As a result of my newly embraced eco-friendly approach to life in the city meets psychosis of daily urban traffic, I am riding the underground. Which gets surreal when I have a perfect audition of Pink Martini performing Sympathique, while observing my fellow commuters.
It somehow reminds me of the words of an actor friend who noticed me in similar weather conditions: “You are so not from here!”
What is worse than getting a “Thank you very much”-but-”We regret to inform you that, although we were impressed by your experience and skills, we have decided not to proceed further with your application this time.” email? Getting one that says “We have received your CV, would like to meet with you, but there is no telephone number to contact you”.
And getting it two months after it was sent.
Oh well, I have just read mine and it felt like the desk just parted and the void wanted to suck me in.
This ads a new dimension to self-loathing and that lately almost omni-present feeling of incompetence.
I am swamped.
So I turn in my resignation two months notice and what is the most common reaction I get?! Congratulations! Hello? I am not receiving anymore congratulations unless they are joined by irrefutably irresistible dream job offers. That, or a life long allowance. Like I said.
It was not love. It was COLD.
As the water was dripping down his body and swirling into the drain, he was waking up. Waking up shivering. Waking up and shivering. Not what he intended, the shivering.
And he was realizing yet another difference between communism and capitalism. In capitalism you pay by the meter for what you’re getting. In communism you pay by the meter for how much you’re getting. These were his thoughts at six a.m. while taking his cold shower coming down to him from the hot water pipe. He was still in communism, obviously, he thought. “And also this is what you get for being first”, he issued yet another Simonism before he got sucked into making ready for his imminent trip to his lover.
Let me tell you. I am really considering changing the name of the blog. To “The Complainer”.
Like somebody close told me. “These things happen to everybody. It’s just that you have a way of complaining about them.”
Yes. It has happened again. I am going to complain. The car is scratched! I went to the movie, and when I returned there was this piece of paper in the windshield. Somebody, somebody who carries an agenda, has sacrificed his or hers 25, 26 and 27 October 2008 to update on the happenings of today, 13 July of the same year! While I was probably blissfully unaware and spending in the Levi’s store, or better yet, missing on a few action scenes of the movie, unsuccessfully looking for my keys under my seat of the movie theater, a car scratched mine in the parking lot.
“[license plate number]
The car with this license number has scratched the front of your car.
An anonymous witness”
Yes. It is really signed “an anonymous witness”! I don’t know if I should be thrilled there are still people who benevolently let you know about misfortunes that otherwise would pass us unnoticed, and thus uncelebrated, or worried that if ever I scratch’n'run there’s somebody to tell on me. For all I know the number can be wrong or totally made up. It’s just the care that is really scratched.
So here I go again. Hello police, hello insurance company. Author unknown. Higher bill next year. And the like. Joy to the world. The only vindication is the author unknown himself or herself will have to do pretty much the same.
Further philosophical considerations I won’t bother you with lead me to the conclusion. Savagery is more expensive. But civilization is more complicated. If you don’t have time or if you don’t want to take the time, you pay. Hence time is money.
Remember my coffee-post? Well here is advice from a friend whom I have told the story:
“Finally, my best advise is in general to drink coffee BEFORE handling the mobile. It not only prevents dropping it into coffee, but also minimizes the number of rude calls one makes in the morning. Likewise, it’s best not to use the mobile phone while or after consuming large quantities of alcohol. Again it helps prevent dropping the mobile into your drink (which is not good for your drink) and limits the chance of making a late night, drunk call to someone you might regret.”
This time I have accidentally place the mug on the edge of the tray, which subsequently led to my mobile being drowned in a pool of coffee, milk, and honey.
I won’t possibly be able to change my phone, for financial and mood reasons. Better won’t be sticky. And better all my contacts still work.
I needed an easily digestible movie, after the day’s scorcher. So, there! shampoo and rinse, but don’t repeat. Totally different from my previous choice.
Anyways, half way into the movie, Mr Stinkie seated himself next to me and started scratching and fretting like he had scabies, fleas, or both. I have painfully endured all this, and even his rudimentary attempt to start some sort of conversation. But when he started to touch himself I had to take myself to the other end of the theater. On the way back home, it seemed like the all subway was looking at me as if I was not aware of something really obvious to the rest of them.
One of the somehow most expected birthday presents this year was the expiration of my identity card. Now, call me an enthusiast, but I am looking forward to the thick paper trail laying ahead and to the amount of actual physical effort needed so that the state authorities invest me with a new functional convention: my brand new, perfectly identical document, proving my identity based on domicile (say what? domicile!).
By order of consequence, I am saying, at least for a while, goodbye to my debit/credit existence. Hello cash, again.
That’s because one of the banks, let’s call it the evil one, is freezing my account starting the 31st day after the expiry and until the moment I manage to provide a valid photo ID that includes the residence address. Evil and stupid. We’ll see if banks are at least as stupid when it comes to me paying them back money I owe them. My guess is yes. Cause the last time I did this they asked for my identity card. And that was, of course! at the dull bank
Between these two there is little left, but wait! A third contestant: the we’d-love-to-but-we’re-sorry bank! They first offered me a free of charge card, even sent me the PIN, but now are withholding the activation until said identity card is, you guessed it! issued.
All these while I have not ceased to exist AND I still have other valid photo identity documents, such as the passport and the drivers license.
Welcome to redtape country. Let me show you to your form!
Oh, this one is too easy. First you invite them, then you cancel.
Or you get ill. Preferably something contagious.
Or both at the same time.
More about salmonella here.
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