Friday, March 04, 2005
I finally left work at two this afternoon. Sweet release and time to start some serious festivities. First off: long overdue car bullshit. Emissions, license stickers, and a car wash. I couldn't accomplish the first two. Emissions is closed on Fridays and they won't issue a sticker for my plates until I pass that test. Damn bureaucrats. The worst dregs of humanity are not found in foreign mountains or Kentucky forest meth labs. They're in petty government paper pushing jobs. I've never seen thicker glasses, greasier complexions, or squeakier voices. The smug dick-waving authority they exhibit over powerless citizens is reprehensible.
Had I withdrawn $100 for nothing?
No. I did what any fiscally responsible person would do: I went to the record store. After some casual perusal I blew fifty bucks and strolled out grinning like a fish.
I then pulled into a gas station and proceeded to unload the contents of my car into the garbage can. I can't go to the car wash with a dirty car, can I? What would they think? The garbage can had a small aperture so lots of folding was necessary to stuff the larger items in. There was a giant Chinese lantern lamp that required six folds to shove it through. People were watching me. I beat the dust out of an army jacket and navy peacoat and gently folded them back into the trunk whence they came. Various steel mounting plates, credit card machines, and an old pair of sandals went into the octagonal refuse bin. I was sad to part with them since I'd won them from a rural teenage yokel in a game of poker four years ago. Pair of sevens. But they were soaked in gasoline and beyond redemption.
I haven't written much lately about the other Steve, the fake policeman, but he bears mention here. When he rented out that storefront on Milwaukee Avenue for his call center he'd found lots of leftover parcels in the place. It had previously been a record store, and mix CDs of booty house, salsa, merengue, and others were left behind by the previous tenants. I had grabbed one of each. Now two years later at the gas station I came upon a mariachi CD during this process of purging. I didn't throw it away. One day I might want to listen to it. Besides, I never discard music.
I continued on to Fuller's in Mount Prospect. I'd never been to a full service car wash before. I was excited. After quizzing the Mexican staff they instructed me on the process and I pulled into the first station and gave my car to them. I took my bag of music from the record store and waited patiently in the lobby for them to finish.
Remember, my car is full of loose change, old cigarette cellophanes, nicotine tar smears on the windows and peanut shells from last Friday. A circus of filth. As I sat in the lobby drinking diet soda and unwrapping my CDs, I had an idea. Not only would I tip them handsomely, but I would give them the mariachi CD. Would it be condescending? No. I hope. It would be a shocking surprise, the highlight of their day. Ten bucks and some native tunes.
They were surprised. I didn't indulge myself by watching their facial expressions and basking in the bizarre confluence of circumstances. Instead I took off for the gas station kitty corner that still sells ephedrine, which was banned in Illinois over a year ago and then federally in more recent months. I purchased a few months supply, gobbled a few, and made a beeline for the homestead. I am now enjoying my second beer as I type this. Have a nice weekend. 4:40 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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