La Plama?

I dashed out the door with my messenger bag late for work this morning, only to find an older hispanic guy in a gardening outfit standing motionless on the lawn and staring at me. I realized the dog probably scared the crap out of him when he rushed the screen door a few minutes earlier. Apparently my dog is a screaming racist. I made an attempt to submit an "oh hey- sorry". Then he said something and started toward me. I was thinking, "uhhhh, dude- the dog didn't get out, you're fine."

Me: Yeah, hey, what's up.

Him: *points near top of trees on side of house* la plama

Me: huh, *I turn and squint into the sun looking up*

Him: La plama

Me: I don't, what are we looking at here?

Him: *points again* La plama

Me: I... a bird? Am I looking for a bird? All I see is trees. I gotta go to work, man.

Him: My frien, La Plama

Me: Dude, I dont see this La Plama you speak of... Not calling you a liar, i'm sure you see it... is it a frisbee??

Him: *this goes on for a while until he reaches into pocket and pulls out landscaping business card* My Frien, cut la plama.

He was asking if I wanted him to trim the palm trees on the side of our house. I was staring at the "Plama" the whole time. I don't think i've ever felt more like an impatient, stuffy white guy in my life. In my defense he was mispronouncing a word in his own language- probably in an effort to translate it. I took his card and said thanks. So now I have a 'Palmera' guy.

Ernest Takes a Stand

A few years ago I noticed the little red dvd kiosks popping up in grocery stores. No long lines, no zit-faced clerk, just a few buttons, a card swipe and you're outta there. And it's a BUCK a day. Now I park in front of Blockbuster and scoff at the sign, then walk over to the grocery store to get my movies. It is my little FU to the movie rental franchise that extorted an unspeakable amount of money from me in late fees until now. I enjoyed watching the little red box take down the mighty Blockbuster regime.

Last week I discovered my little red box was gone and a big shiny one with tv screens was in it's place. Blockbuster logos plastered all over every inch of it. I felt sick. My $1.00-a-day protest was over. I had to go back to paying The Man (even though it's still just a buck- it's the principle). I rented Clash of the Titans. Huge scorpions and a lady with snakes on her head? Fuckin-A! I wont turn this into a movie review, but it was... bad. Very very bad.

I came back to return it and kick the machine when I noticed it was out of service. How am I supposed to return it?? I shook my fist and screamed "BLOCKBUSTER" (like in Star Trek when Kirk yelled "Khan!"). That did no good. Finally I flagged down a young employee named Jeffrey. Jeffery wasn't mentally disabled per se, but I ventured a guess that his homeroom was a portable. He told me to call the number on the movie box. I did and got the billing stopped, then the person on the phone told me to give the movie to customer service in the store. Needless to say, there was no one at the counter so I had to find Jeffrey. I know this is long but there's a happy ending.

After walking in circles for a while and yanking his underwear out of his buttcrack, he finally said, "I'll just take it". I thought, "Well, i'm not being billed for it anymore, so, Jeffery can open it up and wear it as a hat for all I care. In fact... I should just steal it and stick it to The Man.". The movie really was horrendous and I knew i'd never watch it, so I handed it to Jeffery and bid him farewell. I'm fairly certain that movie is propping up a chicken coop in some third world country right now.

Yesterday, I rented Kick-Ass. Watched it last night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Gritty indie comic with tons of violence and pop-culture references- may not be suitable for all, but it was right in my wheelhouse. When I returned today, the f@#king machine was down again. I called the number and went through the song and dance, same as before. When they told me to give it to customer service, I looked over and of course, no one was there. I even scanned for my boy, Jeff. No love.

At that point i'm thinking, "They can't keep these machines in service and now they're telling me to give their movie to a kid whose most important responsibility is not eating his own nametag. Blockbuster fail. I'm keeping it." and I walked out.

Now who Kicks Ass?

*roll credits*

The Soup Fiasco

I know I bitch about insignificant shit a lot on this blog... and this is one of those times.

I went to Vons today to get lunch and dinner supplies. I passed the little soup island and thought... "I'm not really that hungry, and the soup here is pretty good.". "SOUP FOR LUNCH!", I declared as I thrust a finger in the air. I selected a little paper to-go bowl and ladled some of the molten lava into it. As I dropped the little plastic lid on it, I noticed it went on without that little reassuring snap. I picked it up and sure enough, it popped off and I received what had to be a first degree burn. Having a high threshhold for pain and lots of experience injuring myself in front of large crowds with as much grace as possible, I took the burn with a bite on the lip and a whispered "fuuuuuuuuuck". I finished shopping and arrived at the checkstand. This is where things generally go south for me. As I was swiping my club card and having completely forgotten about the lid, the teenage checkout girl yelped. I looked down and she had slid the bowl over the laser sensor and spilled some of it. She was staring at me with eyes as big as saucers.

Girl: I burned my hand!

Me: Oh, no. Sorry, yeah- i tried to get that lid on as tight as I could. It won't snap down.

Girl: I totally burned my hand!

Me: ... I know, I did too... sorry, I should've said something. You ok?

Girl: That's really hot!

Me: Yeah- tell me about it.

Girl: I need a paper towel!

and so on

Now at this point she's pretty much openly blaming me. I'm thinking, "Listen, bimbo, I am not a Vons paper bowl lid engineer, I don't control the temperature of anything, I don't even work here, AND I got burned too. Calm down.". After some scrambling to find paper towels and applying a field burn treatment, she was able muster some courage and finish checking me out. Although everyone in the store was giving me the stink-eye for being the monster that threw acid on an innocent teenage girl.