv back and said that wasn't acceptible. they offered a $20 missed-call credit. i ended up with that and free hbo for a year. but in this case, with the waste management, they don't really owe me anything. they didn't fuck me over. they've actually been quite polite. so cheryl calls me. the supervisor. she's firm but polite. she tells me that in city limits, garbage service is mandatory. i had no idea. i tell her i didn't expect this bill out of the blue, and that i did get service so i really should pay for it. she tells me she'll split the difference. well, it ends up being $65. and now i'm in the new place. and i know that garbage is getting picked up regardless of whether i have an account or not. so fuck it. |
though i suppose that's just "my belief system" at the moment i believe in dsl and dvds because i hurt my back carrying stuff up five flights of stairs. people tryin to grow stuff on their windy little roof area. crazy. i should get a cane and knock it into people's shins 'on accident.' is sitting around making me cranky? PERHAPS. |
it's the american way. |
but maybe not. talking about hurting my back was intended to be unrelated. unless everything is related. da? |
but who knows. the whole thing about garbage service being mandatory bugs me. i'll let it be mandatory. doesn't mean i'm going to pay for it. |
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if you don't want garbage service, just keep it in your house |
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not for everyone, just for me. and nate. again, this gets to the bullshit idea of ownership. you don't own the thing, you own the responsibility for the thing. i "own" a little chunk of earth here but i can't drill a well or install a septic system and bypass the municipal services. i can't even chop down my big, beautiful maple tree and sell it without approval from the city, which they would deny. i can't burn my garbage, or anything else. even though i do have a firepit. because fires are cool and make me feel good. it's not that i want to do all these things, and i especially don't want everyone doing them. i approve all these regulations because they contribute to the greater good. my point is that, whatever you call it, it isn't the ownership that most people like to think it is. |
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baidu. sweet! wish i spoke chinese. |
well, find it on soulseek. |
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you'd think i've never done this before. |
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Eagle! |
i love how alt hiphop is melding with electronica. s'why i love anticon. |
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the dave/agatha mating ritual is just like i always imagined it. |
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twice, in one week some cocksucker felt the authority to go into my car without my consent. Thankfully no windows were broken. Thankfully there was no jizz, vomit, urine or feces in the car. Both times it was clearly the work of amateurs. They left the parking meter change, didnt even go into the trunk and left the stereo. The managed to steal my stereo face plate and remote control (of which I didnt even know i had until the first incident only because they cleaned out my glove box, and there at the bottom was this tiny remote.) However my stereo was completely in tact, just no face plate. Dumbasses. The thing is, i work hard and I still struggle right now. That little bit of music or news took my mind off the odd rattles and thumps in my car. I didnt actually have to listen to how much the engine stuggles to get up the hills in LA and fret about the life remaining in this car. I could put in Nick Cave (they also gnabbed a handfull of burned Nick Cave discs too....fucking pricks!) or whatever and take my mind off the car. Now, all i hear is the car and I obsess over it. So, here I am, grateful for what little i have and it gets jacked by some cocksucker who will net about $3.50 for my shit. After the second incident, i contemplated sleeping in the GF's truck in the drive next to the car with a pistol or a baseball bat. Can I tell you how much joy I would derive off smashing the knees of the motherfucker as he rifles through my glove box for a pack of matches? It makes me that angry. It's been a bad week folks. Sorry you got jacked for trash nate. Glad your shitter is good. |
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my GF is gonna help with the nick cave stuff. i've sorta blocked out what else was in the case. it seems you cant buy faceplates to stereos except on ebay which means they're probably stolen anyway. cocksuckers. |
my GF is gonna help with the nick cave stuff. i've sorta blocked out what else was in the case. it seems you cant buy faceplates to stereos except on ebay which means they're probably stolen anyway. cocksuckers. I just got a phone call from LAPD. They wanna fingerprint the car. Apparently 87 Honda's a huge on the break in list. |
that's crazy. careful, man. maybe they just want to come out and kick your ass for no good reason. |
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