[137] Screed City

[137]

05/12/2022 Thursday. Bathroom Stool. Room 322. Hampton Inn. Elmhurst, New York.

Fucking Buffalo. Not much to say aside from it being a five hour drive from the shop. Early day tomorrow. Inspection at the University. I mean, I will make this quick.

San Francisco, Part Four:

The Good Will did us no favors. We found nothing that we were looking for. Augustin found this weird teeth thing for Grit. He paid $2 dollars for it. We ditched and headed back to the Home Depot. Went inside. Got in the line for Returns. Quick and painless. I mean, at first I thought we were cutting line in front of this woman who had a full cart of stuff. She seemed distracted though. Like she was still shopping. Then she got in line behind us. Didn't harangue us or anything. I mean, when we were done she asked "Is this the check out line?" I said "Returns. Sorry." She was then trapped between the people behind her and some random shopping carts. I felt bad for her, but she really wasn't paying attention.

We went back to Old Blue and hit the skids. The drive back was uneventful. But then we had to find parking. Which kind of stank. We got stuck behind a cop, so we had to mind our P's and Q's, whatever those are. I mean, we ended up finding a pretty sweet spot. Although it was a parking meter spot. But there was only two hours left before it became free. And by now it was basically 3p. The festival ended at 5p. We went back to the booth with our tails between our legs as the bridesmaids say. There was nothing doing. The guy next to us had a generator, but he couldn't get it to work. There was nothing we could do about the lights. We would have to try again tomorrow. The Publisher was convinced we could just run an extension cord. I was not convinced at all. Either way there was plans made to bring long cords tomorrow.

About an hour later the thing was going great. Some people ate empanadas. I was hungry too, so I went looking for something to eat. I couldn't find much. I don't know why I didn't have an empanada. Instead I found some fried chicken on the main road where the Star Bucks was. I ate it standing up while listening to some truly awful poetry that someone was spewing by the BART station. Then I went and got a second coffee. This time it went as planned. In and out. No complaining on my part. I took the coffee back to the booth. Hung out. Drinking the coffee. Selling books. Making yucks. When the coffee was gone I switched to whiskey. I mean, that is not really true. Everyone was kind of drinking whiskey at this point. I had a little myself. Then a little more. But then it seemed like too much, so I stopped. The day wore on. There was talk about dinner. Reservations at this one place in Oakland, but also this other place down the street the usually had a long waiting list. You couldn't make reservations. We decided to keep the reservations and just try the other place just in case we could get in. The festival ended. We packed up. Leaving everything but the whiskey and the LED neon signs. David put those back in his rolling suitcase. We decided things would be fine. There was supposed to be 10 security guards overnight. I mean, what can you do? It was very unlikely that there would be a book heist over night. We all started walking to the place nearby. Brad ran in front to see if he could procure a table. When we got there he was outside. He said it would be a couple hours. There was some discussion about finding a place to drink. Somebody went inside and found out that there was a picnic table in the back that we could sit at and have drinks and apps. That sounded great to everyone. We went inside. All seven of us. Or six? Me, the Publisher, Abby, Brad, Agustin, Jessica, and David. Seven.

I mean, this was nice. The sun was good. We ordered some chips with salsa and some guac. Someone was supposed to order ceviche, but that never happened. We had to stand in line at the bar for drinks. At that point someone ordered ceviche. I mean, David bought me a Koltsch and the Publisher a margarita. We sat around talking and eating chips and stuff and drinking drinks. I mean, it was really nice. The salsas were great. The ceviche was quite something. I mean, I don't know how many rounds we had, but not more than three but not less than two. People were coming and going. The place was packed. The sun went away. It got a little colder. I put my hoodie on. Then my jacket. Then like a miracle our table was ready.

We went inside and stood around like dopes. Finally someone took us to our table. There were two outstanding drinks at the bar that Abby and Brad had ordered but never came. This created a little stir. But it got figured out. I chazzed the head and dropped a wizzer. Washed my meat hooks and went back to the table. Then the Publisher got up and did the same. I mean, I am surprised we all didn't. There had been quite a few drinks sucked down. I mean, maybe over the course of dinner this happened or maybe not. I mean, what do I look like? A pissor gazer? Just joking. I just don't remember anyone else using the bathroom.

Eventually the waiter came over. Took our orders. I got the pork tacos and a Koltsch. The publisher got fish tacos I think and I don't remember the drink. David got rice and beans and an enchilada. Agusitin and Jessica got a quesadilla? And a salad. I remember the salad because they didn't like it at all. Abby and Brad got the Mexican pizza. They didn't get drinks because they already had them. You know? From before. The drinks came pretty quick. Then the food. The food was kind of okay. My tacos could have used some spice, but it wasn't until we were done that I noticed the hot sauces on top of the bar. I am still filled with regret about that. I mean, my tacos came with pickled jalapeños and cactus. I mean, I am not a fan of cactus. Too slimy for my taste. I mean, the food was eaten. The Mexican pizza was too big so we shared the rest of it. Which was actually quite good. The only thing that didn't get eaten were my pickled jalapeños and a bunch of rice and beans. I don't know why I didn't eat any of the beans. They were black beans. I love black beans. I was just kind of done with eating out. Being out. I was feeling pretty exhausted by this point. I think we all were. The Publisher bought dinner. I mean, I took another slash. So did the Publisher and Agustin and Jessica. I mean, maybe Abby too? I feel like Brad did. I don't remember David hitting the head though. Such is life. I mean, we met up on the sidewalk again. Exhausted and half-drunk. I mean, I was. I don't know about anyone else. Jessica was driving so I knew that she was sober. Not because she was driving, I mean, that doesn't make you sober, but because she was driving she had made a point of staying sober. I mean, Abby and Brad ditched. I think they lived very nearby? Like within walking distance. The rest of us started walking towards Jessica's car. Which was on the other side of the festival. I mean, we walked for a while. Took a bad turn. Which meant we had to walk further than necessary, butwhatever. Augustin wanted to check on his car anyway. So he could leave it over night. We had a nice stroll around Berkeley High School. David with the rolling suitcase. I mean, it was dark now. The walk was pleasant.

We got to the car at some point. Got in. Me and David and the Publisher in the back seat. The rolling suitcase in the rear area. Jessica driving and Agustin at shotgun. Jessica drove us to Oakland. To her gallery where she had a show installed. The lights needed to be turned off. In a zesty ode to irony. I mean, all day we were looking for a way to light those damn LED neons and then we had to go turn off some battery operated lights at a gallery. I mean, Jessica's work was fantastic. They were found slides that she layered and put in little boxes and backlit them. You had to get real close to see inside. The work was complex and subtle. The other work at the gallery was not complex or subtle. Artists, man. I mean there was a couple things that were okay, but Jessica's was by far the best. They made me wish my eyes worked better or that they were projected on the wall.

We locked up and left. Getting back into the car. We drove a few blocks to the Air B&B. Parked and went inside. Taking the rolling suitcase with us. Agustin and Jessica stayed for a few minutes. But the cats at home needed attention so they ditched soon after. There was no whiskey left, it turned out. A couple of shots. I mean, we carried back empty bottles basically. It didn't matter. Nobody wanted to drink anymore. I was drinking a half-tickler from the night before. After Agustin and Jessica left I drank the last few sips and decided it was bedtime. The Publisher and David did too. I mean, it was maybe 9p at this point. I brushed my teeth and said goodnight and went to bed. I read about half a paragraph of Oliver Twist before my eyes wouldn't stay open. I put the book on the floor and turned the light off. I mean, I had also set my alarm. For 830a. I mean, the Publisher was going to get going early, there was no reason for all of us to leave when she did. I mean, whatever. I slept like a mummy until about 5a. Then I was wide awake. I don't know if somebody got up to use the bathroom or what, but I was awake. I opened my computer and put this documentary about moose on. About how they are raising these moose in Russia for milk for kids with bad stomachs. I mean, it is very good. I mean, I fell back asleep. About an hour later I woke up because of the turd smells again. I mean, it really was like being in an outhouse. I pulled the covers over my nose and managed to fall asleep again. I mean, around 7a I was wide awake. The sun was shining around the edges of the black curtains. It was cold. I got up and turned the heat to 72 F. Then got back into bed. A while later I could hear action in the kitchen. I gave up on sleep and got up.

I mean, David and Publisher were hanging out around the kitchen island. Drinking coffee. David was doing some editing on his new book. I made myself a coffee. I mean, we kind of hung around doing morning stuff. The Publisher had taken a shower. After a while I went and took a shower myself. Then I got dressed. Put clean socks on. A clean t-shirt. A Dishwasher t-shirt. Merch. I mean, I made another coffee. By now it was like 830a. The Publisher was itching to go. But not quite yet. I nuked the second burrito I brought from Vermont. Black beans and homemade hot sauce. I ate it with the rest of the hot Cheetos that David didn't like. I mean, it was a good breakfast. I brushed my teeth and I was ready to go. I mean, we made sure we had everything. Me and the Publisher. We would be travelling straight from the reading tonight to the airport. I mean, I packed all my stuff. Double checked. Put it by the door. Then I wheeled the rolling suitcase over. David was going to stay behind and edit for a while. The Publisher got all of her shit and we hit the skids.

It was Sunday so the trains were slow. We had to wait 20 minutes for one train. Take it two stops and then wait another 11 minutes for the train we needed. I mean, the commute was easy enough. For some reason this woman was looking at her phone when we were waiting for the second train and her nipples really started poking out from behind her sweater. I mean, what the hell was she looking at? I didn't mean to notice, but I did. Her face showed no signs of scandal, but still, I mean, I know nipples have a mind of their own, but sometimes. I mean, sometimes. It's not like there was a zesty breeze flowing through the train station. It was an inside number. I mean, I had to look away. I wasn't trying to be a pervert, but I won't lie, I was a little bit curious. Whatever. Thankfully she went into a different train car when the thing pulled up. Otherwise I would have kept wondering what was happening. One can only assume it was an unsolicited dick pic. Just joking. This was Berkeley. It was probably a photo of some well manicured hands holding house keys next to a Forrester. Just joking! I can't make lesbian jokes, I am a cis white male! I move to strike this joke from the record, your Honor.

End Part Four.