Saturday, July 19, 2008


Not much motivation today to say anything profound. That reminds me.

I watched the edited-for-TV version of one of those Resident Evil movies on the Sci-Fi channel a few days ago. You know, I get a real kick out of watching R-rated movies that have been edited for TV. The Die Hard movies are especially hilarious. I noticed they were showing Blue Velvet on the Chiller channel this past week; I can't imagine how they edited it ("Here's to forks, Frank!"). Okay, maybe I can imagine it a little. Anyway, in the Resident Evil movie the word of the day was "motivate." As in, "You motivators better get your motivatin' guns outta my face!" Oh man, it cracked me up. The first time it happened I had to rewind a few seconds and play it again just to make sure I heard it right.

Today I worked a volunteer Saturday. There's this really sleazy-looking run-down apartment, two apartments actually, but one is either vacant or without water, there's only one meter there now anyway. It's on Castroville Road just down from the intersection with General McMullen. As I was reading the meter, I heard someone shout, "What, or should I say who, the hell are you?!" I snapped back with "What?" I couldn't believe what I had just heard. "I SAID, WHAT, OR SHOULD I SAY WHO, THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

So I told him. I don't think my tone of voice was especially polite, but my immediate reaction was that this was a goon who really should be beaten to a bloody pulp. So you know when someone is acting tough and they get a legitimate answer for which they have no reply, so they glare at you really hard to make you think you're about to get your ass kicked? That's what he did. I guess my wearing a work uniform and ID badge and carrying a meter hook and a handheld computer wasn't good enough for him.

So I laughed. I laughed as I walked away, glanced back once to see him still glaring, and laughed again. The goon kept staring at me as I crossed the street and got a drink of Gatorade, and kept watching me until I was out of sight on the next street.

I finished up right across the street from him, and he came out and stared at me again as I loaded up my stuff in my pickup. Then I sat there and carefully packed my pipe. He could see me doing something in my lap as I sat in my truck, which I'm sure drove him even crazier. I grinned at him around my pipe as I drove away.

We have an instruction code that we can put in the handheld that says "CUSTOMER IS IRATE." Today was yet another time when I wished we had a code that says, "CUSTOMER IS A TOTAL SH*THEAD."

Otherwise, a good day though. About 3 1/4 hours of actual work for 8 hours of overtime. And I only had to fight two loose street dogs, which is pretty good for that part of town. Then I zipped up to a tire shop a couple blocks up General McMullen to get a tire patched. Their service was great, even for a little tire shop. One of their guys was at my truck almost before I had stopped. I don't remember the name of the place, but it's the only tire shop I know of in that stretch of the road, between Castroville and Commerce. I recommend it if you ever have a flat in that neck of the woods.


  1. Was the tire shop painted yellow?

  2. I used that tireshop before I think it was called CD or once was.

    I can't imagine what that dude's problem was. Glad you raised his blood pressure.

  3. Yes, Dave, that's the one.