I feel I need to address an issue that needs to come to light. I feel that what I will discuss may upset some people but I am okay with that. Words hurt. Sometimes it’s important to lash out and finally express yourself about what is eating you up inside. So, if you are a driver on 152 highway or if you have ever driven on said highway, this letter is to you. I should note something. While I too am a driver on this stretch of highway in the state of Misery, I am not included in anything I mention below. Thank you.
This is the conclusion to my misadventures of getting my tags for my car. I wasn’t planning on this being a two-part entry but the first part of the story ended up being a lot longer than I had originally planned. Go back and read the first part. I went for an oil change and ended up spending over 300 dollars on my car. Pretty expensive oil change. This will be the last part. There is no need for a third. I promise. I will not stretch this out longer. The second day wasn’t as long as the first but it is still enough to talk about. Enough of me rambling. Let’s get to the story and finally let me get the tags to my car. I am determined to be that law-abiding citizen I’ve been craving so much.
When I left NTB, I was still needing my property tax records. I went to print them off but my printer was giving me some issues. I really dislike my printer. I should get a new one but really, who prints crap off anymore? Without the possibly of getting them printed off, I decided to stay home for the night and with the use of my store’s printer and internet, I’ll just access it from there. I really don’t want to head to the annex building to get the two forms I need. I don’t like it in there. It’s not as bad as them DMV but those ladies and usually that one guy are not very pleasant and would rather be somewhere else than at work.
I am not an athlete. I am far from the talented people you see on television or in stadiums across America. I played little league baseball when I was younger but that’s about. Not sure why I had to make it a point that I was ‘younger’ when I played little league baseball. Be weird if I was to play now at my age. Frowned upon and a little creepy too.
I know about sports. Enough to hold a conversation? No, probably not. I can’t tell you much about baseball, football, basketball or any other sport. I like sports. I’d go to the stadium to watch a game or I’ll go to the park for a rousing game of Turkey Bowl but to sit and watch the people on television? I can’t do it. I just can’t. Continue reading
I was sitting on my porch earlier. I was minding my own business when this car came out of no where! I freaked out but before doing so, I took out my phone to capture something pretty amazing. I wasn’t hurt but you know, it could’ve been worse.
My driver’s license was to expire next month. It was time for me to renew it. After getting all the needed ID’s credentials, I made my way to the license bureau. I was told when I went in the entire states license system was down. Not just the office I went to. Every office in the entire state. What the eff happened? I was told the system would be up the next day. I was worried that it was going to take weeks. I mean we already stand in line there for hours, why wouldn’t they take their sweet ace time on fixing this error? I work banker hours (sorta). I am normally at work till 4ish. I would have no time to get the crap I needed done. I would miss my chance and would probably be driving on an expired license. I am cool with breaking the rules of the road.
If the system was up that day and I was able to get it done that day, I wouldn’t be burdened with an embarrassing license photo for the next 6 years. I left the bureau pissed off. I arrived home and took a little nap. I had a long night ahead of me. A long night of drinking and partying. A friend at work celebrated his birthday in style. He rented a party bus! That was my first (and will probably be the last) time on a party bus. The ride was interesting. A stripper pole with no stripper. I was grinded on by a man and a woman. If I only had a few bucks to pay them for their services. Alcohol makes you do stupid things. Alcohol, more alcohol, and a complete lack of common sense and good morals.
We arrived at our destination. The first thing the guys did was head straight to the restroom. I know. I know. I used it. But I’ll use it if it’s a dire emergency. Tonight was. I was ready to explode. I stood in line. I was greeted by another person on the bus. I am terrible with names. I really am. I remember 4 names from that night. Everyone else, sorry about that. I am not saying you’re unimportant. Your names just go in one ear and out the other. Just cause my ears are larger than life doesn’t make the recollection process any simpler. I gave the guy a fist bump. I already shook someone’s hand that morning. I think I said, “Sorry. I don’t shake hands.” about 20 times that night. I mean these folks stretch out their arms, ready for me to do the same. I fist bump. I don’t shake hands. I don’t high five. I am asked if I have what Howie Mandel has. I don’t. Or at least I don’t think I do. I just think shaking hands is disgusting. Plain and simple. Moving on…
So I am standing in line. I am like a stewardess on an airplane. I am waving folks in. A guy looks at me. I look at him. I wish he would have finished buttoning his shirt before he left his house.
Excuse me, sir. Would you please tuck that rug on your chest back into your shirt? Don’t forget to button up. You don’t what that thing getting out again. Thanks.
The stalls are full. The urinals are come and go. You know those time lapse videos people make? Everything is moving is ultra speed. That’s how it was with these urinals. Piss. Zip. Leave. A few of these barflies did wash their hands. A majority of them didn’t. (now do you understand why I hate shaking hands?)
Guy: Your’re up.
Me: You go. Can’t use urinals.
Another Guy: Why?
Me: I can’t. It’s a phobia.
Another Guy: Like that Deal or no Deal guy?
Thankfully a stall opened up and I dodged the germ question. I couldn’t complete my public restroom routine. The bathroom attendant wouldn’t spare a square. He had no squares to spare.
When I use a public restroom, I follow a strict routine. After I relieve myself, I head to the sinks.
1. I will grab a paper towel to turn the water on.
2. I will then use a paper towel to dispense the soap.
3. I’ll wash my hands (vigorously).
4. I grab another paper towel to turn off the sink.
5. I dispose of that towel.
6. I grab another sheet to dry my hands.
7. Now depending on the type of door, I have two options. I will use another paper towel to open the door and catch the door with my foot to keep it open. Or I will kick the door open if it’s a push door.
But this guy wouldn’t give me any more than one square. It wasn’t at this bar but at another bar I went to later that night, brought horror to my eyes. A toilet seat is a pretty big hole. I am not sure how someone can miss that. How bad is their aim? I will not take the “He’s probably drunk” excuse. I’ve been a drunken fool (click to watch video) and I always make it in the bowl. So while I am letting nature call, the guy in the stall next to me decides it’s best to just piss all over the floor. Honestly. He wasn’t even trying. He basically told the bowl to eff off. Maybe he recently read the same article I did about sitting on a toilet compared to squatting. Or maybe he has uromysitisis. I am standing there watching this stream of urine creep under the stall. It’s getting closer to my feet. Come on, people! I just told you a guy pissed on the floor all willy-nilly like. You have got to see my reasoning to my germ issue. Not to mention, my hatred for public restrooms. As a gentleman I use to work with would always say,
It’s better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Word, Charles. Word. Besides the two pee parties at the bars, it was an enjoyable night. It was getting closer to 2am. That was the time the bus was leaving. I wasn’t aware of the time. I was too busy having fun and drinking it up. We arrived at a bar that has a mechanical bull patrons can ride. Captain Planet and I decided we were going to be men and tackle the metal beast with brute force. You have to sign a waiver. I guess people get hurt on it. I was cocky. I wasn’t going to fall off. I straddled the beast. I was ready to ride! It started to move. This was my first time on one of these things. It started out slow. Okay, this is easy. I can do this all night. How on earth do people fall off this?
Not shortly after that thought crossed my mind, it sped up. Faster, faster, faster…
I lose my grip and tumble off. I put my hand to my head. Oh, it feels wet. I look at my hand. Oh, look. Blood. I touch my head again. More blood. Crap. I’m bleeding. I am the reason they have people sign waivers. Captain Planet and I head to the dude running the bull. I ask for a rag. The dude looks at me with a confused look on his face. He tosses his hands in the air like he didn’t know what to do. Just give me a damn rag so I can clean myself up. I went in the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I applied a band-aid and was good as new. It’s not a bad cut. I don’t need stitches. I’ll keep the band-aid just to cover up the open wound. I work with food. Can’t have open wounds around food I cook for people.
The bus ride back seem much quicker than the ride there. We got back to the apartment and everyone crashed. A very exciting night. Hanging with friends, drinking, and just acting stupid. Haven’t done that in a while. I woke up the next morning and headed back home. It was just after 9am so I still had some time to make it to the license bureau to get my license renewed. I take the eye test. I guess my right eye is bad. The man said I couldn’t make out anything and I was just making up stuff. Upsets me. Everyone in my family has or had glasses/contacts at one point in their life. Some still wear them. I lucked out being the only one with not wearing them. I guess 30 years without any issues is good enough for me. I’ll try to make an appointment to see an eye doctor to see if I need *gulp* glasses. And, yes. I’ll get glasses. Contacts look like a lot of work to put in and take out.
I paid the 20 dollar fee and Mr. DeMille was ready to take my close up. I asked if I should remove the band-aid from my brow. He told me no. That it wouldn’t be a problem. So the picture was taken. There I am. A stern look on my face and a band-aid over my left eye. That’s a effin’ classic picture. Really. I mean if I get pulled over by the police wouldn’t my picture need to match me? I know people dye their hair or maybe get glasses but I have a band-aid over my eye.
So for the next 6 years, I will have a photo to always remind me of the night at the club. I’ll be reminded that I can not ride a bull. I am going to have to explain to people why I had the bandage above my eye. I could lie and make up a story.* This was an awful long explanation of me getting my license renewed. If only the states system wasn’t down on Friday, I wouldn’t be stuck with a photo like this.
*If you would like to give me some ideas for a good battle scar story, drop a comment below. I’ll use them all.