soap opera

Many things need be said here­with.

i was a set p.a. for only two days. they were rather unevent­ful days at that, and most­ly con­sist­ed of me run­ning errands for peo­ple less com­pe­tent at their jobs than me at mine. [i sup­pose that isn’t say­ing much, because a semi-house­bro­ken colobus could be a p.a.] then again, the pro­duc­er told my sur­ro­gate fam­i­ly here [the art depart­ment] that i made all the oth­er p.a.s look like halfwits. every­body involved in this gig that can actu­al­ly do their job well thinks i’m great. they say i work hard and can actu­al­ly think. i’m hap­py with this praise, and i hope i can live up to it.

now i have moved up a brack­et, i’m actu­al­ly get­ting paid 350 a week and i’m dri­ving the art truck since the [rumored] coke-head that drove it quit after los­ing his wal­let and pet­ty cash [the same wal­let includ­ing the pet­ty cash was lat­er found at Floyd Ben­nett Field but poor Mr. Ex-Art Truck Dri­ving Guy has burnt too many bridges.] The vehi­cle i inher­it­ed from this per­son was even less reli­able than his snif­fles. it bare­ly made it across brook­lyn to the prod. offices and even less bare­ly made it back to FBF the next day. we stopped and noticed a trail of trans­mis­sion flu­id in our wake and a steam­ing pud­dle of the same was form­ing under­neath the vehi­cle.

this truck was unadul­tered shite. none of the gauges worked, the radio was bro­ken, the dome light was bust­ed, it was miss­ing a side mir­ror, the roof leaked and the exhaust brake could not be turned off. we called ryder to get them to send a replace­ment and they sent a mechan­ic who said we need­ed a replace­ment. then we wait­ed a few hours and a tow truck showed up with­out a replace­ment. an argu­ment then ensued via wire­less tele­phone regard­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ties of get­ting a truck sent out. [appar­ent­ly, i was to accom­pa­ny the tow­er into town to pick up the new truck, and then dri­ve it all the way back [from long island city].] then i was stung by a bee, my fore­arm is now all swoll and shows lit­tle inter­est in becom­ing less red and itchy.

so i did­n’t go in with the tow­er, instead he had to tow out a replace­ment, which turns out was from the lot one block south of the pro­duc­tion office. when i got the truck i drove it back and parked it one block south of the pro­duc­tion office by the ryder truck cor­ral it had recent­ly come from. the next day, [today] was quite smooth, despite my swollen arm, the new truck had all its parts in work­ing order we loaded up all the stuff from FBF and i made some drop offs. i got to eat and i came home ear­ly instead of hav­ing anoth­er 18–21 hour day [includ­ing com­mute time]. tonight i am going to call my sec­ond cousin and see if she has a room to rent or not.

oh yeah, i some­how found the time [on sev­er­al train rides] to write a poem.