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.

7 thoughts on “soap opera

  1. new jer­sey, huh? i’m proud of you, adam, that rules. i hope you run in­to a lot of cool build­ings that look like the crow’s set de­sign.

    al­so, i start­ed a la­bor his­to­ry pa­per last week with a quote from brautigan…thanks.

    all watched over by ma­chines of lov­ing grace,

  2. They have bee’s in the city? Where are the flow­ers for the bee’s? Did you find like the on­ly hive of bee’s in NYC or what?

  3. Woo! At least you get paid. I had a dream about you last night. You had grown your hair down to your ass and paint­ed your face like Kiss. I was ask­ing you if you want­ed to de­sign me a new web­site when you were done w/​ your in­tern­ship. Actually that part’s re­al, do you know flash yet? I’ll pay you. Drop me an email. Glad to hear every­one knows you’re com­pi­tent… as al­ways. Catcha lat­er Adam.

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