It's come to this-- My Saturday
After taking it easy Friday night, and watching "Sex Drive" with my friends, I was ready for a big Saturday. While the movie was far funnier than we expected and had some great one liners, visual gags, and cameos, my Saturday took an immediate turn for the worse.
I woke up, got out of bed feeling great, and promptly threw out my back. How did I do this? Oh, it was while I was completing the incredibly active task of LOOKING DOWN. Yep. Lookin' down. Try it now-- if you can look back up to keep reading, you bested me. Much like how I threw out my entire back in December while DRYING OFF MY HAIR, I managed to render the upper half of my back and neck useless by looking down at my goddamn keyboard. I considered the fact that I might be similar to Benjamin Button: I LOOK young, but I actually have the immune system and body integrity of a 90 year old man. Following this logic, I should be looking forward to when I'm 90 and have the immune system and bodily virility of a 26 year old-- which means having more retirement home STDs than vitamins I am currently taking. But as Titan AE pointed out, "Great. Then you'll be old, healthy, and alone-- because everyone you know will be dead." Maybe then I'll finally have some time to lay back and watch The Wire.
The upside of this injury, of course, was that I knew I'd be able to do a kickass robot impression the rest of the weekend as my head, neck, and shoulders were a team now and only capable of moving in unison. I thought maybe I'd go down to a park and do some street performing for quick cash, but I was all out of silver paint and even if I had some, I'm still not ready to be the guy who "Died from asphyxiation while pretending to be a robot in the park." The downside of the injury was that MY ENTIRE WEEKEND WAS RUINED.
While my fun might have slipped the proverbial spinal disc, Saturday was meant to be a day to get things done, and I'd be damned if I was going to let Looking Down ruin my ability to check off "Deposit Check" and "Go to Dry Cleaners" from my to do list. So, doing my best Christopher Reeves impression, I slid into my car and drove to the bank. It only took me a minute to realize that switching lanes was going to be a problem as I couldn't turn to see the other lanes or the mirrors very well, so I decided to let fate dictate my day some more and just drive like old people or most asian women (This isn't racist. While I don't think that all asian women are bad drivers, more often than not, when I encounter an oblivious driver, it turns out to be an asian woman. The more this happens, the less surprised I am) and switch lanes whenever I felt like without checking to see if a car was already there. I can only assume people were honking at me to alert me of my success as I switched between lanes and eventually parked at the bank.
The Bank is not an interesting part of this story other than the fact that I was an unshowered, unshaven, poofy haired, paralysis impersonating robot AND STILL wasn't the most homeless looking person in the bank (95% chance there was an actual homeless person). I got a double take from the teller who probably assumed my check was fake, but banks aren't exactly in a position to be turning away money, so I was set. The check was, in fact, the "found money" check that was excrutiatingly frustrating to acquire. No part was more painful or amusing, than the hold music for the CT Unclaimed Property Division. Instead of your typical upbeat or classical music, they have the most depressing music I have ever heard. It is essentially sad guitar or piano with a guy woefully telling you his problems in more of a list format than a narrative. "She's gone forever. I'm all alone. I can't afford rent. My dog died. I can't sleep. And also I'm feeling sick. I wrecked my car," and so on. It feels like an overwhelmingly last ditch effort to get whoever is on hold ot kill themselves so they don't ever claim their property and the state can hang onto it.
My next stop was the Dry Cleaner. I'd never been to the Dry Cleaner before to drop off my own clothes, but after depositing my check, I felt cocky and determined to make other people do things that I didn't want to do. I dropped off some shirts and some pants that I haven't worn in months because they were "dry clean only" ("These pants are dry-clean only, which means...they're dirty!" -Mitch Hedberg). The girl asked me when I wanted them ready, which I thought was odd, and so I told her, "Well, as soon as possible, I suppose..." to which she replied, "We typically take 3-4 days," to which I replied, "Ok then," to which she bafflingly added, "Unless you need them sooner, in which case we can put a rush on them for you," to which I had to ask, "How much is that?" to which she had to reply honestly, "The same price."
..........
..........
THEN I WANT THE CLOTHES IMMEDIATELY. Of course I do! Each and every time. I promise that I will always want my clothes as quickly as possible for the price that I am paying. I'm never gonna say, "You know what, fuck it, why don't you hang on to these for a while so you can potentially lose them and they can be useless to me."
CUT TO POTENTIALLY RELEVANT CONVERSATION LAST NIGHT:
Jeremy: How'd you throw out your back?
Witz: Looking down.
Jeremy: Ah. Are you really stressed?
Witz: Not really.
CUT BACK TO DRY CLEANER:
Girl: (knowing full well I have no idea) Would you like your shirts starched?
Witz: (feeling like I was 7 and a friend asked if I'd seen a movie I hadn't, but didn't want to sound stupid) A little.
Girl: A little?
Witz: Yeah, some places...use too much (basing this assumption on the logic that because my mom used to say to me, "You shouldn't eat too much starch," then you shouldn't over-starch your shirts.)
Girl: That's true, some people like them so they stand on their own.
Witz: (exhale). Whew.
These are the reasons why looking down causes me problems.
My last menial task of the day was to vaccuum out my car. My roommate had recently bought a mini-vac to use on her car, so I went to use it. It's badass because it's called THE SHARK! and much like a shark, it's POWERFUL and is mostly concerned with CLEANING THINGS. As it turns out, sharks aren't vaccuums for a reason. While I kneeled on the ground, extending my ruined back out across the seats, I watched as the "head" of the shark (hammer head shark I guess) failed again and again to pick up any crumbs, sand, or leaves that had accumulated in my car (I have no idea how these are the things that accumulate. I mean, sure, there was that brief stint in the Fall when I was picking up children from playgrounds and feeding them cookies to shut them up, but on advice of counsel, I've had my car cleaned since then).
At different points in life, we realize that we are stuck-- either physically or metaphorically. As I lay there across my seat, kneeling on the pavement, unable to raise my upper body, while gripping The Shark vaccuum in one hand and a bag of trash in the other, I realized I was both. Stuck with dealing with the stress (or DOESN'T Picks, if you will) of the world, and physically stuck in the "station wagon fluffer" position. After a few minutes of wondering how I ended up at that point in my life, I crawled my way out of the car and went back inside to enjoy the weekend.
Somewhere In the World A Bubble Is Missing Its Boy,
Witz
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