Bank pain.

I hate standing in line at the bank. I especially hate standing in line with old people at the bank. I have this theory that older you get, the less aware you are of other people's "personal space."

You're all familiar with the concept of "personal space," right? That sort of invisible zone of intimacy that you allow only a select few to cross. Normally when I feel the heat of someone's breath on the back of my neck, I'll have hoped she (it better be a "she") had at least bought me a drink first.

Back to the bank... I needed to ask for a new card because the magnetic strip on mine wearing out. So I'm standing in line with no one behind me, and I can see myself in the TV monitor.

At my bank, when you get to the front of the line you end up facing a TV showing the feed of some security cam filming whoever's next to see a teller. I really don't see the purpose of this other than to give the tellers some form of entertainment as they watch customers either trying to figure out where the camera is OR pretend not to be looking at themselves. I fall into the latter category, stealing sideways glances at myself to make sure I haven't got a giant hot sauce stain on my shirt or something.

Anyway, in the monitor I noticed that someone was getting in line behind me. As he approached closer, I thought, "...he's not stopping. Oh crap. Old person." So there he was - a whole THREE INCHES behind me. I shook my head as I looked into the TV monitor to see the sight of two idiots doing their best "packed elevator" imitation in an empty line.

Champion of the Day: Not-Paying-Attention Bike Guy

So are you a vehicle or a pedestrian? When all the cars stopped to let me cross the street, little did I know you’d ignore the stopped traffic and come blazing past them headed in my direction. Apparently the rules of neither man nor machine applied to whatever metallic/biological douche bag you’d become. Luckily, I was cognizant enough to freeze in my tracks to let you whizz past me, thus avoiding a collision I’m sure you would have ended up on the better side of. Still, why even ride down a busy street like Piedmont Ave. when any of the sidestreets would have proven easier to navigate?

Freefall Jones, the friendly jerk.

One of the things that really gives me a slow burn is unprepared people at the post office. These are the people who get up to the window and never have any idea what they're doing. They never know what forms they need filled out. They're mailing a shitload of packages, but don't know any of the zip codes. The list of ingorance goes on and on.

This morning I got caught behind three of these idiots. Dumbass #1 had a pile of about 10 small packages he needed to insure, but waited to find out how much it cost to mail the packages before he added the insurance -- so he got stuck standing at the window filling out one form for each package.

Dumbass #2 had some unwrapped items she had no idea how she wanted to send. She asked to see her shipping options, and after choosing Priority shipping, she asked the cashier to go ahead and wrap those up! What the F? You could feel the whole line of waiting customers burning a hole that lady's back with our imaginary heat vision. The cashier pointed her to the forms table where she could stuff the items in the FREE PRIORITY ENVELOPES that were available. The girl gave an embarrassed "oh" and then made the walk of shame past the line to the table -- but of course they let her cut straight back to the front of the line after she finished getting her shit together.

As for Dumbass #3 -- I had no idea what was going on there. It was some lady standing there filling out some form while the casher just sat there waiting. The dumbass was there when I got there, and she was there when I left.

By the time I worked my way up to the front, I was lucky to have a new cashier come out to open up another window. She smiled and asked how I was doing. I said I was great and that I just wanted to mail my package Priority with Delivery Confirmation. She said, "That's easy enough," with a big smile.

I could kind of feel what she was getting at, so I said, "Yeah I try to be prepared when I come here so things go smoothly."

Then she said, "We love that kind of customer," and she didn't stop rubbing it in, "...sometimes people come up here and just hand us their stuff expecting us to do everything for them," but she said it very friendly with a big grin. That was hilarious. The cashiers must have had a to deal with a bunch of idiots that morning for her to vent like that.

When I left, the three other Dumbasses were still stuck at their windows, and it felt good helping to make them look like idiots.

ER Adventure, Pt. 2: Tap that knee.

To read Part 1, go here, or just scroll down to see the previous entry.

When I got into the ER, I was lucky to get a doctor who had seen my problem before and had her own knee problems in the past, so she was sensitive to my situation. She was sure I had something called “reactionary arthritis,” where some sort of virus had gotten into my system and caused all the pain and swelling in my joints. Finally! Some sort of diagnosis! It was such a relief to know that I wasn’t some sort of “patient zero” with a new disease that they would name after me.

The doctor suggested draining the fluid from both my knees and then injecting them with cortisone. (Cortisone is a steroid and very aggressive anti-inflammatory.) Hey, anything that will let me walk again. So the nurse came in and started prepping for my procedure. I saw her pulling out syringes and needles and bandages and vials of liquid and whatever else they needed to make me stronger, faster, ...better.

When the doctor came back she started with my right knee by rubbing some sort of sterilizer on it that looked like BBQ sauce. Then I felt a sharp pinch as she stuck me with a needle filled with some sort of numbing agent. I'm glad she did that because the needle she used next to drain my knee was freakin' HUGE. It was like she took the Space Needle and stuck it at the end of a syringe. That big needle hurt like nobody's business - once it was in, the draining began. I could actually feel the fluid rushing out of my knee. The doctor then said surprisingly, "I'm going to need another syringe."

I almost freaked out at the thought of having to go through needle insertion again, but what happened actually seemed worse. She popped off the syringe - LEAVING THE NEEDLE IN MY LEG. Oh man, I could have passed out right there. Then she put on an empty syringe and continued draining. She held up the filled syringe and asked me, "What color is that?" The only thing I could think of was, "...it looks like chicken broth." So gross.

When it was done, the right knee had a syringe and a half of fluid taken out. The left knee not as much (whew). The cortisone pretty much worked right away - I was able to bend my knees and walk (not quite normally, though) in about an hour. I was prescribed some awesome anti-inflammatories and by the next day I was walking like nothing was ever wrong.

ER Adventure, Pt. 1: Painful baby steps.

Last week my physical condition had definitely gotten worse. I talked about it a little here. I took off from work Wednesday and Thursday because I could barely stand and walking was extremely painful on my knees and ankles. At first it was just my right knee and ankle, but my left knee and ankle started to ache, too — I assumed because I had been limping on one side for so long. I’d probably been in pain like this for about five weeks.

My doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me beyond the joint pain, but there was something definitely odd about my condition. She had me only taking over-the-counter medication. Which did NOTHING for the pain .

The problem with staying home sick was the parking situation in my neighborhood. Since my car could only be in one spot for two hours at a time during business hours, I had to figure out what to do. I definitely didn’t want my car to get towed away, so I had to call a co-worker to come get my car and bring it to the employee parking lot at work.

So for two days I suffered and shuffled painfully around my apartment. It’s amazing how quickly my place got trashed – water bottles and granola bar wrappers were everywhere.

By the time Friday came around, my condition hadn’t gotten any better. I could barely bend my knees and definitely couldn’t walk comfortably. Walking was a great physical strain and traveling even ten feet would leave me winded and sweaty. I was pitiful. I couldn’t go another day like this, so I called my co-worker again and asked her if she’d be kind enough to take me to the emergency room.

The cruel joke of this situation is that I LIVE RIGHT NEXT TO A HOSPITAL. But since it’s Kaiser, they don’t take my insurance. I’m sure if I was dying I could walk into their emergency room, but since I was just in excruciating pain, I had to go to Alta Bates across town.

This looks like a good place to leave off -- I'll continue the rest of my ER adventure next time.

I found the taco truck.

I’d always heard about an elusive taco truck in Emeryville. A few friends and co-workers had mentioned it, and although none of them had ever gotten food from it, they’d heard through other friends that the food was actually quite good considering it came from a “roach coach.” They're probably called roach coaches because their arrival is heralded by their horns blaring the tune of La Cucaracha.

I’d never seen the taco truck, but I’d seen the various other food trucks peddling their cold drinks, snacks, and fried meat goodies. But one day after running errands, I was driving back to work on 40th Ave. and noticed a food truck on the side of the road with a crowd of people standing alongside of it. My eyes bulged. Was this it? Was this the legendary taco truck?

I quickly looked for parking -- all the spaces on the curb next to the truck were taken, so I had to park around the corner. This had to be it, right? I mean, why were there so many people here? Construction workers, office people, Home Depot employees... it was weird to see people converging on one food truck. And when I saw people ordering enchiladas and burritos, I knew this was the right truck. I quickly scanned the menu, --food trucks are great because the food is cheap-- and placed my order.

There was something kind of cool about standing in front of a taco truck waiting for my $4 carne asada quesadilla. No fancy lunch, just a bunch of office grunts standing around waiting for their order to be called. I felt like starting up some sort of water cooler-type conversation, but I wasn't sure if anyone would want to talk about those jerky hunks showing up on Average Joe.

The restraining order.

I stepped out of my apartment the other day to see a sign taped to the stairway near my door. It wasn't a usual place for someone to hang a sign, so it caught my attention. I looked at it and made out the words, "RESTRAINING ORDER."

Holy shit. Someone in my apartment complex is apparently some kind of stalker. That's just great.

And how fucked up was it to tape the restraining order next to a staircase where everybody in the building can read it?

Makin' toys.

Check out my DJ CHICKEN LITTLE!!!

...and check out the other chickens in the show in this art gallery.