Not Ready For The Public

The SHOUT OUT was a blast!

A blast I tell you! It was packed... PACKED. We had a crazy number of performers and guests in the 40s. Amazing. All this good from a bad assed start. Yeah. In the morning I had did my usual shit, you know, bean...IRC...then IM. I watched the clock closely and ten minutes to three I had my gear packed and was struggling out of the door. I made a quick pit-stop at Walgreens to buy a pack of spoons and then headed for the Way.

I also knew that there would be construc- tion on the Way. There always is at 96th street, and the downtown side of the station was closed. So, I took the uptown One on the local track and rode up into Harlem. Now here is the rub. I was expecting the train to stop on the express track at 110th street, but no. It stayed on the local track. Now the local platforms sometimes have a crossover underground where you don't have to pay a second fare. But the question is: Which station does that?? I waited for the fucking asshole conductor to say which station would provide crossover to the downtown track, but no instruction came. So I rode the train up to 137th street...still waiting mind you, for the conductor to say something, until I could take it no more and just left the fucking train. Of course, wouldn't you know, there was no crossover, so I had to leave the station, outside...cross the street, then go back down on the other side of the station and pay a second fare to catch the down town train.

Fuck! Now the downtown train kept stopping and waiting due to train traffic ahead. So just like bumper to bumper traffic, we crawled down the track to 14th street. I was never so happy to get off that fucking train. I hopped onto the L train and heading out of the first avenue station I'm almost assaulted by a woman and her baby carriage as I ascended the stair. NOW, you know how I feel about women and their baby carriages on the subway! Something lifeless in me wanted to be gentlemanly, so I turned and asked her: Would you like help with that? Nastily, she told me no. I walked on, doing my good deed for today. I was done. Have at it, lady.

I made it to the SHOUT OUT nearly fifteen minutes late and OBSIDIAN had already taken the stage. I put together the lights and was ready to start. This time I was somehow in the zone...without drinking beforehand, I was comfortable for the most part and had that big stove pipe truck barreling down the highway as fast as she could go. I must say, it is the audience that moves the machine. If they are enjoying themselves, the entire SHOUT OUT turns out quite well. Today...it was damn near perfect.

When everything was over, the group of us filed out and headed down the street, passing by the Kennedy's Fried Chicken joint, vowing never to return to it again. Instead, we headed down to a pizza joint that always has lines in front of it. OBSIDIAN like to say that that's because their pizzas are so damn good. Their pizzas are good, I'll have to admit...but the lines are not long because of that...they are long because these motherfuckers are so damn slow. They are disorganized and inefficient. They have only one shmoe behind the counter, taking money, taking orders, AND making and packing away the pizzas. Dumb motherfucking set up, especially when they have so little space inside. They have a little room where one guy could take orders from further up so that when they got to the schmoe all that he would have to do is hand you a goddamned pizza...but no...that just TOO MOTHERFUCKING HARD. Why am I bitching about a pizza parlor? Because there's no reason not to.

From there the five of us had split up. D2theL with Phil (short for Phyllis); Tom F., DJ Benson- hurst, OBSIDIAN and myself. It was OBSIDIAN and myself that made it to the downtown Starbucks and had more cups of the bean. I got on IRC, and having my 'head bad' I did nothing but piss people off online. Like I said, time blows away when you are in IRC. I stay on, chatting anyway until it is time to go. OBSIDIAN and I go our separate ways almost immediately, with me catching the Way and heading uptown to my neighborhood Gristedes to go food shopping for salad.

While on the first check out counter, there is a man who has his shopping already rung up, but he can't seem to work the credit card reader without help. He is useless. I move over to check out counter two to find a little old lady going through her purse for nickels, dimes and pennies. She HAS to pay with exact change. I turn to go back to cash register one but a long line had formed. The dude with problems now gathering up his bags. THAT line was moving. I turn to look back at the old lady, who is still counting change. I wanted to stick my finger up and into my nose and poke out my own eye. She was killing me with her sweetness, gabbing nicely with the sales clerk as if nobody was waiting behind her to go home.

I wanted to just quickly pick her up and toss her little ass away into a nearby pile of boxes, but that would not be nice. She turned to me and smiled. I smiled back, baring my teeth. Soon, finally, she went away, moving slow down the exit aisle. I made certain that I took my time so that I wouldn't have to walk directly behind her slow ass out the exit. AWWWW c'mon! Why am I so heartless to the elderly in my community? I'm not heartless, I'm TIRED. I want to go home and this always happens. I would be the same way if the person was in a wheelchair, albeit wheelchair bound people could be fast moving motherfuckers. This was just murder. They should have a check out line for just the elderly. And if you go to stand on it, you do so at your own risk.

Well, I got my mail and headed upstairs, dropping all of the bags that weighed me down for so long, my shoulders deflating. I wrote off a few emails but didn't bother with IRC. I was out in minutes. I was just that damned tired.

Hobobob