Gold Into Shit: Day 1

I'm standing in the front yard of a gorgeous home just north of Sunset Blvd.  The sun is shining and I am basking in it.  I look into my hand and there it is... a fresh, steamy, heaping pile of shit... starring back at me through its plastic bag home.  The dog that gave me this load stares at me, blankly... it's as if it released all its energy in that bag.  The dog wants a nap.  And, quite frankly, so do I.  It's been a long ass day.    

The title of this blog, "Gold Into Shit," could easily be reversed since that is the world I currently live and work in.  I walk dogs.  Their shit is my gold.  The more they shit, the more I walk em, the more money I make.  It's not the most glorious profession in the world, but it could certainly be a hell of a lot worse.  

And right now... picking up this dog's warm excrement isn't close to the worst thing I have had to deal with today.  That dubious distinction came an hour earlier... while I was en route to this very moment.

I was driving to pick the pup up when I came to a light at an intersection where four lanes become three.  I was in the farthest right lane and knew that eventually I would be forced to merge with the lane to my immediate left.  I readied myself for the light to change, then noticed a giant silver SUV revving its engine next to me.  When the light did change that silver monstrosity pumped its fucking gas and sped out in front of me.  Now, I was prepared for that.  Saw it coming a mile away.  And, ultimately, I couldn't give two shits that this fucker was gonna try and outrun me.  Nope.  Not at all.  No, what got me pissed and caused me to honk my horn was that, in his little NASCAR maneuver, he almost hit the front of my car.  

So... I honked.  

Twice.

Well, apparently this asshole in silver ray bans doesn't appreciate being honked at and he went ape shit on me.  Like scary ape shit.  Like "Grizzly Man," but, you know, with apes.  Like that scary.  Ps.  If you haven't seen the last 15 minutes of "Grizzly Man" I would put it up there with turning the lights off and saying "Boogeyman" 3 times to see if anything happens.  You'll see nothing, but guaranteed you won't sleep right for a week. 

Anyhow, I digress... where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Dealing with the Silver Asshole.  

So, I honked.  

And he honks right back. 

Then he flicks me off.  Of course he flicks me off.  It's like "Angry Driving 101."  So cliched.  

But, Silver Asshole isn't done yet.  He now starts to wave his arms at me.  Full arm gestures.  Not sure what he's going for but it looks like bizarre tribal gestures.  He's thrusting his arms up and down and, for a brief moment, it almost seemed to happen in slow motion.  

He continues honking and then slows up for dramatic tension.  The dude then swings beside me... he's now in my next lane and screaming at me.  Only, I can't hear him.  His window is rolled up, as is mine, and all I see is the emphatic movements of his mouth as he screams, assuredly, obscenities at me.  I can only laugh.  

That was probably not the best reaction because my laughing infuriates him further.  He rolls his window down, continues pumping his fists at me, honks, and screams for me to pull over so he can "Teach me to be a man."  This makes me laugh even harder and I actually begin signing language tactics at him.  

After a few moments of this, I start to get a bit worried because the guy doesn't seem to be backing down or calming down. He's getting angrier and angrier.  A wad of spit spews out of his mouth as he screams at me and hits the half-rolled down window in his passenger seat.  

I try and wave to him that I will call 9-1-1 if he doesn't stop.  He laughs.  This was the most terrifying and maniacal laughs I've ever seen.  It's like watching the cartoon character Scar from "The Lion King," but in person.  It was that comical.  

Then, Silver Asshole slams on his breaks and swerves right behind me.  This crazy fuck is now tailing me.  And then the thought crosses my mind... I honked at the wrong dude.  

I try and turn down a side street, maybe I can loose him.  Wrong.  He follows me, continuing his barrage of honking and screaming.  

So, I pick up my phone (yes I used my blue tooth because the law is the law) and called 9-1-1.  An operator hops on the phone with me and I explain what ridiculous universe I had wandered into.  All this because I honked at him.  I give her the guy's license plate number, etc. and she readies to dispatch a policeman to my area.  

And like that... the guys does a "double honk," like what you'd do after you've dropped a friend off and begin to drive away, and he's gone.  

I tell the operator that the guy is gone.  She tells me that I should continue driving, preferably to someplace I know, which is safe.  She says to go someplace preferably away from traffic.  And, of course, to call back if the guy reappears.  

And so ended my ridiculous incident in, what should have been, a totally uneventful day.  All that just to walk a dog.  All that just to pick up this pile of shit I hold in my hand.  

So, I did learn something from this little moment in my life.  Obviously, I would highly suggest you NOT honk at dudes driving silver SUV's.  I'm going to now say that they're all fucking crazy.  One guy can do that to you.  He can ruin an entire race of silver SUV drivers.  

But, I also learned that maybe things aren't as bad as they sometimes seem to be.  Because that entire time I was in my own version of "The French Connection," all I really wanted was to be here.  All I wanted was to be basking in this sun, starring at this, now asleep dog, and holding this, no longer warm, bag of shit.

I guess I'm okay seeing gold turn to shit... so long as sometime soon... that shit turns to gold. 

Until Another Day...  

    

Gold Into Shit: Day 2

I'm thinking of a story a friend once told me.  His name isn't Fred, but for the sake of the story, let's call him that.  

Fred was a few years older than me, but went to the same school I did: Boston University.  

Now, Fred lived in West Campus in one of the 3 Mini Towers.  For those of you not familiar with BU, there's East Campus and West.  The bulk of classrooms and school buildings is in the East and a lot more housing is in the West.  Although, there is a giant dorm in the East called Warren Towers, but whatever.  You get my point.  And the T, Boston's subway, runs the length of East to West.  It's separated by a mini bridge and about a half a mile of street.  

So, the story begins as Fred sits in one of his mandatory freshman classes in East Campus.  As the professor labors on and on about Irish History, Fred begins to feel the effects of a burrito lunch.  He realizes that, well to be crass, he's got to take a shit.  Happens to the best of us.  

But, Fred has a problem.  He can't shit in any toilet other than the one he uses everyday in his dorm.  Fred's fucked up like that.  

Now, in his dorm Fred has a crush.  I don't know her name, but let's go with Miranda.  Fred sees Miranda every day and they never say a word.  He's a awkward freshman guy and she's a really attractive freshman girl who's bombarded with upperclassman date proposals.  So, all Fred does is stare at her and fantasize about her.  And probably jerk it to her freshman face book picture.  I don't know if the last part is true, but if you knew Fred, you'd assume it for sure.  Fred's fucked up like that.  

Fred excuses himself from his lecture row and makes his way out of the building.  He's on the verge of a massive accident in the building lobby, but will not use the bathroom starring him in the face.  He's determined to hold it in and make it home.  

He steps outside, ass cheeks clenched tighter than a newbie in prison and sees the T approaching.  And for a moment, Fred thinks "Oh, happy day.  The T will take me home, zero effort, and I'm in my home bathroom in 5 minutes."  

Fred struggles but manages to get to the subway platform.  Then, the T rolls up and Fred sees that it's PACKED TO THE BRIM with people.  And Fred thinks, "Fuck that."  

Fred decides that he'll start walking, as best he can, and wait for the next T, which comes every few minutes. 

So, Fred is now walking, ass cheeks still clenched tight, down Commonwealth Avenue praying that he doesn't shit his pants.  

Another T arrives, Fred walks to the platform, but quickly backs up when he sees that this one is even tighter than before.  I would've said "tighter than his ass" but I think I've done my fair share of "tight ass" jokes.  You get my point.    

He keeps walking.  And walking.  And walking.  And finally... just as he's on the verge of ruining his pants... he comes to his dorm lobby.  Fred is now a mess.  His shirt soaked with sweat and the fear of absolute public humiliation.  

He nears his dorm lobby, swipes his ID card, and heads for the elevator.  Now, Fred, at this point, is one part elated... his nightmare seemingly on the cusp of ending... and, one part terrified... in all honesty, he may still shit his pants.

He presses the UP button on the elevator like 9 times.  

Finally, the RED LIGHT lights up that the elevator has arrived.  The doors open and who should stand in front of him, starring him in the eyes, but... of course... Miranda.  

She smiles.  

He whimpers.      

She's exits as he bolts inside the elevator, almost knocking into her in the process.    

He presses his floor button...  

He waits for the door to close...

When...

Miranda turns around and says she left something upstairs.  

Fred cursed his luck... Standing in an elevator with the girl he'd been jerking off to for the last three weeks, an opportunity of a lifetime to actually talk to her, and  yet he was dripping with sweat in his attempt to not become a cautionary tale for all college freshman everywhere.  His greatest fear was probably ending up on some friend's blog for all to see.  Sorry, Fred.   

Miranda opened the conversation up and began to talk.  It was something simple: "How's your day going?"

Fred responded with this: "Hmphf... Good."

The "Hmphf" sound could be compared to the sound you make when your dentist revs up his drill.  Or, really the sound you would make a second before you shit your pants in an elevator with a hot poster girl.  

Miranda didn't notice though.  She continued:  "I'm Miranda."

Fred: "Fr--ed."  He had to take a momentary pause between the syllables in his name.  

Miranda: "Yeah, I know.  I've seen you around."

Fred smiled.  Sort of.  Well, the important thing is that  she thought he smiled.  

Miranda:  "We should hang out sometime.  Grab a coffee or something."  

Fred: "Yeah!"  That time he was extremely emphatic... maybe too emphatic.

Miranda: "Great.  I'll give you my number."  

And Fred watched as Miranda pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down her number.  She smiled as she handed it over to him just as the elevator door opened up on her floor.  Miranda winked, flipped her hair, and walked away.    

And as Fred stood in that elevator holding Miranda's phone number in his hand, his face beaming with excitement, he realized something...  

... Sometimes the worst moments of our lives can become some of our favorites.  Sometimes things aren't as bad as you think they are.  And sometimes... when you're on the verge of shitting your pants and you yell "Yeah!" real loud and excitedly... you'll shit your pants.  Which is exactly what Fred did.  

But, holy shit was it worth it.  

Until Another Day...