Wednesday, August 23, 2006

The Pleasure of Public Smoking

I often enjoy sauntering down the road smoking a fag. I expect y’all in London don’t saunter overmuch but we Texans are definitely disposed to sauntering, especially when the temperature hits triple digits. It’s the last frontier of freedom for smokers, the one place we can still enjoy a smoke without being legislated into oblivion. Damn, I’m probably tempting the fates by even writing this.

What I loathe is the number of people who, when they see me smoking, come up and ask for a cigarette. People, I do not work to pay for your fags and no, there isn’t such a thing as a spare fag; only the next fag, which I will be smoking myself thank you.

So there I was Sunday evening sitting on a bench at the bus stop enjoying a smoke when a car pulls up to the stop light and someone shouts at me. No, they weren’t in the lane next to the pavement; they were in the middle lane. What did they shout, you ask? Here’s the script.

Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me: What?
Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me, holding up my freshly lit fag: Why yes I do, thank you.

Words were mumbled from the car, no doubt casting aspersions on my character and lineage but I just smiled and puffed away.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

At Her Majesty's Request

The lovely Alice sent me an email from my blog asking for an up date. Perhaps when you read this, you’ll know why I haven’t been in the mood for writing. Hey, life goes up and down.

It all started last Tuesday night. One of the lads who works with me was giving me a lift home and suggested we stop for a drink. Just the one, is it possible to have one drink? I can’t remember ever having just the one even when my resolve was as concrete as the block a hit man would carefully affix to the leg of the poor sod he was sending to sleep with the fishes.

Of course I awoke on Wednesday morning hung over and totally enervated. In an effort to work off the double whammy inflicted by too much drink, I dragged my sorry arse over to the pool for a, I hoped, restorative swim. But noooooooooooo, the pool was filthy, no swimming for me. Unfortunately I had to be at work early as I had people to interview so I rushed off to the bus stop, 100+ degrees, with minutes to spare to get the bus. I arrived at said bus stop and sheltered under a tree seeking what little shade it offered and found some solace in that I only had perhaps one minute to wait before I could get on the, thankfully, air conditioned bus. But noooooooooooo, I stood there for a half an hour waiting for a bus that never arrived. I managed to get to work, deal with all of that shite and then I get a telephone call from Evan, the Operations Manager for the company, saying he was going to stop by to drop off some supplies for me. He arrives about 10 minutes before my troops are due and drops the bomb. The campaign he was managing was finishing on Sunday and he was taking over my campaign. So as of last night, Monday, I’m back on the telephones (actually this may not be horrible, other than the brain dead aspect of the job, as there is an opportunity for me to work less hours and make more money). Meanwhile back to the day from hell… I get home and am just starting to relax when I see a giant flying roach on the wall above my bed. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, not only do we have these huge motherfucking bugs here, but they fucking have bloody wings and are almost indestructible. One of those suckers can land on its back and lie there for weeks and still be alive when it’s turned over. So I grab the fly swatter and bat the little bastard who falls on my bed, not good at all at all. I hit him again and knock him on to the floor where he disappears. I did a CSI investigation, got out the flashlight and checked everyplace I could get to. But noooooooooooo, he was nowhere to be found. There endeth my day from hell.

The good news is that I was still awake late into the night and at 1:00am, I heard a rustling and tracked that little (excuse me, fecking huge) bugger down. I cornered him and then moved heaven and earth (okay furniture) and chopped him into pieces. So Thursday started a bit better.

Then came Friday, I had drinks and dinner with Sarah and Auggie, always a nice thing to do; only this time it was our last. They were off to Auggie’s cousin’s wedding in the Carolinas and then back to San Francisco early the next morning. Yes, it was sad, yes, I cried a bit. Damn I’m getting tired of saying goodbye to Sarah, at least this time she’s not so far away and we can talk on the telephone regularly.

Possible good news, I hired a lovely young bloke who is a poet and he’s arranging a gig for me, it will be my first for a year.

Meanwhile the heat continues to hit triple digits and my electric bill is climbing along with the temperature.

There you go, young Alice, thanks for reminding me I needed to write something new for the blog.