Archive for September, 2006

douchebag

Monday, September 25th, 2006

so i’ve avoided mentioning the moves pretty well. i realize the stories are shitty to anyone who hasn’t moved someone else’s furniture for money. but today i got called in early and worked 3 moves. first was a cake suburbanite move with no tip. second was odd and ended up riding a trailer around the house with a baby grand strapped to it. annoying because it was an entire rearrange of a house but not really that bad. did the whole damn thing in about and hour and a half. pretty damn good.

third move is where shit hit the fan. and the main reason for this fucking post. i’m not going to refer to him by name even though that fuckwad won’t read this or probably give a shit either way, but douchebag really made the day spectacular. we had been warned. we were prepared. we even talked him up as a fucking asshole before meeting him. he surpassed expectation.

Ax, Gary and i get there and he starts with the walk-through. a few things are in the garage that he doesnt seem to care about and then four dining room chairs that were likely bought a month prior at Hom. the table associated with the chair was apparently very special to the family. a big ass armoire was in the living room that had been scratched by the previous movers. almost a visible scratch too. he kept showing us important items as he went through the house. none of these items were as expensive as he wanted them to look.

the move was absolutely amazing. no damage. incredibly careful. great pack. almost half of the pads used on a third of a truck. WAY overkill. still watched us the whole fucking time like we were tossing the furniture between us or hitting it with hammers on the way out of the house. at this point i’m sort of pissed.

the drive was decent because it was out to woodbury and we hit a little traffic. we milked the hours because douchebag was such a fuck. (a note to all those who want efficient moving: don’t be a fuck) and got there while he was sweeping his front walk. no fucking kidding. just a sign of the shit to come.

he stops us before going in for a pep talk about what’s important to him. first are the wood floors. no shit. like we’re going to stick jagged stones in our shoes and drag the furniture along his kitchen floor. then the carpets that he’s mentioned about a dozen times by now having been cleaned recently. can’t walk on them. can’t put furniture on them. can’t fucking move furniture without being on the fucking carpets.

he’s watching us like a hawk. he’s following us around. he’s a fucking douchebag. there’s treacherous paper at the top of the stairs and all over the fucking house to cover the carpet, or at least the parts not already covered by plastic or blankets. the move goes relatively quickly considering our ridiculous attention to detail and care getting the shit in the house. before realizing the window was open i basically yelled in the truck to Ax if he had a sawed-off with deer pellets to shoot my head off in fuckhead’s living room to tweak his carpet. ooops.

fast-forward to the end of the night. he’s gets the paperwork from Ax and says, no really he says this, “Gary and Ryan i just need to ask before we finish up if you caused or noticed any damage to any furniture or floors or walls.” what a fucking idiot.

then we’re chilling after the truck is solid and he tells us we “were pretty careful” with his furniture and did a great job. holy fuck. if there would have been a way to telekinetically rupture his spleen Chris Simms style i would have right there. then he hands us the MONSTER tip of $20. thanks shithead. i enjoy being tipped, but $100 wouldnt have compensated for his condescension and overall treatment of myself and the other guys.

i’d also like to mention the $10,000 painting from montana that was padded up between a frame of 2X4s and a layer of cardboard because he had to move it onto the truck himself because he couldn’t trust us with something that would have survived a drop off the back off the truck and a 4 mile drag behind it.

where is it written that someone of middle- to upper-middle class has to buy quasi-expensive-one-notch-above-IKEA furniture and protect it like it’s irreplaceable redwood planks strapped together with panda hair and the glue of past Kentucky Derby winners? it’s a move. you’re putting furniture in positions it’s never meant to be in and through corridors that aren’t built for them to fit through. shit’s going to get scratched and walls will get dinged. you must chill! (little Cusack reference for you kids)

stop treating me like a bitch-for-hire just because you’re spending an hourly rate because you’re either too lazy or don’t have enough friends to move the shit yourself. if you have money to pay 3 guys to move your shit from one house to another you have money for sandpaper and a wood pencil to fix a scrape on the bottom of your armoire that will be covered by carpet and seen by NO ONE. or just report the damage within the 4 days we give you. that’s why we are insured. stop being a fucking jackass.

that got long. apologies. but fuck that guy.

oh the good ole days

Sunday, September 24th, 2006

can’t say Clinton was an amazing president because he had a lot of flaws. mainly a bad taste in women. he was president in a time before fear and polarized politics, yet had some foresight to at least put a few things in motion. he was recently called to FOX for an interview and blew up. or at least that’s how it was jazzed up. it seems to play like any other interview with a ‘liberal’ that FOX has ever done. one-sided questioning and slanted viewpoints with interviewers that cut off topics or lead answers away from productive conversation and toward partisan ideals. oddly enough clinton didn’t seem to follow along like anyone on o’reilly. or wallace just doesn’t have the spinning skills bill does.

either way Clinton seems to have to defend himself continuously against neocon insults and alligations. tough spot he’s in.

alternet has a transcript and a video (of the first half) of the interview here. clinton was pretty good on the daily show too if you want to hit comedy central up for the vid.

guess that new leaf is harder to turn over than i thought

Saturday, September 23rd, 2006

lately i’ve realized my life changes were minimal and really it just gives me something to do in the downtime between my pitiful hours and ridiculous drinking. sunday through thursday i drank every night and then went out again last night. i read more and try to keep up with the goings ons around and listen to mpr and such things, but still drink like a fish and spend a shitton of fucking money on eating out. what a waste. that and lately i’ve been chilling with folk that spend any downtime from work drinking. the ones i’ve known forever i have no issue chilling with, but i seem to be meeting new people that do the same and just bring me down. becomes a frustrating situation.

basically what i’m left with is a dry bank account, 4 books, 4 new yorker magazines, and an adbusters chilling unread next to my tv, and complete exhaustion both physical and mental. maybe i have to put more effort into this shit. i hope the rutabagas thing turns into something and i can find a decent starting job in the next few weeks. cross your fingers for me.

awesome vids

Thursday, September 21st, 2006

so i was just looking around the old alternet and saw some bomb vids.

check the list for the two daily show clips and the word form colbert. you can find both of them at comedy central.

gotta keep up with these kids. good shit coming through the wire.

nocturnal oddity

Saturday, September 16th, 2006

so i just woke up from one of my movie dreams. or at least i thought it was a movie dream until the end.

the whole premise was a young woman who was in some sort of halfway house for military personel. the girl is brunette, about five-feet three inches, but no one i know. she gives the impression of having the best intentions without reliable results.

it started out with a shot at her feet walking toward some sort of UFO deal. it’s in black and white, but instead of white it’s a dark forest green. as she walks up to the craft a woman comes out saying something i don’t remember. a man comes down on something that amounts to a motorized pedestrian ramp (very IKEA-esque). he’s stoic and says nothing.

the girl says she’s ready and needs only the night to pack. the woman says she’s not needed yet, but should be ready. jump-cut to girl sitting in a room with her suitcase in the center and three other girls surrounding her. she’s making conversation, but the other girls are taking it with a grain of salt. then one girl gets up to leave and mutters something along the lines of “secret mission this, secret housing that…bullshit, blah, blah.”

fading from black onto the original girl again, walking down a hallway holding the bag as other rooms are filled with activity. seems as though other girls have been called up to something because they’re all packing, but our girl isn’t a part of it. she hasn’t been called up to anything and is spouting off about some sort of secret mission to make herself feel better. she meets another group of girls in some sort of furnished room with a walk-out basement.

it switches then to first person where i’m sitting in a recliner in the corner. i get up and ask the girls if they want any, even though i don’t remember what it was i was getting for them. i walk outside and around the front of this house-ish place. i pick something up off the lawn and head back to the basement where i hand it (looks like soda cans) to two of the girls. then i head back out again.

cut to black. a shot of my feet, in socks, running along the concrete path that’s wet from rain and covered in fresh-cut glass clippings. quick pan up with a reverberating sound of spinning tires. light blue taurus (drewski’s by the look of the broken windshield) speeding along the lawn with 3 kids inside. the driver’s passing something to the passenger in the back-middle. the car skids in the wet grass and squeals as one tire catches concrete. the driver sees me, brakes, swerves, but too late.

i take a small hop and land on the hood, sliding into the windshield. it cracks and bows, but doesn’t break. jump-cut to shot from about ten feet out showing me in the fetal position on top of the hood. the driver’s-side door is open. the radio’s on even though i don’t know what’s playing. i’m wearing a faded brown robe, gym shorts, and my vans sneakers. the camera pulls back as we fade to black.

i wake up mid-gasp and try to catch my breath. then i lay awake for another ten minutes wondering why i got hit and not the delusional bitch who thought she was going on some secret operation. she wasn’t skilled enough for active duty, but they’re going to let her into some secret business. my ass. then i get up and figure i’ll share this shit with you.

oh, and my throat feels like someone face-fucked me with a sandpaper dildo while i slept. so i got that going for me. which is nice.

another reference to 9/11…

Tuesday, September 12th, 2006

… except this one actually has some substance to it. Mostly because it’s not associated with a desperate plea to ignorant flag-wavers to drive up support for an unnecessary war or corrupt candidate.

This guy is sort of growing on me.