Ok.....so I had an exceptionally rough day today. One of those days where you obviously have pissed someone off in the universe because you are just going to eat shit from the moment you get up until the moment you go face down in defeat. The good news for all you RWT fans is that you now get to hear about it. Front and center....as if you were there. Its the power of the internet folks...and my still shaking hands typing in anger.
And yes, I'm about to go there. In fact, I'm about to go a lot of places, so I am going to caveat all this by saying to all of you, don't start that "Paul's a racist...he's making fun of minorities and religion and race and blah blah blah." Here's the problem with the fucking world today...no one laughs enough. Everyone is so goddamn bunged up about saying something they shouldn't, they've forgotten about how funny all the stuff we shouldn't say actually is. Those of you who know me know I'm not racist. Those of you who don't know me....well you don't know me....but welcome to the party. I am an equal opportunity antagonist and realist. I don't give a flying leap whether you're white, black, asian, mexican, gay, one-legged, one-eyed, one-balled.....I SIMPLY DON'T CARE. If you bring "the stupid" into this word, specifically my world, I am going to drop the hammer on you without hesitation. Because here's the deal...people find this shit funny. They may not want their pastor, their priest, their womens groups, their bosses or their neighbors knowing they do...but they do. Because most of the time, its their pastor, priest, their womans group, their boss, or their neighbor that bitch about the things I say, but actually read my blogs. (Hey clicks don't lie. You know you who are.)
Anyway, enough....lets get into my day, which ironically actually started last night. I decided after a very relaxing and perfect day of pool and being lazy, that I would get some sushi. Now knowing how things go, I should have been well-aware that enjoying a full-day of relaxation and time to myself (for the majority of the day anyway) meant I was going to have to pay for it somewhere along the line. And thats when the universe decided I had had enough.
Anyway, I get in my car to go get my sushi, which to thank the asian gods that bring us XXX food, is literally three blocks from my house. Great place....great sushi...owner thinks he is .....and dresses like..... Elvis because he's that bat-shit crazy. Anyway I get there, which is a mistake on a Sunday because it looks like the Irvine Costco on a Saturday at 1pm.
Which is actually stellar because if you see any white folk in a sushi place and they outnumber the asian folk, at some point you're going to be sitting on the can somewhere wiping your ankles and your ass at the same time. Bad food. Bad choice. Bad White Boy.
Anyway, I figure I have a wait....so I noticed that on the way over, I was almost out of gas. Like critically low, with my BMW saying I had 9 miles left to my tank. So I figure, hell, kill two birds with one stone. I shoot over to Shell while I'm waiting for my food and I cannot get my card to read in the machine. Swipe. Nothing. Swipe, Error. Swipe, Try again. Its not working and I'm too hungry to care. Afterall, I have other cards right? No worries right?
Turns out every single credit card in my wallet, which includes two actual credit cards, two debit cards (one personal and one business) and my corporate card for Balboa....all of them...have somehow been de-magnetized. No strips are readable. Either from being placed near something, or somehow being too close to each other. I can't get any of them to work and I'm freaking out. So I quickly drive back over to the restaurant to pay for my meal and thank god Elvis is able to run it manually, because sure as shit, none of the fucking strips work. Ok, first crisis averted.....but now I have a gas issue. I have to get home and then in the morning get gas. No problem. I'll just have them run it manually and then head to the bank and get my replacement cards. Should be fine. I'll tackle it in the morning, why ruin my day.
So suddenly BAM its 6am and I am off to the races. Shower, dress and in the car. My trustee steed says 2.25 miles left. So I head over to my trusted gas station to fill up and have them run my card.
And here my friends is where the fun starts.
And let me caveat this again, because I swear to christ, its not the person, its the principle. We're in the US. Anyone in customer service should be required by law to fluently speak the language. Fluently....not like the guy from Green Card.....but fluently.
So Hector ( I shit you not) has no idea what I am saying or doing to try and get him to understand that the strip on my card is not working and I would like to have him run it manually. This goes on for almost 10 minutes. There are lots of "no's" "okays" and head nodding, but the connection is obviously experiencing some challenges when it hits the synapse, because he's fucking clueless. So what do I do in a situation like that? I get creative.....
It became glaringly obvious to me that there is a really good reason why my art is not hanging in the Met. Number one, because I'm not dead. And number two because apparently my artistic ability does not translate to foreign cultures. In any event gas station one was a no-go. On to station two....and the BMW is now telling me I'm at 1.75 miles.
So station two and three give me the same response. Through broken english and a growingly irritated Pablo, I am now almost out of gas and because they either don't comprende' or because they simply don't have the time to run my card manually to "help a brother out." At one point in the third stop I battled with the gentleman named Victor over him wrapping my card in a plastic bag and insisting that "no....no....this work sir. This always work." Strike three Victor, but thanks for playing. And thank you even more for playing tug of war with a Ralphs produce bag in front of a line of customers to ultimately say " You need new card sir".
Really? I need new card? Yes, and Tarzan need Jane. Fucking really?
Either way I now have one more option in the 2 mile radius of gas stations to fix my problem before I have to eject and figure out plan B......and this is how stop number four goes. (For reference this would be the Shell station on Avery and the 5):
I walk in and am greeted by Juana....a beautiful latino girl with a smile that made me feel for a brief second that all hope wasn't lost. And I reveled in that moment until this occured.
"Can you run a credit card manually?"
"No....no run."
(Oh christ, here we go)
"Do you mean you can't? or you don't know how?"
"No. No run."
"Yes I got that. But I'm in a bind....can you please try?"
"No....its no policy"
Really? Its no policy that you aren't going to accept payment on a 75.00 dollar transaction at your gas station? That you're owner, Mustaffa Ahkmed IfuckYouforPricing Musallah....who by the way has jacked prices up so high he's making 2.10 on every transaction in fees, wouldn't want you to try and make this happen? And if I complain there is going to be Gihad released on me if I complain? Yeah, not buying it Juana....but thanks for making my "fuck my life" morning perfect.
So now I'm officially fucked. And I decide that I am going to have to pull my car over to the strip mall across the street because I no longer have enough gas to get home and I would rather walk than end up with my car stalling on the side of the road and pushing it. So I park and now.....in a dress shirt, jeans, tie, sportcoat and dress shoes....have to walk from Avery and the 5 to Ortega Highway and the Wells Fargo bank, which for those of you not in the know....is about 6 miles.
Have you ever walked 6 miles in jeans? When its 86? by the time I got to the bank, I was drenched, smelled, looked like I just came out of a steam bath and by the way, was chaffed from the inside of my thighs, all the way to my neck. I should have just cashed in what remaining money I did have on a new scrotum and balls because they had been worn away during the course of the journey like the grand canyon has over the course of a million years.
(my thighs)
So anyway, I get to the bank....I look like Will Marshall from Land of the Lost.....and walk up to the girl at the desk and I tell her that I have two accounts with Wells Fargo, that my cards have become de-magnetized...that the strips won't read....swiping doesn't work......and that I need both two new cards ordered, as well as temporary cards. "Bethany"....spelled "Bethanie" (with a smiley face over the "i" which I later saw on my receipt, and who seems to be from some foreign decent....says to me in a heavy accent....
wait for it.....
"Can you swipe card?"
I literally lost my shit. And for those of you always telling me "oh you have a short fuse....it must be you....this stuff can't possibly happen"........yeah well you all can suck it. Because it just got worse and worse and worse.
So after 45 minutes of trying to get them to find my account because I didn't have my account numbers memorized....they tracked down my accounts, got me my cards....I finally got a lift back to my car from the fantastic roomate I rent a room from...and got to work at 11. Only to have my boss give me shit about being late, even though I'm a goddamn consultant.
So there you have it kids. Rule number one....which was established by my father Dennis Schmidt when I was 15...."Technology is the root of all evil. Carry Cash." Rule two....learn Spanish, Arabic and / or claim you are a Gihadist (primarily because you may get faster service) and always, always carry baby powder in your car.
I shit you not. That stuff is gold.
I managed to take some cash out at the end of this little journey. I bought 75 dollars worth of gas, and an 18 dollar bottle of Gentlemen Jack, which I am enjoying as I type.
I will never doubt you again father.
That is all. Until next time kids......I'm going to go enjoy my stroke.
Cheers.
PS
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