Warren Ellis, �Transmetropolitan: Spider�s Thrash�
OK, I�m going to try to actually mention the book I read this time.
Um.
Well, the girl who destroyed my 20-volume set of the Oxford English Dictionary once mentioned on her Web site that somebody said she wrote like Spider Jerusalem, the fictitious character from this series. She didn�t know who he was and asked for second opinions.
She doesn�t write like Spider Jerusalem.
Or perhaps she does, as this is what she posted when she finally got a connection to The Wire: �After nine days of Mad Max style debauchery, cannibalism, etc. I escaped the godless cesspool that New Orleans has become.�
Like I said � similarities. She does have similar luck to the character, however, as when she was finally wheeled away to safety, they dropped her off in Beaumont, Texas.
Hey Darlin�? I�m glad you�re all right, but don�t come visit.
So yeah, luck. After I got the job with the paper, one brilliant and sex-ay lady reassured me that while my luck is shitty when it comes to little, obnoxious things that get in the way of the possible overall ease of life, I do get lucky in big ways that totally make sense for me.
The thing is, the little things come so fast and furious that it�s sometimes hard to remember that. And it�s usually incredibly frustrating because it�s out of my hands. Take when I went to pick up the car after it had the boat ride across the Pacific Ocean. I took the bus across town and walked forever along side the edge of the island, only to cross a drawbridge and walk alongside another island. I get to the car depot about 15 minutes before they close. I give them my information and they look up my file.
�We can�t give you this car. Our invoice says that James Carrico is going to pick up the car.�
�Who the hell is James Carrico?�
�I don�t know, that�s just what it says.�
�Well, obviously there�s been a mistake.� She asks for my address, which I recite. She shakes her head.
�It�s close,� she says, �but what I have is that the order was filled by James Carrico, and the address is different.�
�787 State Street,� I repeat.
�No, what I have is 787 Eighth Street.�
�Well, obviously you have an employee who can�t listen and type at the same time.�
�Don�t you have any proof of ownership?�
�Of course � in the car.�
�Well, I can�t collect the car until James comes to pick it up.�
�But there is no James Carrico! I�m the one who made the arraignments! I paid for the car to be shipped!�
�Did you drop it off?�
�Well, no. My friend did.�
�Is your friend James Carrico?�
�No! Look. There. Is. No. James. I did the transaction over the phone, and it�s obvious they took the name down wrong.�
�Well, it�s out of my hands, as I have instructions to give the car to James. You. Are. Not. James.�
We stared at each other. I wondered about Hawaii gun laws. Finally, somebody else overheard us and volunteered to go check in the glove compartment to see if the paperwork matched my driver�s license. He came back after two minutes and tossed me the keys, waving me over to his section of the counter to have me finish my paperwork.
I was so relieved after spending nearly three hours on bus and foot to get there and dealing with this other bureaucratic fuckstick that I nearly fell over with thanks for the guy who took it upon himself to help. I thank him two, no three times, shook his hand, and then noticed the nametag.
It said �James.�
---
Next problem dealt with getting proof of my tuberculosis test (note: Sephim, this is what the TB cocktail reference was alluding to). I had the test done at Kaiser Hospital on the mainland, so I walked into a Kaiser here on the island, expecting to walk in and out with the necessary paperwork with no problem.
Stupid, stupid me. Apparently, they have no connection except for the name. They said I could fill out the paperwork requesting a release of the confidential information and they would mail me a copy in six to eight weeks. I�m not really supposed to be working behind the bar at the deathrock club that plays �Ghostbusters� without a pass from the liquor commission, which I can�t get until I prove that I don�t have TB.
Though I don�t really see the problem, as I�m pretty sure the club isn�t supposed to be paying me under the table either.
In a stroke of genius, I remember that the reason I got the test in the first place was to get admitted into the university here. I call the health department at school and explain the situation. They say they can�t release the forms through fax unless I first fax them a letter of permission. Miraculously, I get the people working at liquor commission to do this for me. The university sends back the results of the TB test, which reads negative.
They tell me that it isn�t good enough to just to know that I don�t have TB. They need to know exactly how little TB I have, down to the millimeter reading.
Apparently, Hawaii is a little paranoid about TB. The Mainland states don�t even bother with the millimeter reading, thinking that a negative result is good enough.
Of course, my first bartender at The Caravan died suddenly from TB, so perhaps they should rethink their policies. But OK. So I couldn�t get the card. The club lets me work anyway, but I have to do most of my work on the floor and away from the back of the bar, which is hard to do as I�ve been hired as a barback.
On Tuesday, I call the Kaiser offices on the mainland and explain what I need. The woman says she has all the information and that she�ll fax it right over to the commission for me.
�Now,� I caution, �they are really serious about the millimeter reading. That reading has to be on the paperwork. It can�t just say negative.�
�Oh, don�t worry,� she says, �It�s on there. It says �Test� and then under it, it says �Neg.� Then, under �Result,� it says zero, zero.�
�Perfect,� I say. I jump on my bicycle and ride the three miles back to the liquor commission.
�No, dis no good,� they said, looking at the fax. �It no say �mm� next to da zeroes. Dat could be anyt�ing.�
Unbelievable slack-jawed stare on my end. Eyes crazed with the absurdity of it all.
�Um, I know this sounds silly, but what would it matter? If the results said that I had zero and zero pounds of TB, or zero, zero bunny rabbits of TB, it would still be zero. Meaning none.�
�Yah, but see, �choo need da �mm� nex� to dat zero. Udderwize it no count, yah?�
Wow, the local dialect really looks Minnesota-ish when typed. Weird.
---
And I know this is getting long, but I have to put down the experience with The Company and my second day there. I haven�t mentioned much about the weather but you�ll get these moments between a warm and sunny day where the clouds suddenly decide to piss down rain for five minutes and then stop like nothing just happened while you suddenly have your clothes soaked through. Already gloomy about the prospect of where I was heading, the sky decide to make a longer appearance of rain starting exactly when I left the house and continuing until just before I arrived at the mall fifteen minutes later.
That�s right, I am a living sitcom clich�.
I�ll say this in defense of The Company � the employees don�t seem unhappy to work there. Despite shitty pay and a total corporate atmosphere of distrust, they enjoy the fact that they can come to work with their crazy hair and multiple piercings. They like that they can play their indy rock loud, though they only get to play what is pumped through The Company approved radio network.
I, however, worked a total of four hours and was thoroughly depressed by the time the shift ended. Looking over the overpriced shirts featuring several of the bands I�ve known or played with reminded me that most of these bands once utilized that espoused ethics about DIY and not exploiting their fanbase are apparently fine with having their ugly faces screened on shirts with empty slogans about fighting the system.
I stared at the Lars Fredrickson shirt and remembered him showing up at my house looking for a place to sleep. He happened to show up on a night where we had just returned from Epicenter records and stayed up all night, blaring all our new records at top volume. The next morning he looked over us bleary-eyed, and confessed that until that night, he had never heard bands like Crimpshrine, Operation Ivy, or Econochrist, until he came over to try and sleep.
I saw the dozen-odd items with the Green Day logo and thought about how I got them to play at a bowling alley in Saratoga, and they were the ones who demanded that tickets not be sold for more than five dollars, which is how we planned to do it anyway. I have to say, though � they were the nicest guys, and even though we only played with them twice, they remembered our names when we ran into them three years after they hit it big. That actually makes it sadder to see them not look out for their fanbase as much as they could.
Really, that�s what makes The Company so depressing. They�ve taken a subculture, an alternative and independent movement, and commodified it for top dollar. That�s the fault of the consumers. I understand that. But watching this corporate monstrosity make billions off this culture that I�m actually a part of is sickening. I�ve always thought so, but now that I�ve been inside the machine and seen their policies and manifestation of a distrustful work environment that utilizes bag searches and makes every transaction involving refunds or count outs at the end of the night be watched over by two people and signed in triplicate, I can hardly stand looking at myself.
And look, I wasn�t born at a punk show. When I was young, I bought a couple of shirts from the corporate record store. But it didn�t take long before I realized I could get them cheaper by actually going to the shows. You learn. That�s why they were originally geared for 14-to-17 year-olds, because they eventually learn, ideally.
They�ve expanded those demographics to try and reach the 12-to-35 year-olds. And it�s working.
After four hours my shift ended and I trudged down to the lower level to retrieve my bicycle. As soon as I exited the underground parking garage, it began to rain again.
I don�t think I can stay at this job for long.
---
So yeah. Little obnoxious things that get in the way of the possible overall ease of life.
At seven-thirty this morning, I got the permit from the liquor commission. It�s like a driver�s license, and it makes me want to get one of those flip-down wallets so I can approach people and say, �Dean Carrico, Liquor Commission. I�m gonna need to take a look at that Jack Daniels.� Then I�d tell them to move along.
And then I got to school and saw that the Honolulu Weekly printed my first assignment.
Suddenly, I forgot all of the little annoyances.
Except for the fact that I just dragged them all up again, so I�m gonna go get a beer. I suppose you could use one too after all this.
