The realization that I can’t do another day in New York City hit me like an electric cattle prod to the gut today.
At 7:45 something is incessantly beeping at me trying to get my attention. Why is my alarm going off? I’m not working today. Oh yeah. My girlfriend brought a van home from work last night and asked if I could move it this morning before eight so that it didn’t get ticketed.
I get up, throw my clothes on and drive around the neighborhood for a half an hour bargaining with Christ to help find a parking place. I spot something. A little close to the fire hydrant. But it’ll work.
Back home and back in bed for minute.
Not long enough.
The girlfriend’s alarm is going off. Gotta get up get going. Gotta drop the girlfriend off at an appointment, then drop the van off at the rental place. We throw our clothes on. Coffee. Out the door.
Van’s got a ticket. Too close to the fire hydrant. Fuck. Ticket says that vehicle must be five feet away from hydrant. I’m four feet eleven and three quarter inches. I spout a turrets syndrome style rant at Jesus and the New York City meter maids.
Girlfriend tells me it’s okay.
Woman in car in front of us at the intersection is talking on her phone. Light turns green. I blow my horn. “Come on!” Girlfriend tells me to chill out. I tell her I’m fine. An van on the bridge nearly blows us into the river.
I let it go.
I’m a perfect little Buddha as we creep through bumper to bumper Manhattan traffic until the old man in front of us sits through an entire green light, then blows through the red. I hold my tongue and horn. I start cussin’ under my breath. I am the calm inside the storm. I drop girlfriend off at therapists office. I can cut loose with my verbal abuse. In the fifteen minutes that it takes me to get to the rental place these exact phrases come out of my mouth: “Are you a fucking moron?!”; “Jesus, you’re fucking retarded!”; “You stupid dildo bitch!”; “Are you fucking shitting me?”; “Sure come on. Just stop traffic while your fat ass walks across the street.”; “I will fucking kill all of you! I will run you down!”
I feel a little better.
Drop the van off.
Need some fresh air.
Crossing street cab driver cuts me off then stops. Control self and don’t kick in windshield like Bruce Lee. Think I need a drink. Too early in the morning. Not a good idea. Guy walking down the street in front of me moving slowly, oblivious to the rest of the world. Make my move on the left to pass him up. He swerves, cuts me off. I swerve to the right. He cuts me off. Fucking asshole! I move to the left. He cuts me off again. God!
Meet girlfriend. She asks me what’s wrong. Nothin’. I’m fine. She presses and I go into a rant about how people who cross the street when they have a red hand signal fuck up the whole flow of foot traffic for the mass of people who are crossing going the other way, thus causing a cluster fuck on the corner of the sidewalk, creating pandemonium and chaos. My girlfriend looks into my eyes searching for remnants of sanity as a red hand crossing guy’s backpack smacks my shoulder. I’m gonna fuckin’ go postal on someone… My girlfriend starts laughing. I tell her that I can’t take another fucking day in this town. Which works out perfect, because we’re goin’ to home to Texas for the holidays tomorrow.