Nothing puts a damper on a vacation in the same way as nearly getting yourself killed.
Yet there I was, perilously close to drowning, having blatantly ignored the crew of the booze cruise I have jumped off from about a half hour previously. “Stick to the rocks near the shore close to the boat. DON’T go the other side of the bay and DON’T get too far from shore! The currents are dangerous, guys!!”
But I knew better….yeah, right. Chasing a school of tropical fish in my snorkel gear in Santa Maria Bay in Cabo San Lucas had placed me about 100 yards away from my boat and further away by the second - each successive wave’s undertow dragging me away from shore and thus closer to becoming Pacific Ocean fish food. I was running the last reel of “Open Water” through my mind – that movie about two scuba divers who get left behind by their charter boat and after they accept the hand of fate there’s a lot of soul-searching for a half hour until they eventually become shark snacks. Back in real life, I was getting tossed about by the waves, inhaling a foul cocktail that was half sea water, half air. Adding to my predicament was the foggy head of someone who had, until 31 minutes ago, been actively trying to recreate the perfect buzz through use of beer and liquor with the help of Paco, the 17-year-old cruise bartender on board.
The booze’s buzz was replaced with internal panic. Years of swimming lessons were instantly forgotten, and the hundred yards to my boat may have well been the first leg of the Ironman Triathlon.
In flailing around, however, I caught sight of a catamaran about 15 yards away. I did some more inspired flailing – this time in the direction of the cat’s crew, who didn’t appear overly alarmed by my current dire situation. With a bit of well-timed confidence, I caught a second wind and doggie paddled my way toward the catamaran. As I got to within a yard of the bow, one of the crew jumped in the water to assist. Next thing I know a police boat has pulled up behind us and I am literally hauled aboard by my arms. So now I’m on a boat with two damp cops and three other policemen, each of whom is brandishing machine guns, and I’m kinda thinking - this is exactly what they mean by ‘out of the frying pan into the fire,’ you know?
Aboard the SS La Policia, we’re motoring in the direction of my cruise boat and I’m wondering if I’m going to be on TV on ‘Locked Up Abroad’ next season. Mind you that this is my optimistic outcome for my current situation. In trying to avoid eye contact with the gendarmes, I find I’m looking directly at a row of AK-47’s. As soon as we’re within a few feet of the ladder of my cruise boat, I gingerly move towards it. No one is stopping me, so I figure one of the cops is going to be right behind me gesturing with his weapon for me to get the rest of my stuff and come back aboard with them.
I flopped down on a bench to catch my breath. A pregnant pause, and then, fatalistically, I turned my head in the direction of the police boat, but…they’re already leaving?? No arrest, no bribe, not even a stern lecture from El Jefe? Without a doubt, the most relieving anticlimax I’ve ever had. My only proof that it ever happened was the playful snickering from Paco during the ride home whenever I approached the bar. Back on shore I knew I had been given the divine chance to turn my vacation around…
So I’m a functional adult, and pretty damn cool. In fact, I am actually way better than you are in just about every way possible. As much as I hate to admit it, a lot of my charm comes from knowing that whenever I take a shit, I actually lose more brain cells (out of my ass) than you actually have in your brain (which is not the same as your ass).
We are all given opportunities to be a part of certain things bigger than us…
Like when the old beaten up fighter gains respect by challenging the badass half his age. Like when the geek gets the girl after a magical kiss that neither of them expected. Like when people stand up and cheer for you, for something you did, and…
… then you go back to your life of pain and welfare.
You might see this as a rant that happens to include movie plots and generic situations that come to mind while typing…
… but I see it as this.
I have the opportunity to have dinner and see a show with people who I REALLY want to be part of my life, and while that is great and all, I really don’t want to fuck things up. That is a really bold statement and, for whatever reason, I decided to write about it.
Here are some of the reasons that I am concerned about tomorrow’s “first date”…
I can’t say a person’s name. Really. It all comes from back in the day when I knew a girl for a long time (her name was Erin) and because I never said her name, she asked me to say her name. Aaron, Eric, blah… anyhow, I fucked up, when I shouldn’t have, and since that day, I hold that with me.
I respect the situation more than I probably should. That leads to bad things, like when you’re white and feel the need to tell the angry Mexicans in the Mission that their rage probably stems from the fact that most people within their ethnic group were beaten over multiple generations and are shown no respect…
Anyhow, this isn’t over…
I really LOVE the opportunity to hang out with people who are awesome. I just don’t have the confidence to question all your life choices, destroy your career, fuck up all that you know is correct… and that really frustrates me.
“It’s Chilly outside. It’s Chilly inside. It’s a regular fucking Chili-fest!” -Dennis Farina, aka Ray “Bones” Barboni, in Get Shorty
My first night in Miami Beach it was 33 degrees Fahrenheit, making it not quite as warm as it was in Frostbite Falls, Minnesota. As I walked through the neon-soaked streets bundled up in my peacoat, gloves, and knit cap, I kept on expecting to see the line for the ski lift.
There were several reasons I was in town. Firstly, I was on vacation, holiday, annual leave, snow-birding, or whatever they call it where you’re from. Secondly, I was in town to get plugged in to the nightlife scene: I had been given several primo contacts by Blanco from SF and the Acid King from NYC. Thirdly and fourthly, I wanted to see if Miami Beach was the kind of town I could live in, which would require finding a great dive bar to call my own. Replacing “The Syc” would be next-to-impossible, but this was a town with a tawdry reputation, or so I’d hoped.
I was supposed to fly “home” to eat food with my parents the other day. I didn’t.
The second I mentioned that I didn’t have plans for the holiday, everyone jumped to the rescue. I’m pretty sure that I hate everyone and everything but… it really pisses me off (trying to find a reason why) that I was invited into everyone’s home for a family event… with open arms.
I had dinner with a friend and his wife at a restaurant they’ve been going to for years… (their private dinner was a party of 3). I showed up in the mountains where a friend was hosting his parents… and now… me.. I’ve got pies, leftovers…
It makes it really difficult to be a total jackass and think that the entire world is shit when you see that everyone around you is actually pretty awesome… but I’ll try. So as you welcome me into your home… your life… Thanksgiving only exists to boost sales on Friday so you can get rid of all your inventory and funnel shit towards an infinite channel of consumers who all suck.
If I offered to shit on your face for half off… you lemmings would stand in line.
The very first time I took my little sister out in San Francisco made me very aware of just how fucked up my view of reality is. [FULL DISCLOSURE.. this was just the first time I took my sister out and realized she had no grasp of my plush lifestyle]
I had the whole day off.
We started at Red's Corner. Just to make this intro really easy to understand, I'll sum it up this way...
"Hello little sister... this is"...
Black man 1, 2, 3... Jew 1, 2, 3... White guy 1, 2, 3.. Black man 1, 2...
Anyhow...
Towards the end of the night, we walked up to the front door of a Jazz club in my hood and Jimmy.. a 6'5 brother (in his 40's) in a suit who looks like he could kill me in 3 seconds. I introduce him to my sister. "Jimmy... this is my sister. If you've got a younger brother anything like you, I'd LOVE to set him up on a date with her..."
My sister is in shock and ultimately tells me, in private... "I thought you hated Jews and ..."....
[I was such a bad rapper that I actually sat at a table at my favorite coffee shop and had the entire group of black women sitting with me convince someone at another table not to kick my ass while I went to take a piss. Really. That bad of a rapper. Seriously..]
SUCH IS THE LIFE OF A POLISH.. JEWISH... GANGSTAH RAPPAH....
We have a time machine. 20 years ago...
Like all Plafrican Americans, I grew up listening to N.W.A... I bought my Raiders cap and jacket (via allowance). I was tough. I was pimp. I actually had to ask someone was a posse was. So.. like all suburban white kids, I learned how to rap. Kinda. A Raiders jacket, saying "yo momma" a lot, and having one of my friends shove me back into the car as soon as I said something really really stupid was more like it.
But all of a sudden... I felt a rush.. *scratch*.. and the plight of MY people needed to be felt... *scratch*... well, the plight of someone needed to be... *scratch*... *BEATBOX*...
I WEAR POLYESTHER... I WALK WITH A LIMP...
I had something to talk about. I had a message....
I TAKE OFF MY YAMAKA.. YOUR GIRLIE TAKES OFF HER BRA...
I... became... a gangster rapper.
[Goofy, white, glasses, listening to Eazy-E... no.. really.. it was that bad]
We got a crew together. It was Jerry K (Jewish; lawyer), Slinky Slava (Jewish; accountant).. it is kinda funny how everyone in the "crew" actually fell into the stereotype, but anyhow... We had a group of people together, everyone of them a Jew (and then me.. Jew via osmosis).
CUZ I'M JEW LIKE THAT.. I'M HE-BREW LIKE THAT...
Our crew had to represent. We had to be Kosher. We had to like Kielbasa (because sausage is fucking awesome).. and we had to be together. Kinda like.. Oh shit. So we were the Kosher Kielbasa Krew. The worst acronym that ever existed for a rap group. Everyone in the band had someone killed in a concentration camp, beaten to death, and the lives of their immediate family were destroyed by evil in recent memory. Yet our acronym was [not willing to say it... you know what it is].. oh that was horrible.
So we got a hold of pictures from one of their hate zines and re-used it. White pointy hoods.. (with yamakas)... surrounded by stars of david and sausages. We took the acronym back.
I SPIN... HER SHOES GET WET.. AND NOW SHE NEEDS TO LIGHT.. A NEW CIGARETTE...
So our gang went to Marshall's, got white t-shirts, and a bunch of iron-on bubble letters (as well as the fuzzy ones that are squarish..) and came up with the following ways to take the J in JEW back...
WHAT JEW TALKING ABOUT?.. (JEW = YOU) WHAT JEW TALKIN BOUT.. (see.. TALKIN=TALKING, ABOUT=BOUT, cool eh?) JEW KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING.. (JEW = YOU) JAMBA JEWS.. (JEW = JUICE) GET JEW ME A BEER... (uhmm.. nevermind).
...
Bring me a microphone... Bring me a topic... I'll be able to make things happen.
...
Back in the day it was a dream to have a group of friends together. It was more of a dream to have a rap group together and have the ability to put together a few tracks. Having the opportunity to get in front of the [soon-to-be-famous local bands] at random venues and spit a few lyrics was one of the best experiences of my life.
Having the confidence to show up in a Minivan in a ghetto club when you're the only white guy there and the MC scratches the microphone on purpose when you are introduced... [everyone in the crowd gives the "kill whitey" look]...
.. and then freestyling (while nearly pissing your pants).. and totally destroying one of the locals expecting an easy pass on the first round...
Everyone in the crowd instantly shows you some respect. Because you can go on for a few verses.. include the color of his hat.. incorporate his last diss on you.. and, you are creative on the microphone.
...
As a last word, and in all seriousness... calling someone a Jew isn't offensive. If you think it is, you have a fucked up view of reality. Saying the N-word, even academically, IS offensive. Listening to NPR recently, I heard it said over and over again as part of academia.
So...
I GO TO KFC.. ORDER A BIG BUCKET OF CHICKEN... ANY GIRLS AROUND THAT I CAN STICK MY DICK IN? OH SNAP I'M SO FUCKING FRESH... BURN THE MICROPHONE LIKE DAVE KORESH...
My boss walked up to me and said "If you don't attend the conference in Seattle in a couple of weeks.. you're fired.".
So I decided to attend. Tuesday thru Friday in Bellevue.. Bellvue.. Bell.. something. Doesn't really matter. It was kinda like Oakland.. for rich white people minus all the character. So with my corporate card, I walked around and hung out in a bunch of cool bars (full of rich white people), hung out at the pool hall (full of rich white people)... but actually had a good time. I think that suburb of Seattle is what Marin was hoping for back in the day (as in.. all the development.. none of the transit... and just get rid of all those minorities -- except to clean our houses).
Anyway..
So on Friday night we checked into the Four Seasons (you can all suck my dick.. I make more money than you do.. and get better discounts). We started on 1st Ave.. and never got to 2nd Ave. From Pike's Market to various new restaurants, cool pubs... I GOT HANDED A PICKLE ON A FUCKING STICK.
I REPEAT.
I GOT HANDED A FUCKING PICKLE ON A FUCKING STICK.
How is that wrong?
So we hung out within a couple of blocks of 1st Ave.. went to the aquarium... took awesome shits in cool restrooms. It was like a real town.. only Seattle. People were friendly, the bartenders were old school, and the bums were assholes (but they have a long way to go before they hit SF crackhead levels). Walking into the "I LIKE PIKE" pub downstairs (which I am confident all chain "neighborhood" restaurants model themselves after) instantly made me want to be a tourist. We got comfy at the bar during the Giants game but I just had to get my tourist-on... so I now own every variation of metal Pike Pub bar sign, a skull cap, many coasters, and a gigantic headache.
I GOT HANDED A PICKLE ON A FUCKING STICK. but that was elsewhere...
So the last words I heard from the hot blond chick with pigtails who was watching the Giants game with me and my wife was... "I'm not gonna have a 3-some with you guys right now but..."
I saw that you were spewing ad hominem attacks at my friend for three days. Why would I ever add you? YOUR USE OF CAPITALS IS VERY ANNOYING. YOU PROVED MY FRIEND'S POINT WHEN YOU CALLED HIPSTERS, "PRETENTIOUS AND IMITATIVE." PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO FRIEND ME AGAIN AND I WOULD APPRECIATE IF YOU WOULD STOP STALKING US. LOSER.
Sincerely, Chris Fisher Editor-In-Chief www.BayAreaButchers.com
FUCK YOU! IN CAPS! HE DESERVED IT. GO AHEAD, BLOG editor, PROMOTE VIOLENCE AND PREJUDICE BY SHALLOW, BAD WRITERS about vague social ephemera. Your assbag friend is helping post gross generalizations that include mocking people for reading and being political activists. WAY TO GO, "EDITOR!" I already read enough of your stupid blog to know it blows. Yeah, you'll go far.
Fuck off, coward. I friend people at random. You obviously don't have the balls to engage in any real conversation or real writing. You and your ignorance monger can eat shit and die.
Victor, I tried to respond back to your accusations of cowardice but you have since blocked me and now I have to post this on facebook. Disregarding the fact that you have still not LISTENED TO ME ABOUT CAPS, and have now attacked me personally, in addition to my friend, I would be delighted to spend my free time engaging you in a meaningful conversation about your views on culture and your time spent as a homeless person. Will an in person interview work for you? I will be in NYC in March. My writers and I will insist that you shower. Please find attached pie chart of our interest in actually meeting with you and let me know of any further thoughts. Regards, Chris
Dear Douche Bag, I HATE PEOPLE WHO PROMOTE IGNORANCE AND VIOLENCE AND IF I HAVE TO YELL TO GET MY POINT ACROSS, I WILL. Also, I don't have to engage you on my page or my inbox. If you really want to meet, in person, sure. Let's do it. I'm more than game to do so. So, you are claiming that your group is a guest of the TED conference? Really? When, exactly on what date and on what subject? Are the TED conference people aware of this page and it's lovely title? One of the Admins for this page, sent me this ditty: "in addition to my friend, I would be delighted to spend my free time engaging you in a meaningful conversation about your views on culture and your time spent as a homeless person. Will an in person interview work for you? I will be in NYC in March. My writers and I will insist that you shower."
Here, we go, you snobbish NORMOID, and now, you're willing to mock people about having been homeless. I will gladly take you on in an interview, Let's make it a double interview. So, how much experience have you had with homeless people? So, you're a guest of the TED conference? Do they know about this wonderfully titled page and all the crap that's spread in your host page's comments? Trust me on this, Facebook and TED Admin, will very soon, know about this page. If you had any sense of social responsibility, you'd remove this page or at least, change the title. -Victor
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At which point MOMUS steps in...
Momus: Just in case Victor Sheely is confused, 'Beat up a hipster and a homeless person gets a job' is a rather obvious joke. Take a breath and put your blue sombrero back on, there's work to be done.
I accept your invitation to an interview when you come to New York, but I get to interview you in return, and I get to sing my responses. So, if you've got the balls or ovaries or brains, let's definitely face off in person, rather than Onanize all over each other on stupid Facebook. Or was your challenge just more of your flaccid lip wack-offery? - Victor Sheely
Beat up a hipster and a homeless person gets a job: Please see pie chart.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Momus: Victor continues to have disagreements with the voices in his head over at 'Beat up a hipster and a homeless person gets a job'. The next show starts soon, don't miss out.
Casey: Mock a hipster online and a single mother gets some food stamps.
Victor Sheely: I love strong brained haters who are motivated by love. I hate weak minded haters who are hating just for the sake of hate. Some weak minded haters are "hipsters" and some are hobophobic anti-hipsters. Ultimately, hate is only gonna hurt the hater, if they hate only with hate instead of hating with love. The only thing to hate is pure hate, but you've got to cut your hate with love and reason, you stupid mother fuckers. You anti-hipsters, better watch out that you don't get a weak brain and a narrow mind.
You shitty, little Normoid, where the fuck do you get off judging someone for having been homeless or being a "hipster?" Now, YOU'RE the stinking snob! Who's the bigger snob you, or some unbathed, homeless 20 something kid with a goofy haircut, sneakers and an old keyboard trying to find a group of friends in whatever awkward way he can? - Victor
TO: Victor RE: "Who's the bigger snob you, or some unbathed, homeless 20 something kid with a goofy haircut, sneakers and an old keyboard trying to find a group of friends in whatever awkward way he can?"
It sounds like you are a 47 year old man who is just lonely and looking for a young friend in that big scary NYC jungle.... Please see my new pie chart below in how interested I am in being your friend. Looking at your video it seems like you could use one. Yes, I am a TED speaker and will gladly be your friend but only after I get a chance to interview you. Please remember to bathe. I have a sensitive nose. What day is good for you? Chris
QUESTION: "Who's the bigger snob you, or some unbathed, homeless 20 something kid with a goofy haircut, sneakers and an old keyboard trying to find a group of friends in whatever awkward way he can?" ANSWER: You , you're a bigger snob than any silly hipster kid. I've got friends that range from tribal elders all over the States and Mexico, musicians, kids, families, bums, farmers. What the fuck do you care what people wear and why the fuck would you look down on anyone who is homeless, you filthy snob? - Victor Sheely
Victor, You are correct and I apologize. I am a bigger snob than any, in your words: "pretentious and imitative" hipster. I do, however, take umbridge that you would think that I would look down on any homeless people working towards a normal life. Not sure where you picked that up from... The only (I assume they are homeless) people that annoy me are the ones who consistently shit on my sidewalk or scream incoherently in my vicinity while brandishing weapons.
You, however, are very creative and original (Love the purple sombrero btw!) and I am sure that Hipsters everywhere will be listening to your hip-hop street performances in Harlem with Buskers on their iPhones or watch YouTube for your (hopefully - please god!!) continuing series featuring meaningful, cultural discourse with drunks at 1:30am on the subway platform as the L train spews out PBR filled trustafarians.
-chris
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Victor Sheely: Hey, Hipster Bashers. So here's some "Hipsters" (once again, whatever the fuck that shallow assumption is) actually getting beaten up. Is promoting this kind of behavior, still fucking funny?
Beat up a hipster and a homeless person gets a job: Read the article dumbass. If you are consistently "getting suckerpunched in Brooklyn" you should learn to defend yourself like any self-respecting New Yorker. This is common sense. Alternatively you could move back to New Jersey.
Victor Sheely October 19 at 2:02pm Report Let's be friends, at least on Facebook ... more than likely in person, I guess. I'd rather be friends than enemies. Not that I won't make fun of you if we do go ahead with the double interview, mine in improvised geek music with dork-ass guitar.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TO: Chris Fisher From Victor SHeely October 20 at 7:29am RE:What?! Why were my writings and the relevant music posts removed?
Why were my posts removed?
Did you notice that some of your followers are already calling you guys on having removed my writing?
At one point, I thought we had regained, at least, an understanding as writers on slightly different sides of a social fence. This is so bizarre, as I'm not a "hipster" by any stretch of the term, and I've even made fun of "them," until I realized that what was going on was the equivalent of hippy and punk and other subculture bashing and that it all can (not always, I get some of the humor) add up at one point, to mere prejudice and hate mongering.
I've gotten a lot of compliments on that rant and it was finally being wrapped up in a good way.
You know the writing, albeit a bit ranty (with ... what, a few typos? You've got some on your profile, btw) was still good and strong and bitter, the way good rants and good coffee should be. Sorry about the switching from Trieste to shitty, bland, Folger's. That sucks. Yes, I, and others, do read and pay attention to and remember what is being written and what is being edited or rather, censored.
Why not let another side of that page have a say? After we had communicated in a polite way and not just exchanging insults, I had already opened up the lines of communication , unblocking you. So why not leave up the writing, especially when it was strong and a bit sharp, even though it called you and perhaps the other administrator on a few hypocrisies and weak spots?
Was it you that had "edited" or rather, CENSORED my posts or the other guy? This isn't a personal matter. You could call it an ad hominem argument, but even that criticism isn't valid, as my points and posts (including the Nick Cave) were all relevant and well stated and with wonderfuckingcolorful language and you know it.
Really cowardly and uncool, of whoever removed my posts, and in especially weak and bad editorial taste.
Both I and others, some of them writers, artists and media types are waiting for your reply.
Most sincerely, Victor Sheely Writer and Ranter with Media Musical Banter
Victor, I only blocked you from the 'I Love My Big Black Man' facebook page so that we could have a conversation via email and let my compatriot get back to work organizing armed, St. Valentine’s Day Massacre mob style hits on hipsters throughout the US and abroad. He cannot do this in secrecy with your, in some cases, thirty (30) plus comments on each post.
I also wanted to take this time to thank you for letting us borrow the vintage tommy guns and 1930’s car! Your obsession with Edward G. Robinson films is a little disconcerting however. (We will bring that up another time, seek help meanwhile online). Viva La Revolucion!!
Please email me this material directly so that we can discuss what pressing cultural issues that I might include in my forthcoming TED conference appearance. (Thanks for the 1930’s outfit btw!!)
Oh shit…wait…this is the other Victor!!! Oops! My bad. I thought you were my arms dealer. Sorry for the confusion as his name is also Victor, loves big black men and is based in New York.
As you are obviously not my arms dealer please refer to my original message as you do not understand humor, sarcasm nor friendship.
If there are any remaining questions please refer to my new pie chart (attached).
I can't even bring myself to be gentle with this letter. We're through, you and I. Kaput. Done. I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I just can't stay with you any longer and still respect myself.
I could put up with your infrequent schedules. Those pissy bus drivers who assume hostility, when I'm just minding my own business, or maybe a little confused at first about how your system works -- I could let that slide. Even the obnoxious, dirty, loud, dangerous clientele you attract could have been overlooked, and we could have made this work.
No. You have simply lied to me for the last time.
There I stand at the bus stop, waiting for you. You should be there, at seven-thirty, and you should take me over to BART, that cute little subway that's trying so hard. Your sign on the bus stop counts down the minutes for me; 6 min; 5 min; 4 min. My phone shows me that you're on your way, 3 minutes, 2 minutes, 1 minute. Then you're "arriving"!!! My phone, your sign at the stop, "ARRIVING!" Sweet release from this insipid waiting!
And then... minutes go by. Nothing. No bus. I turn to the sign, its yellow dots sputtering out a broken... 12 min. To my phone, waiting for AT&T to squirt that trickle of HTTP down to me... 11 minutes.
And that's it. You string me along all this time, I could have walked a bit, or called a cab, but I had faith in you. I wanted to believe that you would come for me. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, and trust you when you said you would come. But I can't do it anymore, you've lied to me for the last time.
I know... I hear your whine, and the twang of your power cables outside my bedroom window. None of this will heal the way I feel, at least not now. I will find myself in the arms of cabs, of BART, of my bicycle, of my car -- for now until... who can say. Yes, those cabs are rude, never stopping, driving crazy. Yes, BART is flailing about, going to bed too early. Yes, the bike lanes of this city are more a theory than a practice. Yes, driving and parking are expensive and difficult.
I've always thought that the world would be a better place if we set aside one day every year when people could say whatever they wanted, and not get in trouble. Until that actually happens, I will say what I want in blog form. I am declaring today, "National Say Anything Day."
Dear Shitty Fucking Job,
a few things to note:
1. I am not IT, nor do I get paid anywhere near what an IT support specialist does, so I will not be performing any IT related duties any more.
2. I have 2 jobs now. I am only getting paid for one. So I will only be doing about half as much work in each position. If something doesn't get done, oh well. I'm sure the world isn't going to end.
3. Most of the clients are awesome, a handful of them can kiss my ass. I will not be dealing with the latter any longer.
4. I am tired of hearing about people’s phone issues. I am going to start telling them the truth: That when they come to me with a problem, and I hand it off to the IT department, the IT guys don't do shit. Oh, and the whole reason your phones drop calls constantly is because we are a cheap ass Chinese company with shitty fucking service.
5. I will not raise anyone else's rent, or charge them more for services. Seriously, that's just fucked up. We have the shittiest phone and internet in the world. No one wants to pay for that crap. Oh, and we can't hang on to clients who are already upset with us if we jack their rent up sky high. Seriously, I don’t know why you think the market is so good right now that we can charge more per square footage than the top of the Trans America building, and people will be begging to move in. No. Just. No.
6. Charging people $200 for carpet cleaning when JLL only charges us $50 is fucked up.
7. Not being able to provide a long distance calling plan to our clients is fucked up. I would be pissed off too if I got a $2700 phone bill when I was under the impression that I had unlimited minutes to anywhere.
8. I am not part of the janitorial or maintenance staff. I will not be scrubbing spots off carpets, re-gluing baseboards, fixing shitty filing cabinets, cleaning conference room windows, or anything else of the sort any more.
9. We downgraded our coffee from Trieste (awesome coffee) to Folgers (it tastes like a cow just shit in my mouth.) That’s just one more reason for me to hate coming to work. On the bright side, you will save much more money than you originally anticipated, because no one drinks that shit. I make a pot in the morning, and it’s still half full at night. I’ve seen a lot more Peet’s and Starbucks cups lately.
10. These smelly hipsters who come in here almost every day are the most annoying people in the whole entire world. I am going to start telling them the “institute” is closed when I don’t feel like dealing with their stupid, smelly, hipster bullshit. Seriously people, if you want to walk around San Francisco, walk around San Francisco! You don’t need to do some stupid fucking treasure hunt to do it!
11. And lastly, to all of the people who don’t do shit but still get paid, while I bust my ass at this thankless job, and to all of the asshole clients who I wish I could punch in the fucking face, I am going to start taping pictures of your faces to the punching bag in boxing class. Something tells me I’ll get a better work out doing that.
As soon as I find another job, I’ll be out like a fat kid in dodge ball. I hope you all have fun trying to find someone as awesome as I am to replace me. Bitches.
Walking down Valencia in the Mission I saw my friend, Dean. “I thought that I might run into you.” He said. ‘No shit. I live here.’ I thought. “What are you doing up here?” I then received some vague associations and cryptic responses. When Dean is in this mode he is usually about to do something drastic. This is one of my pet peeves, when my male friends act like insane women. See possible outcomes below.
1) Dean is moving to Tennessee because he got laid off from his job. He is, somehow, still hirable at his last job there at the local lumber mill. The lumber mill seemed a dangerous place to work and it consistently reached 115F degrees in violation of OSHA regulations.
2) Going to jail in Tennessee. “Want to clear up my warrant.” I can hear Dean saying. In reality running away from something in CA, weather real or imagined.
3) Moving to San Francisco. Probably the best outcome for Dean. Taking on school debt and transferring to SFSU to finish his degree. Already has a part time job in vicinity.
4) Moving to his parent’s house. This is an outlier but cannot be completely ruled out.
5) Getting back with ex-girlfriend and driving cross-country to NYC. NYC is where her dad should send her to work in the industry that closely aligns with her degree. Probably craziest thing on this list, so in Dean’s world, the most plausible.
5A) Has started drinking again. (See #5)
6) Moving to Florida to be with his grandparents. Dean said that he is starting to become sensitive to the cold and “winter” is around the corner.
7) Going to jail in the south bay. Dean’s probation has been violated and the judge threw the book at him. DUI upgraded to a felony and he goes to rape-you-in-the-ass-state-prison.
Duck Stevens 
