I was fired for allowing a co-worker to fool around on my server number (the code an employee used to sign into the server to tally up orders) and as a result I was shit-canned. Could have been worse, they coulda beat me up. Wait, they left that to four kids from my neighborhood!
The following Monday I had stopped back in at my now-former job to grovel for my shitty, mediocre-paying serving job from the queen who had been all-too-happy to give me the ax that prior Saturday. After being told to return the following day I exited my bygone diner of dreams and shuffled into the C train back to Brooklyn. The only problem was that some young'ins wanted to slow my trip home a bit by tackling me and taking whatever belongings they could snatch out of my pockets: not much.
Somehow, the police were able to retrieve my iPod and capture one of my attackers; alas the same couldn't be said for my beloved teal Banana Republic wallet that I fear I will never be able to replace.
Theft robs you of more than the physical people!*
The annoying fallout of this debacle wasn't so much the loss of property (don't get me wrong, it sucked) was the dealings with police and the District Attorney's Office. I had the police (initially unbeknownst to me and subsequently unwillingly) parading me around my neighborhood where these cats roam and I'm typically averse to making myself known as being in bed with the police. I never outgrew my punk records, I suppose.
These dipshits were driving me around in what was an obvious unmarked car in broad daylight to try to make a positive ID on the kids that jumped me FROM BEHIND. The only positive identification that was transpiring was of me as not only the Token White in the area but also as the incandescent neighbor who's in bed with police. That goes over swimmingly in a "strong heroin and crack presence with frequent robberies"-type neighborhood as the police who drove me home the night of the incident described my street.
But wait, THERE'S MORE!!!
The youngster they captured was repeatedly shown my face in close proximity, occasionally without my knowledge and at the police precinct. How about you guys give them a copy of my house key next time? Can I count that as a tax write-off if "hoodlums" use my laptop to make shitty Flo-Rida-derivative beats on my stolen laptop? What about royalties? Fuck it.
The most abhorrent behavior I encountered occurred at the court room, however. I was coaxed into spending an entire day waiting to give five minutes of slanted and misleading Grand Jury testimony. It was disgusting the way this Assistant D.A. was maneuvering in an attempt to get the best testimony out of me. Vile creature he was, even after admitting earlier in the day he thought there wasn't a case to be made. We all have to swallow our pride and our ethics to a certain degree at times to put food on the table; I'm a realist and I will concede that to myself and others, but this was egregious. Pulling out all the stops on a 15-year-old** first-time offender makes you a despicable person and it makes me glad I made jokes during my testimony to undermine the entire affair.
But it hasn't been all misery and loss...
I also got to ride a bull! Fun night for sure filled with surprise visitors, copious amounts of whiskey, new friends, and ridiculously drunken karaoke...even by drunken karaoke standards of inebriation.
So, now I've been kicked out of the 18-24 party and thrust into the immediately lamer and inferior in the eyes of advertisers 25-30/35 demographic which hurts a little to be honest. The 18-24 group has ALL the cool birthdays unless you're a girl*** stuck in the Eisenhower years or you're a Jew and, well, we disregard them here.
- Fuck, I can't wait until I'm able to rent a car!
- The wisdom gleaned from navigating through my twenties is invaluable. I'm glad that time is done and I can now enjoy adulthood.
- Every birthday is another year closer to attaining my goal APR!
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some douche on my way to finance a Camaro I can't afford and a blond I can't satisfy.**** But for whatever silly reason, be it self-imagined or inflicted on me by popular culture and the media that mirrors, creates, and magnetizes it, I feel like the jump from 24 to 25 has been a much longer motion than my last step forward. But that's all I have for you at the moment, but it's probably more than you needed. I'll try to douse you in posts this upcoming month. Then again, it is the first of the month.
*I'm just fucking with you, only pussies say that. You're not pussy, arrreee youuuu?
**Shut up, they had an aggregate age of sixty. Wait, fuck! Let me rephrase that, it was like a four hundred pound 15-year-old with freakish athleticism attacked me.
***To spoil any eurocentric accusations I will mention Quinceanera and in the interest of mutual inclusion I will proclaim them lame too.
****The latter is impossible, anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment