Let's see here.
$750...
Yeah, okay.
That'll work.
That'll work.
Yeah.
Hm.
How much do I make in a week then?
750 divided by 2 is 375.
Wow, that's not a lot.
Huh.
How much do I spend on gas?
Last week I spent $100.
Same with the week before.
Hm.
Wait.
So that means I'm only making $275 per week?
That's what I made working at Road Pilot in 1993!
Speaking of gas stations, I lost it today at Speedway.
All day it had been irritatingly hot and humid like a dog's nauseated pant.
After a hundred miles on the road I had run out of water.
I stopped at a Waukegan Speedway for cheap gas, water, and an iced coffee.
Speedway offers its patrons a Speedy Rewards card.
When you buy six coffees, the seventh one is free.
Having bought six coffees in the last three months, I decided today was the day to cash in my free coffee!
At the register, the water and coffee rested on the counter as I handed the cashier my coupon.
She had some fast bad news.
"This coupon is expired$2.59."
What?
"You gotta use these things. $2.59."
"But I was out of the country," I protested, discovering a split-second too late how arrogant that sounded. So I paid for the coffee, and pre-paid $50 for gas.
"Do you want me to swipe your Speedy Rewards card?"
"Ye...," I considered, "...no. They don't do anything anyway," I grumbled.
At the pump, it continued to say "WAITING FOR AUTHORIZATION".
I waited a few more moments.
Was she fucking with me?
Really?
What, did I not show the proper amount of respect for the Speedy Rewards card?
I returned to the cashier.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"It just says 'Waiting For Authorization'".
"What did you do?"
I explained at her the steps that led to my return.
"Well, it must've not gone through. How much did you have, $38?"
"No, I gave you $50."
"No, " she disagreed, and looked at me like I was more of an asshole than I really am.
I stepped forward.
"No, I gave you $50," I said firmly, and felt the squeeze of dry sand in my ventricles.
She realized her error.
"Oh yeah, $50," and then, as if in the audience of a lowest common denominating talk show, she scolded, "Jeez, you don't have to be so..."
"Fuuuck...," I dramatically exhaled.
I decided to use this as the beginning of my next sentence.
But not before I swung open the door, continuing in a shout to no one.
"..THIS PLACE! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS FUCKING PLACE!?!"
Unfortunately, it was heard by everyone.
I have tried quitting messengering five times.
October 2000 - Within one week I wiped out repeatedly on my bike trying to get the hang of clipless shoes, was pushed off my bike by a carload of hilarious teenagers, and was mugged at knifepoint. I decided that I needed a change and quit bike messengering. After one week as a receptionist, I was back.
December 2002 - After having my apartment broken into and ransacked twice in one month, I decided that I needed a change and quit bike messengering. After three months at Trader Joe's, I started bike messengering for the company I am still with today.
April 2007 - I was commissioned to update Ubu Roi for a theater company. It would pay for my rent that month. With the help of an inheritance, I thought I could eke out a living this way. I was wrong, and returned as a bike and van messenger in July.
January 2008 - Having agreed to perform comedy aboard a cruise ship for four months, I said farewell to the icy hell of bike messengering during a Chicago winter. When I came back from the ship I was broke, and returned to the occupation that I can't seem to shake. Though this time they weren't hiring bikers, just drivers.
December 2009 - When the van's engine light came on, I decided I needed to stop fucking doing this. For two weeks I found temporary part time work that might have had a future, albeit a sideways one. When my boss made me choose between the two, I couldn't find my balls and remained loyal.
People are afraid of change.
That's why they choose the familiar.
I must be afraid of success.*
*"Familiar" is "Failure" spelled backwards.
Even though some of my past actions could back up that statement (pulling the plug on a TV pilot of my original work, not rising to the challenges of pedestrian cruise ship comedy, self-destructive tendencies at commercial auditions, disdain for the spotlight in general), I don't think I am afraid of success.
I simply have focus, compromise, and confidence issues.
In the late 90's I frequented the Empty Bottle. I saw bands that I liked, like The Mono Men, Thee Headcoats, Delta 72, etc. It never even occurred to me that I could ever be on that stage. And then I decided that I could. And did.
A few times, Man.
Tonight I am spending the evening writing and making connections with people who are doing things that interest me.
Verdict: Win
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