I have now been delivering pizza's for a solid 3 weeks. I average about 6 or 7 deliveries a night and at least 1 or 2 have a story worth noting behind them. However, this Saturday I was officially inducted into the Delivery Drivers Club when I was given 12 deliveries in a 4 hour period (this, by the way is not a large amount of deliveries for a Saturday night, but I will pretend like it is for effect). Anyway, 3 customers stood out in one way or another that night. Below is a brief recount of my 3 most awkward deliveries of the night.
Delivery 1 - This was NOT the first delivery of the night, rather the first interesting delivery. I was already about an hour or so into my shift and I got a call to go to Piedmont Estates. Sounds classy right? Think again. I have been to 3 or 4 different "houses" in Piedmont Estates so far as a delivery driver. It's about 2 minutes from the restaurant and everytime I go I wonder why these people don't just drive (or WALK) down the road. I feel like if you live in a trailer park you don't have excess money to spend on frivolous things like tips or pizza and the money would be better spent on window repairs or lawn cleaning (most trailers in the Estates seem to have a constant yard sale going).
Anyway I get to the "driveway" which seems to be grass with some rocks thrown in, to spite my cars delicate tires. The trailer is set about 25 feet back from where the driveway ends and so I have to meander my way through a field of grass to get to the steps of the trailer. Now comes the fun part, the last step does not meet the edge of the trailer, so if you are standing on the top step you would have to step up again to get into the trailer. Thus, while standing on the top step I am looking up at whoever may open the door. I knock. Much to my chagrin an old man looking about 62 and missing a fair amount of teeth (but making up for it in the straggly hair and beard department!) answered. He was wearing cut off jean shorts (or JORTS as Amelia likes to call them) and they seemed to stop right about Taint level on him, which was about eye level on me. Upon further inspection his package seemed to be ummm...erecting itself and the zipper on said Jorts was nowhere to be found. He handed me some moist dollar bills and I quickly thanked him and ran across the field to my waiting Hybrid. While I am not currently feeling any side effects I wouldn't be surprised if I go into cardiac arrest while watching Silence of the Lambs or Deuce Bigalow in the future.
Delivery 2 - The next delivery was immediately following the first. It came in a backwoods area about 12 minutes from the restaurant. I started out the delivery by getting lost (like I normally do) and proceeded to eventually pull up to a ranch house with 6 cars parked out front (including one with a European style plate). As I get out I notice two guys laying on the ground behind a 4-wheeler with guns (not aimed at me). They glance at me and then instantly shoot their guns at their target. I assume that they had not ordered the pizza since they couldn't be bothered to look at me and I head to the front door. As I grow closer to them one pulls out money and hands it to me, rifle and facemask in hand. I retreat to the car to watch them pull the triggers, get out and check the target and proceed to neglect the pizza. I wasn't in any danger, but I prefer my deliveries to be gun free. That's just me.
Delivery 3 - I suppose these deliveries happened in reverse order of interest to the reader. So I am sorry for my poor story telling, but I just couldn't lie to you (especially when I look in your eyes, so brown. So fucking brown.) So I get a delivery all the way to the other side of town and the house is still in the boondocks (yes this whole area is farm and hideous countryside). As I drive down the winding driveway I finally find the house and its subsequent 6 car carage filled with old trucks and the like. A boy of about 12 immediately comes out from the trees and so I figure I'll give him the total, his parents might've given him the money. But alas, he says "oh you'll have to get my dad." While I start walking to the door he pesters me about having a hybrid and says "it's useless and pointless." I decide not to shiv him and proceed to the back door. He then starts telling me how his mom car sucks and his dad hates it. I am standing here waiting for 2 minutes while he yammers away and out of the dark garage his mom comes out and utters "y'all aint been paid yet? Goddamn let me get him." There is nothing I love more than a family who appears magically from trees.
Has there been a memoir of a delivery boy? Has one ever made it to the age of writing comprehension? This is one night of stories, imagine what the lifers have to say. Fingers crossed, in another 40 years that will be me!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Time I Left Behind A Dirty Apartment
WARNING: The following post will contain some image that have only one intention: to disturb small children and be the visual equivalent of the brown note. That being said, what you are about to see is the way my ex-roommate and I (more so him than me) left our old apartment in Carrboro, NC. I would suggest never living in apartment P-11 in the Colonial Village apartments there. (Also I'm way overblowing this, so don't be disappointed, just bask in my laziness). These pictures are about 3 months old, but when you are struggling for a blog post to "feed the beast" (Scott M you know what I speak of) a photo essay of a dirty apartment is an A+ option.
This was my room. When I originally left the apartment the room was empty. I had cleaned it and emptied it of all contents (including trash) however, my roommate still lived in the apartment for a month after I left and decided my room would be the "trash room." Items included an old Aerosmith poster from the 70's (gay much?) and some cardboard boxes. Also note that they used my closet for more clothing storage, despite the fact that they had a 5' x 5' walk in closet, oh the treasures you can find at a thrift store. Go Indie kids!
These are not pubic hairs from my toilet.
Ok, they MIGHT be, but they are mixed with some head hairs, considering Amelia cut my hair in this bathroom several times.
Would you like some trash before you come into the apartment? A hallway full of trash is always a welcome site to visitors.
This may be the grossest thing. I tried to clean this before I left and I think only half of it came off. My roommate was currently still cooking and preparing food on this counter. I wonder if the E. Coli got him...I haven't heard from him in months.
Is this a dead fish? No, no look closer. It's just a trash bag! Again, this kitchen was in use at this point. God knows how you use the trash compactor with a plastic bag in the way (oh wait, trash compactor broken.)
This is the living room (aka garbage room number 2). Items in this room include a leather chair ripped apart and put back together with duct tape and a non working dustbuster, obviously it broke itself because it was too afraid to touch the dirt in our house.
I did TRY to clean. The above picture is the way I left my bathroom, before exiting from this apartment forever. It doesn't complely look like a Gorilla took a shit and smeared it on the walls does it?
So that's my dirty apartment. Try to wipe up the vomit in your keyboards ( I recommend Q Tips and condensed air) and enjoy a chuckle on me with a new segment I am stealing from John Hodgeman.
WERE YOU AWARE OF IT?
I did NOT get back my security deposity. WERE YOU AWARE OF IT?
This was my room. When I originally left the apartment the room was empty. I had cleaned it and emptied it of all contents (including trash) however, my roommate still lived in the apartment for a month after I left and decided my room would be the "trash room." Items included an old Aerosmith poster from the 70's (gay much?) and some cardboard boxes. Also note that they used my closet for more clothing storage, despite the fact that they had a 5' x 5' walk in closet, oh the treasures you can find at a thrift store. Go Indie kids!
These are not pubic hairs from my toilet.
Ok, they MIGHT be, but they are mixed with some head hairs, considering Amelia cut my hair in this bathroom several times.
Would you like some trash before you come into the apartment? A hallway full of trash is always a welcome site to visitors.
This may be the grossest thing. I tried to clean this before I left and I think only half of it came off. My roommate was currently still cooking and preparing food on this counter. I wonder if the E. Coli got him...I haven't heard from him in months.
Is this a dead fish? No, no look closer. It's just a trash bag! Again, this kitchen was in use at this point. God knows how you use the trash compactor with a plastic bag in the way (oh wait, trash compactor broken.)
This is the living room (aka garbage room number 2). Items in this room include a leather chair ripped apart and put back together with duct tape and a non working dustbuster, obviously it broke itself because it was too afraid to touch the dirt in our house.
I did TRY to clean. The above picture is the way I left my bathroom, before exiting from this apartment forever. It doesn't complely look like a Gorilla took a shit and smeared it on the walls does it?
So that's my dirty apartment. Try to wipe up the vomit in your keyboards ( I recommend Q Tips and condensed air) and enjoy a chuckle on me with a new segment I am stealing from John Hodgeman.
WERE YOU AWARE OF IT?
I did NOT get back my security deposity. WERE YOU AWARE OF IT?
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Time Experience Ikea
Have you ever been to an Ikea store? (That doesn't look right, it must be all in caps. IKEA. Bingo bango, that's it!) Well have you? For years, I had only dreamed of the wonders of IKEA. The equation in my head always went something like this.
Trendy Furniture + Cheap + Swedish = Better than eating paste.
Unfortunately for me, I never experienced the store first hand. I had seen catalogues and even the real piece here and there. But as time wore on and pop culture became prevelant in my life, IKEA seemed to become the butt of many jokes (many aimed at the great country of Sweden). Below is a memory by memory recap of my recent trip to IKEA in Virginia somewhere. (No I did not drive 5 hours just to go to IKEA, but YES we planned our trip back home around going TO IKEA. Also note that there will be an IKEA opening in Charlotte in less than 10 months. I wouldn't be lying if I said I screeched like a small girl at a Hannah Montana Hustler Magazine signing (coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you in 2 years)).
On the way back home from Maryland, Amelia and I planned to stop at IKEA. Amelia already fully embraces the ways of the Swedes (with roughly 70% of her furniture supplied by IKEA). We pull off I-95 at some exit just outside of Washington DC and I check to make sure my adult diaper is in place. (What added to the excitement was that you could see IKEA from the highway and then when you get off the exit it's no where in site and you have to find it. It's like a mini adventure or "Legends of the Hidden Temple" as I like to call it.) Anyway, we find IKEA, sitting proudly in it's mile long blue building, 3 floors high.
The store had it's own parking garage, not part of any other mall or store or anything, a whole entire deck devoted just to IKEA. Could this be better? We get to the entrance steps and it's anti climatic and enthralling at the same time. I kept feeling like I was about to enter something glorious, but there is no big door that slides open. You walk up a flight of stairs and boom, you are in the living room section. I still saw some awesome things on the horizon, but immediately it was a bit of a let down (however, this did not stop me from letting out a squel and squeezing the blood out of Amelia's arm).
Amelia explained how the store works (third floor is where you start - you get to look at all the furniture as it's meant to be layed out. Then you mark what you want and pick it up on the second floor (which is basically a huge warehouse). As we went through the store we passed bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms and it was all really cool. The furniture looked fantastic, however I wasn't blown away until they started showing full apartments.
600 sq ft. Not alot, smaller than my apartment now. However, the IKEA floorplan for a 600 sq ft, 1 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen, 1 living room and a foyer was awe inspiring. Never in my life did I think you could fit that much stuff into such a small space. Things turn into other things, things pop out of ceilngs and from under beds. (I'm hoping the birth of my first child will be sponsored by IKEA, he will be set with toys for life since these things are like real life Transformers.)
A few items that were especially unique included a headboard for a bed that included a roll out bookshelf from the sides of the headboard. Imagine the thrill of just reaching behind you and pulling out a full bookcase. Phenomenal. (I'm surprised the store doesn't hand out tissues for all premature ejaculation/tears of joy that must go on in the place.) The next piece that really stood above and beyond was a cabinet that had a slide out piece that then flipped into an ironing board. Do I iron? No. Do I like ironing boards? No. But the fact that this thing can transform from a simple cabinet to an ironing board, may go down as the greatest achievement in history. (I'm a simple man).
As the hours progressed I got more bored and more stiff. Because of the great qualities that IKEA possesses (low prices, cool looking things and really really cheap food, the quality of customer was about what you expect: poor to Upper Middle class with an emphasis on poor.)
The store was so extremely packed that we couldn't move a cart through the store without being nearly mauled by a fat trailer park queen behind us. Amelia and I each picked out some simple things - including a ceiling light for my bedroom and we proceeded to check out. (I haggled with myself about buying a desk or something cool, but at the end of the day it was too expensive. Yes I regret this decision because I'm typing right now with my keyboard on a bookcase.)
As we checked out, I noticed the foot section, which included full meals for $1.99. IKEA you are unreal. They also had snacks for a dollar including a delicious soft serve ice cream and free Swedish samplers (yes this included Swedish Fish.) As we left, we were followed by a car who desperately wanted our space that was about 5 minutes away from the front door. Yes folks, IKEA is a zoo. (As I typed that sentence, I sincerely wonder how many people secretly live in IKEA or at least spend literally all day there, eating dollar snacks and frightening people by jumping out of half toilet/half TVs. As I typed THAT sentence, I realized I just read an article about someone who lived in IKEA recently. Believe me, you really could live in IKEA.)
The experience was quite overwhelming (they let no natural sunlight in the building) and as we left I think I was high on Scandanavian joy and drunk from the lack of oxygen/light. It was fantastic and I want to furnish my life with these products. So I began to do just that. The next day I tried to install the ceiling light. Below is bulleted list of what happened:
- Shocked myself because I didn't turn off the circuit breaker
- Dropped the light while trying to tie the cables together.
- Finally got the cables to stay and then spent a good 45 minutes trying to get the lamp to screw on right
- Once the lamp was screwed on we knocked the circuit breaker on and voila, light. Until I realized the light switch was off. Yes, that's right. The light switch in my room only controls two outlets and not the overhead light. This would mean that the light would constantly be on, unless we had a pull chain to turn it off (we don't).
- I decided I wanted to put the cover back on, just to see how it looked. As I did that, I smashed the bulb (too thick) by pressing the cover too hard with my brutish force. Thus I currently have a smashed light bulb sitting in a fixture that took about 2 hours total to put up. The bad news: I'm a moron and a questionable man at best. The good news: I can shop for my next ceiling fan at IKEA.
Trendy Furniture + Cheap + Swedish = Better than eating paste.
Unfortunately for me, I never experienced the store first hand. I had seen catalogues and even the real piece here and there. But as time wore on and pop culture became prevelant in my life, IKEA seemed to become the butt of many jokes (many aimed at the great country of Sweden). Below is a memory by memory recap of my recent trip to IKEA in Virginia somewhere. (No I did not drive 5 hours just to go to IKEA, but YES we planned our trip back home around going TO IKEA. Also note that there will be an IKEA opening in Charlotte in less than 10 months. I wouldn't be lying if I said I screeched like a small girl at a Hannah Montana Hustler Magazine signing (coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you in 2 years)).
On the way back home from Maryland, Amelia and I planned to stop at IKEA. Amelia already fully embraces the ways of the Swedes (with roughly 70% of her furniture supplied by IKEA). We pull off I-95 at some exit just outside of Washington DC and I check to make sure my adult diaper is in place. (What added to the excitement was that you could see IKEA from the highway and then when you get off the exit it's no where in site and you have to find it. It's like a mini adventure or "Legends of the Hidden Temple" as I like to call it.) Anyway, we find IKEA, sitting proudly in it's mile long blue building, 3 floors high.
The store had it's own parking garage, not part of any other mall or store or anything, a whole entire deck devoted just to IKEA. Could this be better? We get to the entrance steps and it's anti climatic and enthralling at the same time. I kept feeling like I was about to enter something glorious, but there is no big door that slides open. You walk up a flight of stairs and boom, you are in the living room section. I still saw some awesome things on the horizon, but immediately it was a bit of a let down (however, this did not stop me from letting out a squel and squeezing the blood out of Amelia's arm).
Amelia explained how the store works (third floor is where you start - you get to look at all the furniture as it's meant to be layed out. Then you mark what you want and pick it up on the second floor (which is basically a huge warehouse). As we went through the store we passed bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms and it was all really cool. The furniture looked fantastic, however I wasn't blown away until they started showing full apartments.
600 sq ft. Not alot, smaller than my apartment now. However, the IKEA floorplan for a 600 sq ft, 1 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen, 1 living room and a foyer was awe inspiring. Never in my life did I think you could fit that much stuff into such a small space. Things turn into other things, things pop out of ceilngs and from under beds. (I'm hoping the birth of my first child will be sponsored by IKEA, he will be set with toys for life since these things are like real life Transformers.)
A few items that were especially unique included a headboard for a bed that included a roll out bookshelf from the sides of the headboard. Imagine the thrill of just reaching behind you and pulling out a full bookcase. Phenomenal. (I'm surprised the store doesn't hand out tissues for all premature ejaculation/tears of joy that must go on in the place.) The next piece that really stood above and beyond was a cabinet that had a slide out piece that then flipped into an ironing board. Do I iron? No. Do I like ironing boards? No. But the fact that this thing can transform from a simple cabinet to an ironing board, may go down as the greatest achievement in history. (I'm a simple man).
As the hours progressed I got more bored and more stiff. Because of the great qualities that IKEA possesses (low prices, cool looking things and really really cheap food, the quality of customer was about what you expect: poor to Upper Middle class with an emphasis on poor.)
The store was so extremely packed that we couldn't move a cart through the store without being nearly mauled by a fat trailer park queen behind us. Amelia and I each picked out some simple things - including a ceiling light for my bedroom and we proceeded to check out. (I haggled with myself about buying a desk or something cool, but at the end of the day it was too expensive. Yes I regret this decision because I'm typing right now with my keyboard on a bookcase.)
As we checked out, I noticed the foot section, which included full meals for $1.99. IKEA you are unreal. They also had snacks for a dollar including a delicious soft serve ice cream and free Swedish samplers (yes this included Swedish Fish.) As we left, we were followed by a car who desperately wanted our space that was about 5 minutes away from the front door. Yes folks, IKEA is a zoo. (As I typed that sentence, I sincerely wonder how many people secretly live in IKEA or at least spend literally all day there, eating dollar snacks and frightening people by jumping out of half toilet/half TVs. As I typed THAT sentence, I realized I just read an article about someone who lived in IKEA recently. Believe me, you really could live in IKEA.)
The experience was quite overwhelming (they let no natural sunlight in the building) and as we left I think I was high on Scandanavian joy and drunk from the lack of oxygen/light. It was fantastic and I want to furnish my life with these products. So I began to do just that. The next day I tried to install the ceiling light. Below is bulleted list of what happened:
- Shocked myself because I didn't turn off the circuit breaker
- Dropped the light while trying to tie the cables together.
- Finally got the cables to stay and then spent a good 45 minutes trying to get the lamp to screw on right
- Once the lamp was screwed on we knocked the circuit breaker on and voila, light. Until I realized the light switch was off. Yes, that's right. The light switch in my room only controls two outlets and not the overhead light. This would mean that the light would constantly be on, unless we had a pull chain to turn it off (we don't).
- I decided I wanted to put the cover back on, just to see how it looked. As I did that, I smashed the bulb (too thick) by pressing the cover too hard with my brutish force. Thus I currently have a smashed light bulb sitting in a fixture that took about 2 hours total to put up. The bad news: I'm a moron and a questionable man at best. The good news: I can shop for my next ceiling fan at IKEA.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Time I Became A Bear (Part II)
Hide your children, there is a big gay bear on the loose. Stephen Colbert was right.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Time I Became A Delivery Boy
There is nothing quite being like a delivery boy. To me it's gotta be the easiest job in the world. Let's take this step by step, day by day (YES, a TGIF reference for you.)
1) You get to drive around with no boss hanging over your shoulder.
2) You get to listen to whatever you want in the car on the way to deliveries.
3) Most of your work consists of 3 things - Picking up pizza at restaurant, driving food to house, handing food off at house. (I barely even have to speak other than "Your total is ____")
4) You get an hourly wage, a delivery fee per delivery AND tips (for those wealthy enough to dole out several pence hither and thither.)
I resumed my delivery career on Tuesday (those of you who have been tracking my life like the Truman Show may recall that I delivered Indian food in New Brunswick, NJ with my friend Charlie Kratovil who was last seen wearing a baseball helmet, I can not confirm if he is dead or alive.) Indian food was really awesome, other than the fact that it was in a city and that means most deliveries required a police escort and a semi automatic rifle. The good part was that Indian food is expensive and our delivery fee was at LEAST 3 dollars and at most 6 (we also never told customers about this). A $1 order or a $200 dollar order is basically the same amount of work for me, but people are accustomed to tipping a percentage so the bigger the order, the bigger the tip. Fools. This job made me $70/night for 3 hours on a friday night. (BONUS: Free Indian food means that my number 2 bathroom trips were quite frequent!)
Have you seen this man/boy?
So I was already stoked to work in this field again. First thing that happens at the restaurant is that I get to wear a hat (hopefully one that doesn't accidentally represent any gangs). Then I was trained for about 3 minutes on how to cut pizza and put pizza in a bag. Then, my first delivery. (Note: This restaurant is about 13 minutes from where I live, outside of a city I am unfamiliar with. Soo...ummm, my delivery route is all roads I've never been on. Apparently this can be a real adventure at night.)
My first delivery was about 15 minutes away, I checked the big map in the restaurant, made a mental note of landmarks and was on my way. I caught up on Howard Stern the entire way and about 12 minutes later I arrive at the house. As soon as I got out of the car I heard nothing. Absolute silence. This place was so far out in the country that there were no cars, no people walking (and apparently no electricity). Nonetheless, it was a very surreal feeling and it was kind of cool. Anywho,I walk up to what looks to be the front door and discover it's blocked on the inside. I ring the doorbell (because knocking on back doors and side doors is weird) and the lady answers. I complete the transaction and bam I'm on my way (but not before I almost hit a dog backing out.) (Note: I also didn't think I'd be delivering food on my first day, so I didn't bring any change. Yeah, I'm pretty smart.)
I get back to the 'straunt and I have another waiting for me. I am told that this is in a trailer park, so don't expect a big tip. 5 minutes later I find myself sifting through a front yard that was reminiscent of a permanent yard sale. This "house" did not have a front door at all. Instead, it had a small porch (littered with beer cans and leaves) that lead to a door with no doorbell. I knock and screams of little children go off on the inside. "PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." The total was $33.96 and the lady gives me a $40 and starts walking back into the house. I say "Do you want change?" and she says "yeah." So I hand her $6 and she says "wait, how much was that?" I tell her and wonder if she expects the 4 cence, but she says "oh alright." I start walking away and she decides to give me a dollar (definitely worth the trip to the trailer park).
I made a third delivery that was basically a switch, because another driver got an order wrong and the third house was just as bad as the previous one. 4 cars, 3 pitbulls, a wigger and a nice lady washing a car by hand in cutoff jeans (This is Our Country!).
The rest of the night was spent mopping up and sweeping and I went home overjoyed at my first day (and kind of pissed I don't get to work again for another 4 days).
There are two things that make this job unique. No other job gives you the opportunity to interact with people on such an intimate level (a women with her hair in curls, wearing pajamas, smoking a menthol 100 answers the door. QUICK. What do you do to keep from laughing?) Also, it's quite exciting to possibly take your life into your hands 3 times an hour. (Will this hick shoot me if I look at his dog the wrong way?)
The second thing that I have been thinking about is hiliarity in the fact that I work a full time job for decent pay and I use my brain and technical experience daily(hey, I'm even being trained for a management position! Fingers crossed for staying in NC the rest of my life!!). However, by night I answer to an 18 year old who "knows the ropes" and I make minimum wage. Imagine if this kid ever saw me at my real job, the awkwardness that would ensue on both of our ends would instantly cause my brain to seize up and die.
And that is why being a delivery boy rocks.
1) You get to drive around with no boss hanging over your shoulder.
2) You get to listen to whatever you want in the car on the way to deliveries.
3) Most of your work consists of 3 things - Picking up pizza at restaurant, driving food to house, handing food off at house. (I barely even have to speak other than "Your total is ____")
4) You get an hourly wage, a delivery fee per delivery AND tips (for those wealthy enough to dole out several pence hither and thither.)
I resumed my delivery career on Tuesday (those of you who have been tracking my life like the Truman Show may recall that I delivered Indian food in New Brunswick, NJ with my friend Charlie Kratovil who was last seen wearing a baseball helmet, I can not confirm if he is dead or alive.) Indian food was really awesome, other than the fact that it was in a city and that means most deliveries required a police escort and a semi automatic rifle. The good part was that Indian food is expensive and our delivery fee was at LEAST 3 dollars and at most 6 (we also never told customers about this). A $1 order or a $200 dollar order is basically the same amount of work for me, but people are accustomed to tipping a percentage so the bigger the order, the bigger the tip. Fools. This job made me $70/night for 3 hours on a friday night. (BONUS: Free Indian food means that my number 2 bathroom trips were quite frequent!)
Have you seen this man/boy?
So I was already stoked to work in this field again. First thing that happens at the restaurant is that I get to wear a hat (hopefully one that doesn't accidentally represent any gangs). Then I was trained for about 3 minutes on how to cut pizza and put pizza in a bag. Then, my first delivery. (Note: This restaurant is about 13 minutes from where I live, outside of a city I am unfamiliar with. Soo...ummm, my delivery route is all roads I've never been on. Apparently this can be a real adventure at night.)
My first delivery was about 15 minutes away, I checked the big map in the restaurant, made a mental note of landmarks and was on my way. I caught up on Howard Stern the entire way and about 12 minutes later I arrive at the house. As soon as I got out of the car I heard nothing. Absolute silence. This place was so far out in the country that there were no cars, no people walking (and apparently no electricity). Nonetheless, it was a very surreal feeling and it was kind of cool. Anywho,I walk up to what looks to be the front door and discover it's blocked on the inside. I ring the doorbell (because knocking on back doors and side doors is weird) and the lady answers. I complete the transaction and bam I'm on my way (but not before I almost hit a dog backing out.) (Note: I also didn't think I'd be delivering food on my first day, so I didn't bring any change. Yeah, I'm pretty smart.)
I get back to the 'straunt and I have another waiting for me. I am told that this is in a trailer park, so don't expect a big tip. 5 minutes later I find myself sifting through a front yard that was reminiscent of a permanent yard sale. This "house" did not have a front door at all. Instead, it had a small porch (littered with beer cans and leaves) that lead to a door with no doorbell. I knock and screams of little children go off on the inside. "PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." The total was $33.96 and the lady gives me a $40 and starts walking back into the house. I say "Do you want change?" and she says "yeah." So I hand her $6 and she says "wait, how much was that?" I tell her and wonder if she expects the 4 cence, but she says "oh alright." I start walking away and she decides to give me a dollar (definitely worth the trip to the trailer park).
I made a third delivery that was basically a switch, because another driver got an order wrong and the third house was just as bad as the previous one. 4 cars, 3 pitbulls, a wigger and a nice lady washing a car by hand in cutoff jeans (This is Our Country!).
The rest of the night was spent mopping up and sweeping and I went home overjoyed at my first day (and kind of pissed I don't get to work again for another 4 days).
There are two things that make this job unique. No other job gives you the opportunity to interact with people on such an intimate level (a women with her hair in curls, wearing pajamas, smoking a menthol 100 answers the door. QUICK. What do you do to keep from laughing?) Also, it's quite exciting to possibly take your life into your hands 3 times an hour. (Will this hick shoot me if I look at his dog the wrong way?)
The second thing that I have been thinking about is hiliarity in the fact that I work a full time job for decent pay and I use my brain and technical experience daily(hey, I'm even being trained for a management position! Fingers crossed for staying in NC the rest of my life!!). However, by night I answer to an 18 year old who "knows the ropes" and I make minimum wage. Imagine if this kid ever saw me at my real job, the awkwardness that would ensue on both of our ends would instantly cause my brain to seize up and die.
And that is why being a delivery boy rocks.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Time I Went To A Baseball Game
Oh summertime. The time to celebrate all things outdoors, pay $4.50/gallon for gas and give praise to America (Jesus). Good times. To help celebrate this summer I did the most American thing possible: I went to a basebol game.
The Greensboro Grasshoppers are a minor league team with a pretty nice stadium (in a pretty shitty part of town) and I just so happened to have worked for them last summer. I won't bore you with the details of that, but let's just say I got paid pennies an hour to film semi-drunk fans acting full on drunk for 3 hours a night 4 nights a week. Good times.
I decided to take this trip (15 minutes up the road) to see one of the Mets' minor league teams. This could be cool because maybe one of these players will eventually be on the Mets in 3 or 4 years (but probably not). I get to the game around 6:45 and pass up the chance to pay for parking in lieu of walking one extra block and free parking. I get to the box office, buy my lone ticket, and get into the stadium just as my old amigo Jim (the announcer) introduces the national anthem. (Note: Jim has a very deep voice, I spent a whole summer with him and the only thing I know is that he has a deep voice, may or may not do professional voiceovers and thinks he is the shiznit because he gets to announce minor league games in a stadium full of 2,000 people every night. He is incredulous and rude and I hate him. Last year when a minor league coach in another city was hit by a foul ball, and consequently passed away from it, Jim was kind enough to offer these words of wisdom to the fans: "Fans as you may or may not know, yesterday Ron Bla Bla was hit by a foul ball.....(hold for dramatic effect) anddddddddd DIED, so watch out for foul balls!")
I went alone because Amelia had work and ummm... I don't have any other friends in Greensboro. So yes, I was the creepy guy who sits by himself. Anyway, I find my seat and realize that Glenda at the box office put me right next to a group of 3 guys (these guys will come up again later, make a mental note). There are 12 other empty seats in the row, but I have to sit right next to the 3 amigos. So I rebel and move a seat down. I'm 3 innings into the game when a group of 4 comes down and guess where they are sitting! That's right in my row, in my seat. I slide down next to my new best friend and prepare myself for the shit that is about to hit my ears. (Also, who comes 3 innings late to a minor league baseball game? It's not LA, there is no traffic, what's the point if you are going to be an hour late.) (Also note, that the entire row in front of me was empty, but Glenda had to shove a whole row full of people together. Note to Glenda: scatter people, it makes them feel more comfortable).
So here I am crammed in between a guy progressively getting drunker and 2 women and their 2 children. (Also included with this deluxe package is some knee chaffing thanks in part to my spider legs hitting the seat in front of me. Good times!) The Mets' team apparently sucks and so 3 innings in I want to leave - they are being no hit and are already losing 7-0 (Man ...the real Mets are gonna be awesome in 3 years!) What makes this whole ordeal even worse is the people surrounding me.
The 3 amigos seem nice enough, they aren't loud or obnoxious, but I just feel uncomfortable around them because they are all wearing boat shoes and dockers to a baseball game (no chance of waves in this stadium fellas). As noted above, the guy directly next to me is on his 3rd tall beer and he has way too many flecks of grey in his otherwise perfectly styled hair (He is also ripped and so our elbows are touching. This is when I get hot and bothered and move onto the next group.)
The guy two rows in front of me is in a group of about 8. He is probably mid 50's and clocking in between 280 and 320 (I couldn't see all of his rolls, his back was to me, sorry for the big guesstimation). He was semi loud and obnoxious. He was a Grasshoppers fan and anytime the Mets' team did something wrong he was on them (normally I don't mind these people, it makes the game fun, but this is a minor league game and no one really cares who wins or loses and considering that I am the only Mets fan in a stadium full of "Hoppers" fans, it's not really worth talking shit.) The Mets' catcher wasn't great and so he heard it from the fat man. The problem was the fat man wasn't really yelling so the guy couldn't hear him and there was a bit of a language barrier (Do you think Francisco Pena understands English?) Regardless, the only one who heard his low brow insults ("Hey idiot, try CATCHING the ball. SNORT CHUCKLE SNORT.") was me.
Last in my little ballpark family was the late arrivals. The one who sat next to me looked like a mix between the Oompa Loompa's from the new Willy Wonka and...well a short loud black lady.
Do you want this staring at you for a night of baseball?
She did a really great job of perpetuating the stereotype that black people are loud and talk at inappropriate times (although I thought this was particular stereotype was reserved for movie theaters.) The second she sat down she started announcing (incorrectly) what just happened in the game. This lady is far and way the most annoying person I've never directly interacted with. As I was sitting silently watching the game, she was yelling loud enough for me to not be able to tune her out. I turned to look at her once to find out that she was talking TO ME. She wanted me to respond to her unintelligible statements. I have provided a list of some of the things that came from her lips and graced my ears tonight at the baseball game.
- "Francisco PEENA, boy. It's PEENA or PANA or something." (Pronounced PAYNE-YAH, don't worry it's not a common last name.)
- (Reading off the roster sheet she says "That's Carlos Gomez." (Announcer then says "Up to bat Carlos GUZMAN." She says "whatever."
- "That was a strike" (After a ball is thrown in the dirt.)
- (After a strikeout) "He ain't out, why they throwin' the ball around the bases. I ain't never seen an umpire make that play before." (At this point she looked and me and asked why the umpire threw the ball around the bases. I told her it wasn't the umpire and that's what teams do when they strike someone out.)
- (After a close play at first where the runner was safe because the pitcher didn't step on the base in time) "He's safe because you gotta tag him out." (Her son says he should be out because the pitcher touched the base) "Not uh, you gotta tag him. I'm surprised you didnt know that, YOU PLAY BASEBALL." (Note: In this situation the son was right, the runner does not need to be tagged.)
Throughout the rest of the game, every pitch was either "STRIKE!!!!" or "DANG!, BALL!" (There were also variation such as "mmmhmmm that was a strike" and "that ain't no ball.")
She also was rooting heavily for both teams, I don't know if this was intentional or she just wanted to see a lot of hitting but my guess is that she couldn't tell the difference between the two teams. Her greatest moment came right before I left.
The last batter I saw was up at the plate with an 0-2 count (I remember this because her voice repeated this off of the scoreboard and in doing so, singed it into my ear drum). On the next pitch he was hit in the face by the pitch and he instantly dropped to the ground. I actually uddered "Oh my God" outloud. It was quite surprising, but luckily I was awoken from my shocked state with her yelling "DANG, You see all that blood? Look at the blood just dripping from his face." Classy.
The batter laid motionless for nearly 15 minutes and luckily Oompa kept her mouth shut most of the time, except on two occasions. 1) After about 7 minutes she analyzed that "He look dead. He ain't even movin." 2) About 3 minutes later she asked "Why ain't no one called a medic?" I didn't have a heart to tell her that the man taking care of the player on the field WAS a medic (hence his bag and the fact that he was stopping the blood gushing from the player's face. However, her pleas were answered when an EMT showed up 3 minutes later to take him to the hospital. (In this sequence she was pissed that the Ambulance took so long to get to the player once it was on the field (it has to drive on the dirt, so it takes the longest route possible) and that once it got to the player, it parked directly behind home plate (the closest spot to the player) and consequently obscured our view. She REALLY wanted to see the blood.)
The player got up and so did I, unable to take another hour of this riggormorall. I'm sure the Hoppers won and that Oompa taught her son that they scored 7 touchdowns on some serious 3 point slam dunk Field Goals. So my big summer night out was kind of a bust, BUT I did get to celebrate America - there was one firework burst when a player hit a HR. I thought "God Bless America" but what I heard was "God DAMN that's loud."
Tomorrow - The Time I Became A Delivery Boy
This Weekend - The Time I Experienced Ikea
If you are good I'll post more bear pictures. (See below)
The Greensboro Grasshoppers are a minor league team with a pretty nice stadium (in a pretty shitty part of town) and I just so happened to have worked for them last summer. I won't bore you with the details of that, but let's just say I got paid pennies an hour to film semi-drunk fans acting full on drunk for 3 hours a night 4 nights a week. Good times.
I decided to take this trip (15 minutes up the road) to see one of the Mets' minor league teams. This could be cool because maybe one of these players will eventually be on the Mets in 3 or 4 years (but probably not). I get to the game around 6:45 and pass up the chance to pay for parking in lieu of walking one extra block and free parking. I get to the box office, buy my lone ticket, and get into the stadium just as my old amigo Jim (the announcer) introduces the national anthem. (Note: Jim has a very deep voice, I spent a whole summer with him and the only thing I know is that he has a deep voice, may or may not do professional voiceovers and thinks he is the shiznit because he gets to announce minor league games in a stadium full of 2,000 people every night. He is incredulous and rude and I hate him. Last year when a minor league coach in another city was hit by a foul ball, and consequently passed away from it, Jim was kind enough to offer these words of wisdom to the fans: "Fans as you may or may not know, yesterday Ron Bla Bla was hit by a foul ball.....(hold for dramatic effect) anddddddddd DIED, so watch out for foul balls!")
I went alone because Amelia had work and ummm... I don't have any other friends in Greensboro. So yes, I was the creepy guy who sits by himself. Anyway, I find my seat and realize that Glenda at the box office put me right next to a group of 3 guys (these guys will come up again later, make a mental note). There are 12 other empty seats in the row, but I have to sit right next to the 3 amigos. So I rebel and move a seat down. I'm 3 innings into the game when a group of 4 comes down and guess where they are sitting! That's right in my row, in my seat. I slide down next to my new best friend and prepare myself for the shit that is about to hit my ears. (Also, who comes 3 innings late to a minor league baseball game? It's not LA, there is no traffic, what's the point if you are going to be an hour late.) (Also note, that the entire row in front of me was empty, but Glenda had to shove a whole row full of people together. Note to Glenda: scatter people, it makes them feel more comfortable).
So here I am crammed in between a guy progressively getting drunker and 2 women and their 2 children. (Also included with this deluxe package is some knee chaffing thanks in part to my spider legs hitting the seat in front of me. Good times!) The Mets' team apparently sucks and so 3 innings in I want to leave - they are being no hit and are already losing 7-0 (Man ...the real Mets are gonna be awesome in 3 years!) What makes this whole ordeal even worse is the people surrounding me.
The 3 amigos seem nice enough, they aren't loud or obnoxious, but I just feel uncomfortable around them because they are all wearing boat shoes and dockers to a baseball game (no chance of waves in this stadium fellas). As noted above, the guy directly next to me is on his 3rd tall beer and he has way too many flecks of grey in his otherwise perfectly styled hair (He is also ripped and so our elbows are touching. This is when I get hot and bothered and move onto the next group.)
The guy two rows in front of me is in a group of about 8. He is probably mid 50's and clocking in between 280 and 320 (I couldn't see all of his rolls, his back was to me, sorry for the big guesstimation). He was semi loud and obnoxious. He was a Grasshoppers fan and anytime the Mets' team did something wrong he was on them (normally I don't mind these people, it makes the game fun, but this is a minor league game and no one really cares who wins or loses and considering that I am the only Mets fan in a stadium full of "Hoppers" fans, it's not really worth talking shit.) The Mets' catcher wasn't great and so he heard it from the fat man. The problem was the fat man wasn't really yelling so the guy couldn't hear him and there was a bit of a language barrier (Do you think Francisco Pena understands English?) Regardless, the only one who heard his low brow insults ("Hey idiot, try CATCHING the ball. SNORT CHUCKLE SNORT.") was me.
Last in my little ballpark family was the late arrivals. The one who sat next to me looked like a mix between the Oompa Loompa's from the new Willy Wonka and...well a short loud black lady.
Do you want this staring at you for a night of baseball?She did a really great job of perpetuating the stereotype that black people are loud and talk at inappropriate times (although I thought this was particular stereotype was reserved for movie theaters.) The second she sat down she started announcing (incorrectly) what just happened in the game. This lady is far and way the most annoying person I've never directly interacted with. As I was sitting silently watching the game, she was yelling loud enough for me to not be able to tune her out. I turned to look at her once to find out that she was talking TO ME. She wanted me to respond to her unintelligible statements. I have provided a list of some of the things that came from her lips and graced my ears tonight at the baseball game.
- "Francisco PEENA, boy. It's PEENA or PANA or something." (Pronounced PAYNE-YAH, don't worry it's not a common last name.)
- (Reading off the roster sheet she says "That's Carlos Gomez." (Announcer then says "Up to bat Carlos GUZMAN." She says "whatever."
- "That was a strike" (After a ball is thrown in the dirt.)
- (After a strikeout) "He ain't out, why they throwin' the ball around the bases. I ain't never seen an umpire make that play before." (At this point she looked and me and asked why the umpire threw the ball around the bases. I told her it wasn't the umpire and that's what teams do when they strike someone out.)
- (After a close play at first where the runner was safe because the pitcher didn't step on the base in time) "He's safe because you gotta tag him out." (Her son says he should be out because the pitcher touched the base) "Not uh, you gotta tag him. I'm surprised you didnt know that, YOU PLAY BASEBALL." (Note: In this situation the son was right, the runner does not need to be tagged.)
Throughout the rest of the game, every pitch was either "STRIKE!!!!" or "DANG!, BALL!" (There were also variation such as "mmmhmmm that was a strike" and "that ain't no ball.")
She also was rooting heavily for both teams, I don't know if this was intentional or she just wanted to see a lot of hitting but my guess is that she couldn't tell the difference between the two teams. Her greatest moment came right before I left.
The last batter I saw was up at the plate with an 0-2 count (I remember this because her voice repeated this off of the scoreboard and in doing so, singed it into my ear drum). On the next pitch he was hit in the face by the pitch and he instantly dropped to the ground. I actually uddered "Oh my God" outloud. It was quite surprising, but luckily I was awoken from my shocked state with her yelling "DANG, You see all that blood? Look at the blood just dripping from his face." Classy.
The batter laid motionless for nearly 15 minutes and luckily Oompa kept her mouth shut most of the time, except on two occasions. 1) After about 7 minutes she analyzed that "He look dead. He ain't even movin." 2) About 3 minutes later she asked "Why ain't no one called a medic?" I didn't have a heart to tell her that the man taking care of the player on the field WAS a medic (hence his bag and the fact that he was stopping the blood gushing from the player's face. However, her pleas were answered when an EMT showed up 3 minutes later to take him to the hospital. (In this sequence she was pissed that the Ambulance took so long to get to the player once it was on the field (it has to drive on the dirt, so it takes the longest route possible) and that once it got to the player, it parked directly behind home plate (the closest spot to the player) and consequently obscured our view. She REALLY wanted to see the blood.)
The player got up and so did I, unable to take another hour of this riggormorall. I'm sure the Hoppers won and that Oompa taught her son that they scored 7 touchdowns on some serious 3 point slam dunk Field Goals. So my big summer night out was kind of a bust, BUT I did get to celebrate America - there was one firework burst when a player hit a HR. I thought "God Bless America" but what I heard was "God DAMN that's loud."
Tomorrow - The Time I Became A Delivery Boy
This Weekend - The Time I Experienced Ikea
If you are good I'll post more bear pictures. (See below)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The Time I Got My Throat Cut (Part II)
This must be the immense pain THEY were talking about when they said it hurt to get your tonsils out as an adult. I am 10 days post op and hot damn does it hurt. This whole phenomenon is very strange to me, considering the first 7 or so days were relatively pain free. Let us back track to when the pain the started seething.
First things first I was originally given Roxicet for the pain. I was told to take 1 to 2 Teaspoons every 4 to 6 hours. The prescription bottle also noted that this would last me 10 days. Incorrect. I started off taking 2 TSP every 4 hours but 2 days later I realized I was halfway through the bottle and started reducing. I would take 1 TSP or so every 6 hours. Eventually I stopped taking it on the hourly period and started taking it when I needed it. This was about a week post op (or 3 days ago).
The taste of Roxicet was somewhere between Robetussin and vomit. It was pretty bad and the small hint of cherry made it worse. However, I wisely took it when it was needed. 3 days ago I realized that it was almost gone, even with my little conservation method in play. It was at this point I realized I had about 4 TSP left. MUST USE WISELY, my brain thought (sounds like the start of an addiction to me!). I used the first TSP Thursday morning when the pain was bad after sleeping for 8 hours with no dose. Then I got smart and decided to call the doctor. (Note: When I woke up there felt like there was literally a hole in my throat. Unfortunately, I didn't get the cool voice box to go along with it)
I didn't want to call the doctor before because I was afraid I'd sound like an addict. ( Hey doc, I know this medication is supposed to last 10 days, but it's day 6 and I need more. Do you have any morphine?) I call anyway and much to my surprise they say they will call it into the pharmacy and I could pick it up later. That was way too easy, what if I was an addict? I could just call up doctor's and ask them to call in prescriptions to pharmacies! Free drugs (with a $10 copay).
I go to the CVS (across town, because the one next to my apartment apparently doesn't carry pain medication) and wait in a 10 minute line to find out that my doctor has not called in a prescription. Faaaaaaaaaaantastic. I go home and take another dose (don't worry its not a coping mechanism, it had been 6 hours). Down to 2 TSP gripping the bottom of the barrel. MUST FIND DRUGS). The doctor (secretary) calls back and says that they can't prescribe this drug over the phone, I either have to come into the office (60 miles away) or they can call in a weaker drug. I chose the weaker drug since it would get into my bloodstream faster (full blown addict here I come!).
It was at this point something magical happened. When tonsils are taken out a white scab forms in the back of your throat covering where the tonsils used to be. It was at this point in my life that the tonsils (one at a time) fell off. Ah! It was glorious (except for the eerie fact that I swallowed them and they made my mouth taste reminiscent of a sewer). All it took was some solid food and a week's time. My mouth felt brand new and I swore that the scabs was what was giving me pain. I felt almost normal for the rest of Thursday night and went to bed thinking I won't even need to pick up the prescription tomorrow.
Sometimes your body lies to you. This was one of those times. Friday I woke up and the pain was bad enough that I downed the rest of the Roxicet from the bottle (Good thing this wasn't through an IV or else I'd really look like an addict with needles sticking out of my arm.) I went to work, took a half day and came home and then pain was getting worse. Every time I swallowed water it felt like it was going into holes and pores in my throat that had never been touched and shunned any human contact (apparently all of my body is emo). After quickly running errands I picked up the new prescription - Hyrdocodone (which a quick google search reveals is similiar to Vicodin - cha ching!)
We returned home before our roadtrip to MD and I took the yellow liquid (neon urine anyone?). This taste was even worse than the first, a lemon zest that can only be found in Lemon Pledge. We picked up Wendy's on the way out and I had some chicken nuggets and that seemed to help the pain. I washed it down with some soda but the carbonation decided to eat away at what was left of my throat and now I'm convinced there are holes in my throat.
Anytime I try to swallow I'm fighting an uphill battle. My throat has somehow managed to act like a civ that doesn't let anything through. For now I keep taking the new pain medication and I will resort back to my steady diet of yogurt, ice cream and nothing. (7 lbs weight loss, that's whats up!) I'm 3 servings into my new bottle and it already looks like it's down to 75% and I'm worried that soon I will be feigning.
First things first I was originally given Roxicet for the pain. I was told to take 1 to 2 Teaspoons every 4 to 6 hours. The prescription bottle also noted that this would last me 10 days. Incorrect. I started off taking 2 TSP every 4 hours but 2 days later I realized I was halfway through the bottle and started reducing. I would take 1 TSP or so every 6 hours. Eventually I stopped taking it on the hourly period and started taking it when I needed it. This was about a week post op (or 3 days ago).
The taste of Roxicet was somewhere between Robetussin and vomit. It was pretty bad and the small hint of cherry made it worse. However, I wisely took it when it was needed. 3 days ago I realized that it was almost gone, even with my little conservation method in play. It was at this point I realized I had about 4 TSP left. MUST USE WISELY, my brain thought (sounds like the start of an addiction to me!). I used the first TSP Thursday morning when the pain was bad after sleeping for 8 hours with no dose. Then I got smart and decided to call the doctor. (Note: When I woke up there felt like there was literally a hole in my throat. Unfortunately, I didn't get the cool voice box to go along with it)
I didn't want to call the doctor before because I was afraid I'd sound like an addict. ( Hey doc, I know this medication is supposed to last 10 days, but it's day 6 and I need more. Do you have any morphine?) I call anyway and much to my surprise they say they will call it into the pharmacy and I could pick it up later. That was way too easy, what if I was an addict? I could just call up doctor's and ask them to call in prescriptions to pharmacies! Free drugs (with a $10 copay).
I go to the CVS (across town, because the one next to my apartment apparently doesn't carry pain medication) and wait in a 10 minute line to find out that my doctor has not called in a prescription. Faaaaaaaaaaantastic. I go home and take another dose (don't worry its not a coping mechanism, it had been 6 hours). Down to 2 TSP gripping the bottom of the barrel. MUST FIND DRUGS). The doctor (secretary) calls back and says that they can't prescribe this drug over the phone, I either have to come into the office (60 miles away) or they can call in a weaker drug. I chose the weaker drug since it would get into my bloodstream faster (full blown addict here I come!).
It was at this point something magical happened. When tonsils are taken out a white scab forms in the back of your throat covering where the tonsils used to be. It was at this point in my life that the tonsils (one at a time) fell off. Ah! It was glorious (except for the eerie fact that I swallowed them and they made my mouth taste reminiscent of a sewer). All it took was some solid food and a week's time. My mouth felt brand new and I swore that the scabs was what was giving me pain. I felt almost normal for the rest of Thursday night and went to bed thinking I won't even need to pick up the prescription tomorrow.
Sometimes your body lies to you. This was one of those times. Friday I woke up and the pain was bad enough that I downed the rest of the Roxicet from the bottle (Good thing this wasn't through an IV or else I'd really look like an addict with needles sticking out of my arm.) I went to work, took a half day and came home and then pain was getting worse. Every time I swallowed water it felt like it was going into holes and pores in my throat that had never been touched and shunned any human contact (apparently all of my body is emo). After quickly running errands I picked up the new prescription - Hyrdocodone (which a quick google search reveals is similiar to Vicodin - cha ching!)
We returned home before our roadtrip to MD and I took the yellow liquid (neon urine anyone?). This taste was even worse than the first, a lemon zest that can only be found in Lemon Pledge. We picked up Wendy's on the way out and I had some chicken nuggets and that seemed to help the pain. I washed it down with some soda but the carbonation decided to eat away at what was left of my throat and now I'm convinced there are holes in my throat.
Anytime I try to swallow I'm fighting an uphill battle. My throat has somehow managed to act like a civ that doesn't let anything through. For now I keep taking the new pain medication and I will resort back to my steady diet of yogurt, ice cream and nothing. (7 lbs weight loss, that's whats up!) I'm 3 servings into my new bottle and it already looks like it's down to 75% and I'm worried that soon I will be feigning.
Monday, July 07, 2008
The Time I Became An NC Resident
I often reference my own not so secret sobbing fits in this very blog, but never have these crying outbursts been made public. Enter the North Carolina DMV. You see, I have been living "illegally" in North Carolina for over a year now (and according to a cop who pulled me over during my junior year, I need an NC license if I go to SCHOOL down here. Apparently he doesn't quite get the whole established residency thing.) Regardless, once I DID establish permanent residence I neglected to get the license (wishful thinking that I would not be living in NC for a long time). Well with my recent car troubles and pizza delivery on the horizon it was imperative I get an NC license. What follows is the true story.
T-Minus 5 days after the tonsilectomy and I'm doing pretty good. I am able to do everything except eat real food and so I decided to make today (Monday) an errand day before I go back to work tomorrow. Last night I studied for the drivers test with a cheat sheet found on www.jaytomlin.com (I dont know this man, I was just given this website. Repeat, I do NOT know this man.) I researched when the DMV opened and directions and tucked myself in tight!
I woke up around 6 AM to do some more studying (just like college!) and get all my documents together (SS Card, Old License, Insurance Card and Proof of Residence). I get to the DMV around 7:20 AM and I am the third one there. After about 10 minutes people start lining up/my car starts running out of gas, so I get out and lineup. Third! This is gonna be great - no long waits, I've got all my paperwork, I've studied the test...However, the DMV obviously smells this reckless abandon I'm currently sporting and decides to shut me down.
They open at 8:01 AM SHARP and let us in. The first person goes up to the desk and after about 2.4 seconds is jettisoned for having the wrong papers. NEXT. The second kid was waiting for his mommy and she had not yet returned. NEXT. My turn, I explain I'm getting a license transfer and I hand her all my paperwork (in order that the website asks for it) and she immediately shuffles all of them up (think 52 card pick up) and asks what "this" is. (This being my proof of residence.) I tell her and she says "What does the K stand for?" "Kelson" "Do you have documents to prove this?"
So I pull out my wallet and show her my bank card (with Photo ID) that says W. Kelson Fagan. There is no way this could be someone else. She now has my SS Card - William K Fagan(pretty sure they only give you one, but ok lets play the possible identity theft game), my OLD LICENSE with photo ID - William K. Fagan, a bank issued credit card with photo ID - W. Kelson Fagan as well as various other cards that indicated I was a human, had insurance and was a member of the Hillsborough, NJ public library system. Maybe they don't teach detectiving at the DMV, but a normal human being could piece together that I was indeed the Kelson Fagan.
Incorrect. I need my birth certificate or something that has my full name on it. I tell her I've been waiting for 45 minutes and she said "uh huh" (kind of like famous comedian Mo'Nique would say it) and tells me to come back. NEXT.
It was at this point that the water works started to well. I had been waiting nearly and hour and was left to walk out in front of the line of people I just stood in front of for that hour. What made it worse was the public shaming I took and the fact that she basically threw my forms of ID back at me (picture a hobo who just found a wallet, that's me!). Thus I got back in the car, held the tears and drove home to find my birth certificate. I found it and decided whether I should go back immediately. I mean..who wants to wait another 45 minutes?
I decide to stick my balls back in their sack and went back. As I got there, I looked through the paperwork and realized the insurance card I grabbed was last years. Fearing another meltdown on my part I decided driving back home AGAIN and driving back would be too much, so I went in and hoped they wouldn't see it. I get back in line and wait 4 minutes. Apparently beating the crowd really isnt worth it. Once I get my papers checked I'm given a number and wait another 3 minutes. Once I get called the guy goes through my papers and gives me the eye test (I didn't know what a railroad crossing sign was (it was just a yellow circle). He then told me to go take the test.
Touch screen! This can't be so bad. I answer the first one right and then proceed to get the next two wrong (one question was this: A Safe Driver: A) Constantly checks their rearview and side mirrors B) Stays 200 feet behind the car in front of them C) Nonsense. I chose B, thinking that you should stay a greater distance away than you actually think and if you CONSTANTLY check your mirrors you may miss what's on the road in front of you.) You need to get 20 out of 25 to pass and I've already missed 2 of 3. 4 more and I fail.
Luckily I rip off 20 in a row and pass with flying colors. I then go back to the man who gave me my eye test and he asks what background I want (I chose an airplane!) He asks for $32 and I bust out the ole debit card. No he says. Cash or check only. (I DID read on their website that this was the case but the license was only $4/year and I had enough for 5 years worth in cash.) Apparently you have to buy 8 years at a time (no way I stay in NC for 8 years so I just wasted some money.)
I run across the street to the ATM, give him the money and get my picture taken (not so bad). Then I wait 5 minutes for the license to print. I get it and I'm on my way home when I realize the address is wrong. I go back inside make him change it (he gives me a look like he knew he fucked up) and I get it re-printed (with a better photo, I might use this one for my model headshots!)
The moral of the story is fuck North Carolina.
T-Minus 5 days after the tonsilectomy and I'm doing pretty good. I am able to do everything except eat real food and so I decided to make today (Monday) an errand day before I go back to work tomorrow. Last night I studied for the drivers test with a cheat sheet found on www.jaytomlin.com (I dont know this man, I was just given this website. Repeat, I do NOT know this man.) I researched when the DMV opened and directions and tucked myself in tight!
I woke up around 6 AM to do some more studying (just like college!) and get all my documents together (SS Card, Old License, Insurance Card and Proof of Residence). I get to the DMV around 7:20 AM and I am the third one there. After about 10 minutes people start lining up/my car starts running out of gas, so I get out and lineup. Third! This is gonna be great - no long waits, I've got all my paperwork, I've studied the test...However, the DMV obviously smells this reckless abandon I'm currently sporting and decides to shut me down.
They open at 8:01 AM SHARP and let us in. The first person goes up to the desk and after about 2.4 seconds is jettisoned for having the wrong papers. NEXT. The second kid was waiting for his mommy and she had not yet returned. NEXT. My turn, I explain I'm getting a license transfer and I hand her all my paperwork (in order that the website asks for it) and she immediately shuffles all of them up (think 52 card pick up) and asks what "this" is. (This being my proof of residence.) I tell her and she says "What does the K stand for?" "Kelson" "Do you have documents to prove this?"
So I pull out my wallet and show her my bank card (with Photo ID) that says W. Kelson Fagan. There is no way this could be someone else. She now has my SS Card - William K Fagan(pretty sure they only give you one, but ok lets play the possible identity theft game), my OLD LICENSE with photo ID - William K. Fagan, a bank issued credit card with photo ID - W. Kelson Fagan as well as various other cards that indicated I was a human, had insurance and was a member of the Hillsborough, NJ public library system. Maybe they don't teach detectiving at the DMV, but a normal human being could piece together that I was indeed the Kelson Fagan.
Incorrect. I need my birth certificate or something that has my full name on it. I tell her I've been waiting for 45 minutes and she said "uh huh" (kind of like famous comedian Mo'Nique would say it) and tells me to come back. NEXT.
It was at this point that the water works started to well. I had been waiting nearly and hour and was left to walk out in front of the line of people I just stood in front of for that hour. What made it worse was the public shaming I took and the fact that she basically threw my forms of ID back at me (picture a hobo who just found a wallet, that's me!). Thus I got back in the car, held the tears and drove home to find my birth certificate. I found it and decided whether I should go back immediately. I mean..who wants to wait another 45 minutes?
I decide to stick my balls back in their sack and went back. As I got there, I looked through the paperwork and realized the insurance card I grabbed was last years. Fearing another meltdown on my part I decided driving back home AGAIN and driving back would be too much, so I went in and hoped they wouldn't see it. I get back in line and wait 4 minutes. Apparently beating the crowd really isnt worth it. Once I get my papers checked I'm given a number and wait another 3 minutes. Once I get called the guy goes through my papers and gives me the eye test (I didn't know what a railroad crossing sign was (it was just a yellow circle). He then told me to go take the test.
Touch screen! This can't be so bad. I answer the first one right and then proceed to get the next two wrong (one question was this: A Safe Driver: A) Constantly checks their rearview and side mirrors B) Stays 200 feet behind the car in front of them C) Nonsense. I chose B, thinking that you should stay a greater distance away than you actually think and if you CONSTANTLY check your mirrors you may miss what's on the road in front of you.) You need to get 20 out of 25 to pass and I've already missed 2 of 3. 4 more and I fail.
Luckily I rip off 20 in a row and pass with flying colors. I then go back to the man who gave me my eye test and he asks what background I want (I chose an airplane!) He asks for $32 and I bust out the ole debit card. No he says. Cash or check only. (I DID read on their website that this was the case but the license was only $4/year and I had enough for 5 years worth in cash.) Apparently you have to buy 8 years at a time (no way I stay in NC for 8 years so I just wasted some money.)
I run across the street to the ATM, give him the money and get my picture taken (not so bad). Then I wait 5 minutes for the license to print. I get it and I'm on my way home when I realize the address is wrong. I go back inside make him change it (he gives me a look like he knew he fucked up) and I get it re-printed (with a better photo, I might use this one for my model headshots!)
The moral of the story is fuck North Carolina.
Friday, July 04, 2008
The Time I Got My Throat Cut
For years now I have been a victim. It all started when I was a wee lad. Ever year, 3 times a year, I would get strep throat. Eventually the doctor said "the next time you get strep throat, we will have to take your tonsils out." Thus, I never went back to the doctor when it came to my strep throat.
Fast forward to earlier this year. I've been told by Amelia that I sound like I'm choking on a hairball when I sleep (breathing is fun!). My insurance runs out in August and so I decide to hit up the doctors circuit. Eyes, Check up (no dentist, I don't believe in them). When I went to get my check up the doctor told me I had the biggest tonsils she had ever seen. I believe the technical term was "Holy Moly."
She then sent me to an Ear Nose and Throat specialist, who further backed up her findings with a "Whoa! I have been operating on tonsils for 20 years and these are the biggest I've seen. How do you breathe at night?" I told him breathing wasn't a necessity for me and he said my tonsils weren't life threatening yet, but we arranged a 2 month follow up. In those two months I got sick at least 3 times and because of the size of my tonsils, even minor colds tend to blow up my throat and stay forever.
When I went back for the two month check up, he said the tonsils had grown larger and were now 4 times the size of a regular tonsil. They needed to come out and be sent to a lab to make sure they aren't cancerous (throat cancer at 22? Guiness Book here I come). Thus I made the appointment for yesterday July 3 (as I only have one vacation day at work.)
Leading up to the surgery I read a bunch of horror stories about the pain following the surgery and got throughly freaked out. However, I tried to console myself realizing that I had the biggest tonsils in the world and that maybe the swelling these people are feeling, are what I feel everyday. Nonetheless, I was a little nervous leading up to the surgery.
The day before the surgery I get a call from the surgical center (about an hour away) and they tell me that I need to show up at 6:30 AM for a 7:00 AM surgery time (meaning wake up time was about 4:30 AM). I'm not allowed to have any sort of food or water after midnight, which isn't so bad considering it's only 7 hours till the surgery (does anybody else sense a new diet fad?)
Amelia and I drive to the center and get there around 6:10 AM - before the center is even open. We decide to drive around and look for a Starbucks, but apparently a major city like Durham doesn't have any within a 5 mile radius. We drive back to the center and we are now 3rd in line. (Also note that I have worn loose fitting clothing which has led me to look somewhat like a hobo - my shorts have paint on them.)
I check in and get sent back where one of a plethora of nurses tells me what to do. I change into my hospital gown and then I am visited by a nurse who puts an IV in my hand (and has some tape issues while doing so). 2 minutes later the first anesthesiologist comes in and asks if I have any questions, and seems surprised when I don't (what are you supposed to ask? Will I be asleep? Will I feel any pain? Am I a moron?). The second anesthesiologist comes in and says what did you have for breakfast this morning "Nothing!" I respond, proud of getting an answer right. He then looks over my chart and says "...and you are allergic to ...mangoes?" I play along with his joke and say "haha, no not mangoes, papayas."
Apparently he wasn't kidding and after a good 15 seconds of confusion between he, Amelia and I he realizes he has the wrong chart (do you feel nervous for me yet?) He puts the chart on the wall, with mangoes crossed out, and we realize it's not the wrong chart and someone had one too many hits of Nitrous Oxide. I am ready to go.
I walk myself into the room (which is so much better than being carted in, I would feel like I was on my death bed if I saw lights go by over my head) and find a table that is probably about as wide as an airplane seat. I try to laydown and I'm almost over the edge and then they strap me in (to make sure I don't fall off). I make a joke that I'm a giant and no one finds it funny and then they put the anesthesia in. I remember remarking that I felt it and then I remember nothing else.
I wake up with Amelia by my side and get to sip apple juice until they decide to kick me out. I am disappointed that I don't get wheelchaired out. The pain isn't as bad as they say so far. But they say the third day is the worst. You will get updates.
Fast forward to earlier this year. I've been told by Amelia that I sound like I'm choking on a hairball when I sleep (breathing is fun!). My insurance runs out in August and so I decide to hit up the doctors circuit. Eyes, Check up (no dentist, I don't believe in them). When I went to get my check up the doctor told me I had the biggest tonsils she had ever seen. I believe the technical term was "Holy Moly."
She then sent me to an Ear Nose and Throat specialist, who further backed up her findings with a "Whoa! I have been operating on tonsils for 20 years and these are the biggest I've seen. How do you breathe at night?" I told him breathing wasn't a necessity for me and he said my tonsils weren't life threatening yet, but we arranged a 2 month follow up. In those two months I got sick at least 3 times and because of the size of my tonsils, even minor colds tend to blow up my throat and stay forever.
When I went back for the two month check up, he said the tonsils had grown larger and were now 4 times the size of a regular tonsil. They needed to come out and be sent to a lab to make sure they aren't cancerous (throat cancer at 22? Guiness Book here I come). Thus I made the appointment for yesterday July 3 (as I only have one vacation day at work.)
Leading up to the surgery I read a bunch of horror stories about the pain following the surgery and got throughly freaked out. However, I tried to console myself realizing that I had the biggest tonsils in the world and that maybe the swelling these people are feeling, are what I feel everyday. Nonetheless, I was a little nervous leading up to the surgery.
The day before the surgery I get a call from the surgical center (about an hour away) and they tell me that I need to show up at 6:30 AM for a 7:00 AM surgery time (meaning wake up time was about 4:30 AM). I'm not allowed to have any sort of food or water after midnight, which isn't so bad considering it's only 7 hours till the surgery (does anybody else sense a new diet fad?)
Amelia and I drive to the center and get there around 6:10 AM - before the center is even open. We decide to drive around and look for a Starbucks, but apparently a major city like Durham doesn't have any within a 5 mile radius. We drive back to the center and we are now 3rd in line. (Also note that I have worn loose fitting clothing which has led me to look somewhat like a hobo - my shorts have paint on them.)
I check in and get sent back where one of a plethora of nurses tells me what to do. I change into my hospital gown and then I am visited by a nurse who puts an IV in my hand (and has some tape issues while doing so). 2 minutes later the first anesthesiologist comes in and asks if I have any questions, and seems surprised when I don't (what are you supposed to ask? Will I be asleep? Will I feel any pain? Am I a moron?). The second anesthesiologist comes in and says what did you have for breakfast this morning "Nothing!" I respond, proud of getting an answer right. He then looks over my chart and says "...and you are allergic to ...mangoes?" I play along with his joke and say "haha, no not mangoes, papayas."
Apparently he wasn't kidding and after a good 15 seconds of confusion between he, Amelia and I he realizes he has the wrong chart (do you feel nervous for me yet?) He puts the chart on the wall, with mangoes crossed out, and we realize it's not the wrong chart and someone had one too many hits of Nitrous Oxide. I am ready to go.
I walk myself into the room (which is so much better than being carted in, I would feel like I was on my death bed if I saw lights go by over my head) and find a table that is probably about as wide as an airplane seat. I try to laydown and I'm almost over the edge and then they strap me in (to make sure I don't fall off). I make a joke that I'm a giant and no one finds it funny and then they put the anesthesia in. I remember remarking that I felt it and then I remember nothing else.
I wake up with Amelia by my side and get to sip apple juice until they decide to kick me out. I am disappointed that I don't get wheelchaired out. The pain isn't as bad as they say so far. But they say the third day is the worst. You will get updates.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
The Time I Got Poor
I am Kelson and I am a "recovering" tech-o-holic. As referenced in an earlier post, (you avid blog readers will remember this) my love of all things HD has made me lapse into my own personal recession. Without boring you to death with my finances lets just say I owe the equivalent of 7 abortions.
To amend this I have been selling off some of my personal affects and basically telling myself to give up on my dream of rock and roll stardom (no worries, the ego will stay). Below I have provided a kind of list of what I own (made me poor in the first place), what I am selling (with stories of selling them) and what else I will do to remedy my situation.
First things first - admitting I have a problem.
As a college student I made a paltry few hundred bucks a month. However, thanks to my parents paying for college, it was all I really needed. I had to pay for gas, car insurance, phone bills and cocaine from any dealer who wouldn't take a Capitol One Credit Card (what's in YOUR wallet?) As I said, this was sufficient for all my needs, but never really let me save any money.
Once I got a full time salary position and the paychecks upped significantly (4 digits/check!) I decided to go nuts and buy everything I wanted. In the last year I have bought:
Toyota Prius (05/07) - The Toyota was well out of my price range, but my previous car died (probably because I shamed it to death for being an ugly whore) and the Prius was just too good to pass up. The car dealership made it worse by making it seem so much better. "You are a college student? NO DOWN PAYMENT!" Thus I was roped into a lovely Hybrid for the next 5 years of my life. My monthly payments are more than my apartment payments. Enough said.
BONUS NOTE: The Hybrid will eventually save me (in gas) what I would've paid for a cheaper car in 7 years. (However, I will consider myself lucky I am allowed to hold pennies by that point.)
Computer - 06/07 - This was also a necessity purchase, after my previous computer decided that booting up and sounding like a jet engine was the way to go. I was modest with this purchase however, and was a good shopper and bought a pretty low end version with no monitor included. (I just remember I bought a widescreen monitor 2 months before this, so I guess that has to go on this list). The computer is also how I make a living,
HDTV 1 - I bought this one with new real need for a new TV other than the fact that its FUCKING HD! Again, I bought a low end one, but I have to say it's been a pretty good buy thus far. (Aside from the fact that to get the most use out of the TV you also have to buy HD Cable which amounts to another $25/month)
Bonus Note: I seem to buy low end technology for cheap prices, meaning it will be outdated in a matter of minutes. So I'm thinking is their really a point? The high end techs will make fun of me and people that don't have the technology won't be too impressed because it's the low end of the spectrum. (Congratulations, I just got more depressed.)
HDTV 2 - I bought a smaller one for my bedroom...I have no excuse.
XBOX 360 - I really wanted a HD player of some sort, whether it be HD DVD or Blu Ray. So I went to the store and debated about whether to buy the XBOX 360 with HD attachment or PS3 with Blu Ray built in. Xbox Came with Heroes thrown in and I figured HD DVD would win the HD war anyway (it has HD in the name!). Incorrect, I bought an HD player that can only play such hit films lucky enough to come out on HD DVD as The Nutty Professor and Mr. Bean's Holiday. Nonetheless it still plays a bunch of HD DVDs that are now on sale for $6.
Bonus Note: I really want a Blu Ray. Like sexual favors want, if there are any takers please leave a note. (I promise i wont tell my Tech Anonymous group).
Things I'm Selling
1. Guitar Amp - This was an amp I bought 2 years ago and to be honest I've played it less than 30 times and never in front of people. It may be time to give up on the dream of being a rock star. (Good news I bought this for $250 2 years ago and I am now selling it for $200. That's like only paying $25/year! I'm savvy.)
BONUS NOTE: In my quest to sell the beast, I posted it on Craig's List. After receiving about 15 replies I gave out my address to those interested. This was 2 days ago, and currently only one man has showed up. (I'm really excited to see what the other crazies are doing with my address as I speak (fingers crossed for identity theft!)). The one man that came over decided he wanted it, but couldn't stop at the bank until later. He planned to come back in an hour. Instead he calls back in an hour and the conversation starts like this "I don't help out disrespectful youth." I was instantly horrified that I may have accidentally gazed into his eyes for too long or that he had done some research and read the awful things I said about him on my future blog. Instead he claimed his son was naughty and didn't deserve an amp. Click. The good news is that once he told me he wanted it, I almost emailed the other 14 in one lump sum and said "Sorry, Sold." However, I did not and now I still might be able to sell it, unless you know... someone stabs me when they come to pick it up.
2. Other miscellaneous guitar gear - Guitar pedals and such. I sold one on ebay for the cool price of $83, using the buy it now feature. I then looked up what other pedals were going for. Over $100! MMM, could I make any more poor mistakes.
3. DVD sets - I am a big fan of TV and consequently TV on DVD. I own 50 real sets (and countless others that were umm....borrowed from Blockbuster, mysteriously put on my computer and then subsequently found their way to a blank DVD.) Each DVD could sell for about $10 on amazon or ebay. So...I mean that could help...everyone wants "Friends Season 3 - A Collection of 5 random episodes" right? RIGHT?
Other things I may or may not be doing.
1)Getting a job, again. I recently had a good cry (once a month, whether I need it or not!) and decided these money issues just had to stop. So i looked into getting a job that I could do part time, while holding my full time job. I looked into newspaper delivery boy or pizza delivery boy. Really delivery is the best job ...ever. Drive around, listen to music and deliver something and be on your way. No arguments from people. Nonetheless, I decided that I shouldn't contact anyone until I was recovered from surgery (more on this tomorrow!).
However, I was on Craig's List and saw an ad for Pizza Delivery boy and I was there. I was called in for an interview, which consisted of filling out a 1 page application and explaining how my Prius worked. (Everyone was impressed! The job is mine.)
The job is about 13 minutes away, in a very remote location, I fear my technology craving will kick in and require me to get a GPS, to navigate roads I have never been on. (Oh yeah, I also got a lifetime subscription to Sirius Radio a few months ago. Add it to the list and kill me please).
On the way home I saw that a Dominoes was hiring and was about 5 minutes closer and in a more...populated...area. I stopped in and filled out an app and I gotta say, everyone was really nice. Normally I root against big corporate entities, but everyone in the store was really nice. I asked for the app and went to sit down to fill it out, however the cashier came and gave me a pizza box to right on. Then the manager came over introduced himself and was real nice and told an anecdote about a drug dealer that included the words "How can you be bad at drug dealing? I could go out to Montana and deal drugs in a field and not get caught."
I handed in an application and he was impressed that I went to Elon. I made eye contact, shook the hand and was told I'd get a call tomorrow. 2/2. I don't know who to root for now. The closer job that pays more or the further job that pays less...(this seems too easy.)
2) Next up on the list is donating semen. I'm totally ok with getting paid $50 a dose to have little Kelsons running about the country. I have good genes (other than the obesity, poor eye sight, anger issues and the new find of my life - thinning hair! Hi, I'm 22.)
To amend this I have been selling off some of my personal affects and basically telling myself to give up on my dream of rock and roll stardom (no worries, the ego will stay). Below I have provided a kind of list of what I own (made me poor in the first place), what I am selling (with stories of selling them) and what else I will do to remedy my situation.
First things first - admitting I have a problem.
As a college student I made a paltry few hundred bucks a month. However, thanks to my parents paying for college, it was all I really needed. I had to pay for gas, car insurance, phone bills and cocaine from any dealer who wouldn't take a Capitol One Credit Card (what's in YOUR wallet?) As I said, this was sufficient for all my needs, but never really let me save any money.
Once I got a full time salary position and the paychecks upped significantly (4 digits/check!) I decided to go nuts and buy everything I wanted. In the last year I have bought:
Toyota Prius (05/07) - The Toyota was well out of my price range, but my previous car died (probably because I shamed it to death for being an ugly whore) and the Prius was just too good to pass up. The car dealership made it worse by making it seem so much better. "You are a college student? NO DOWN PAYMENT!" Thus I was roped into a lovely Hybrid for the next 5 years of my life. My monthly payments are more than my apartment payments. Enough said.
BONUS NOTE: The Hybrid will eventually save me (in gas) what I would've paid for a cheaper car in 7 years. (However, I will consider myself lucky I am allowed to hold pennies by that point.)
Computer - 06/07 - This was also a necessity purchase, after my previous computer decided that booting up and sounding like a jet engine was the way to go. I was modest with this purchase however, and was a good shopper and bought a pretty low end version with no monitor included. (I just remember I bought a widescreen monitor 2 months before this, so I guess that has to go on this list). The computer is also how I make a living,
HDTV 1 - I bought this one with new real need for a new TV other than the fact that its FUCKING HD! Again, I bought a low end one, but I have to say it's been a pretty good buy thus far. (Aside from the fact that to get the most use out of the TV you also have to buy HD Cable which amounts to another $25/month)
Bonus Note: I seem to buy low end technology for cheap prices, meaning it will be outdated in a matter of minutes. So I'm thinking is their really a point? The high end techs will make fun of me and people that don't have the technology won't be too impressed because it's the low end of the spectrum. (Congratulations, I just got more depressed.)
HDTV 2 - I bought a smaller one for my bedroom...I have no excuse.
XBOX 360 - I really wanted a HD player of some sort, whether it be HD DVD or Blu Ray. So I went to the store and debated about whether to buy the XBOX 360 with HD attachment or PS3 with Blu Ray built in. Xbox Came with Heroes thrown in and I figured HD DVD would win the HD war anyway (it has HD in the name!). Incorrect, I bought an HD player that can only play such hit films lucky enough to come out on HD DVD as The Nutty Professor and Mr. Bean's Holiday. Nonetheless it still plays a bunch of HD DVDs that are now on sale for $6.
Bonus Note: I really want a Blu Ray. Like sexual favors want, if there are any takers please leave a note. (I promise i wont tell my Tech Anonymous group).
Things I'm Selling
1. Guitar Amp - This was an amp I bought 2 years ago and to be honest I've played it less than 30 times and never in front of people. It may be time to give up on the dream of being a rock star. (Good news I bought this for $250 2 years ago and I am now selling it for $200. That's like only paying $25/year! I'm savvy.)
BONUS NOTE: In my quest to sell the beast, I posted it on Craig's List. After receiving about 15 replies I gave out my address to those interested. This was 2 days ago, and currently only one man has showed up. (I'm really excited to see what the other crazies are doing with my address as I speak (fingers crossed for identity theft!)). The one man that came over decided he wanted it, but couldn't stop at the bank until later. He planned to come back in an hour. Instead he calls back in an hour and the conversation starts like this "I don't help out disrespectful youth." I was instantly horrified that I may have accidentally gazed into his eyes for too long or that he had done some research and read the awful things I said about him on my future blog. Instead he claimed his son was naughty and didn't deserve an amp. Click. The good news is that once he told me he wanted it, I almost emailed the other 14 in one lump sum and said "Sorry, Sold." However, I did not and now I still might be able to sell it, unless you know... someone stabs me when they come to pick it up.
2. Other miscellaneous guitar gear - Guitar pedals and such. I sold one on ebay for the cool price of $83, using the buy it now feature. I then looked up what other pedals were going for. Over $100! MMM, could I make any more poor mistakes.
3. DVD sets - I am a big fan of TV and consequently TV on DVD. I own 50 real sets (and countless others that were umm....borrowed from Blockbuster, mysteriously put on my computer and then subsequently found their way to a blank DVD.) Each DVD could sell for about $10 on amazon or ebay. So...I mean that could help...everyone wants "Friends Season 3 - A Collection of 5 random episodes" right? RIGHT?
Other things I may or may not be doing.
1)Getting a job, again. I recently had a good cry (once a month, whether I need it or not!) and decided these money issues just had to stop. So i looked into getting a job that I could do part time, while holding my full time job. I looked into newspaper delivery boy or pizza delivery boy. Really delivery is the best job ...ever. Drive around, listen to music and deliver something and be on your way. No arguments from people. Nonetheless, I decided that I shouldn't contact anyone until I was recovered from surgery (more on this tomorrow!).
However, I was on Craig's List and saw an ad for Pizza Delivery boy and I was there. I was called in for an interview, which consisted of filling out a 1 page application and explaining how my Prius worked. (Everyone was impressed! The job is mine.)
The job is about 13 minutes away, in a very remote location, I fear my technology craving will kick in and require me to get a GPS, to navigate roads I have never been on. (Oh yeah, I also got a lifetime subscription to Sirius Radio a few months ago. Add it to the list and kill me please).
On the way home I saw that a Dominoes was hiring and was about 5 minutes closer and in a more...populated...area. I stopped in and filled out an app and I gotta say, everyone was really nice. Normally I root against big corporate entities, but everyone in the store was really nice. I asked for the app and went to sit down to fill it out, however the cashier came and gave me a pizza box to right on. Then the manager came over introduced himself and was real nice and told an anecdote about a drug dealer that included the words "How can you be bad at drug dealing? I could go out to Montana and deal drugs in a field and not get caught."
I handed in an application and he was impressed that I went to Elon. I made eye contact, shook the hand and was told I'd get a call tomorrow. 2/2. I don't know who to root for now. The closer job that pays more or the further job that pays less...(this seems too easy.)
2) Next up on the list is donating semen. I'm totally ok with getting paid $50 a dose to have little Kelsons running about the country. I have good genes (other than the obesity, poor eye sight, anger issues and the new find of my life - thinning hair! Hi, I'm 22.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)