Beep Beep Zoom
Nice day today. Took out the 'ol ’72 Charger. Put me in mind of the other night when I was taking pics at the Tariq Khan show.
Picture, if you will, a dark and cold night. The music was hot, but the ambient temperature outside chilly and dropping. I was car-less, and the subway was shut down. Night buses would have taken me more than an hour to get home. So, here I am, out of the goodness of my shrivelled heart, taking snapshots for the band, and why not? I’m a good Samaritan. I’ve passed coin to the begging poor, and given reason for hope to many a young, wayward lass...
So, here I am, burdened with equipment, looking for some charity to make its way to me in the way of a lift. That’s the way karma works, right? Because I’ve given lifts so often, my middle name should be ‘Otis’. Was I ever wrong. There must be something way amiss in the karmic heavens, because I’ve never had to sift through so much eye-rollingly obvious horseshit in my lifetime. The band, understandably, are car-less. They’re artists, for Pete’s sake, they’re lucky to own pants. It’s the supporting staff... they’re acting like their cars can only drive in one direction or something. Ten minutes is going to kill them?
“uh, sorry man, I, uh, left a roast in the um, oven and... (trails off and skulks away.)
“shit, I’d love to give you a lift, but I plan on, er, giving, uh, birth, on the way... home...”
“I live too far from you. Huh? Three blocks? That’s too far.”
“I’m... sleeping in my car tonight. Yeah, just outside, here. I plan on vomiting the whole time.”
“I can’t. my car is filled with bees.”
Ah, bullshit. This town is fucking tiny and they’re acting like I want a lift to Alaska. Now, I will still give a lift to my friends, because I’m not a GREEDY CAR DRIVER, but I want those who have cars to realize what assholes they are being when they won’t carpool and give a person a lift. One day, karma is gonna visit you, my insolent little friends, ring your bell, pelt you in the nuts with a well-aimed kick and run off sniggering. You’ll be laying prone in a fetal position, with one nut leaking your vital fluid into your soiled trousers and in need of assistance.
...and I’ll probably still give you a lift to the hospital, though I shouldn’t. but don’t expect me to slow down when I push you out of the car in front of the hospital.
End of transmission (and not just the one in my Civic).
Picture, if you will, a dark and cold night. The music was hot, but the ambient temperature outside chilly and dropping. I was car-less, and the subway was shut down. Night buses would have taken me more than an hour to get home. So, here I am, out of the goodness of my shrivelled heart, taking snapshots for the band, and why not? I’m a good Samaritan. I’ve passed coin to the begging poor, and given reason for hope to many a young, wayward lass...
So, here I am, burdened with equipment, looking for some charity to make its way to me in the way of a lift. That’s the way karma works, right? Because I’ve given lifts so often, my middle name should be ‘Otis’. Was I ever wrong. There must be something way amiss in the karmic heavens, because I’ve never had to sift through so much eye-rollingly obvious horseshit in my lifetime. The band, understandably, are car-less. They’re artists, for Pete’s sake, they’re lucky to own pants. It’s the supporting staff... they’re acting like their cars can only drive in one direction or something. Ten minutes is going to kill them?
“uh, sorry man, I, uh, left a roast in the um, oven and... (trails off and skulks away.)
“shit, I’d love to give you a lift, but I plan on, er, giving, uh, birth, on the way... home...”
“I live too far from you. Huh? Three blocks? That’s too far.”
“I’m... sleeping in my car tonight. Yeah, just outside, here. I plan on vomiting the whole time.”
“I can’t. my car is filled with bees.”
Ah, bullshit. This town is fucking tiny and they’re acting like I want a lift to Alaska. Now, I will still give a lift to my friends, because I’m not a GREEDY CAR DRIVER, but I want those who have cars to realize what assholes they are being when they won’t carpool and give a person a lift. One day, karma is gonna visit you, my insolent little friends, ring your bell, pelt you in the nuts with a well-aimed kick and run off sniggering. You’ll be laying prone in a fetal position, with one nut leaking your vital fluid into your soiled trousers and in need of assistance.
...and I’ll probably still give you a lift to the hospital, though I shouldn’t. but don’t expect me to slow down when I push you out of the car in front of the hospital.
End of transmission (and not just the one in my Civic).
posted by Blog Monkey at 1:13 p.m.
1 Comments:
It sucks that some people don't think of others, or simply don't care. Next time I am in town, I'll share my bus pass with you.
Hugs,
~Ange
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