Shopping Center Sitting

essay

Thursday, July 15, 2010

I don't know which to rave about more… the beautiful McDonalds I spent three hours learning or the lovely city in which it resides. Yes, Monterey sounds beautiful, and it is. They started by removing all manner of billboards (or maybe they never put them up), got rid of eyesore displays (like the golden arches), and focussed on beautiful structures, great foliage and fantastic scenery. Win, win, win. But like they say -- I'd never live in a city which would allow me to live there. And Monterey took one look at me and said, "Uh-uh pal," then got a private security squad to watch my every move. There they were in the Mickey D's parking lot. I saw them again while I purchased gasoline. They were peeking out from behind trees as I walked through their lovely parks. And the entire force breathed a sigh of relief as I exited their fair burg.

Or maybe I'm just paranoid. But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching you. What was that!? Oh, it was just a bird.

I'm back on the US-1 and the sky coats the ocean like an angry blanket. As the coast winds in and back like a weaving alcoholic the fierce cloud cover draws closer and pulls away as if threatening a choke hold. At one point it slips landward and I smack through a wall of fog, angry wisps following my car like fervent gangbangers. I speed away and they give up, returning to the flock.

Sun breaks through and dots the farmland with bright freckles. Lines of hunched farmhands in oversized straw hats pick tomatoes and strawberries and artichokes. Dozens of curious travelers pull their expensive hybrid vehicles to the side and watch them work as if experiencing labor for the first time. I zoom past. Labor has been my life… I am unimpressed.

It's a mellow ride to San Francisco. I'm still on the US 1 and the number one tourist sight is beaches. Unmanned, deserted… and it's nice out! I walk on a couple-- I'm not feeling the hole, so I get back in the car. Halfway there I realize that my fancy car charger isn't working. The computer is threatening a walkout. Of course I pull over to find a power outlet. My relief comes in the form of an eating area in front of an Albertsons in Half Moon Bay, where I sit for two hours awaiting full power. I people watch during that time. A dozen feet from me is a vagrant, sitting on the ground next to his home… I mean his cart. He doesn't say a word, just looks at the people as they exit the store. One after another they hand him singles or fives. One beautiful young girl's expression shifts to sadness and hope and she asks god to bless him. He's made 60 or more bucks in an hour… he's blessed enough. I always wonder if some of them take off their filthy rags at the end of a day and enter a fine split level, leaving them in a box in the garage marked 'work clothes'.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Kiss. "How was work, dear?"

"Same as always. People throw money at me."

"Daddy!" Screaming little blonde muppets attack and hug him. "What did you bring us?"

He reaches into a bag. "I got a puppy!"

Something like that.

He leaves after awhile, arguing with himself, and I'm now sure he doesn't live in a nice house with a pretty wife and loving kids. Maybe once, long ago but not now. Poor shit. I give him a dollar. He doesn't thank me. Why should he?

An employee of the store takes their lunch hour on the benches, munching on crunchy overfried chicken from the deli counter. He pulls out a device from his backpack which turns out to be a portable battery operated DVD player and loads a movie he got from the video display inside. An employee/friend stops by. "What are you watching?"

"A 40 Year Old Virgin Knocked Up Sarah Marshall And Feels Superbad About It." Not kidding. I could hear a few choice scenes as they watch. It's violent, dirty and pretty funny. I wonder when they are going to release "The Making Of A 40 Year Old Virgin Knocked Up Sarah Marshall And Feels Superbad About It." It's what logically comes next, right?

He goes inside to get something to drink and I volunteer to watch his stuff. "I don't know you and you don't know me, but we're both sitting here watching electronic devices -- we're kindred spirits," I say. The 20 something smiles and agrees. When he disappears I grab his shit and run. I don't, but the thought of it passes briefly, just to imagine the look on his face after my impassioned speech. He returns and thanks me, unaware of what just happened in my mind. I ask him to do the same and I get a soda from the car. He also doesn't steal my shit. It's a good day.

I made a few phone calls, to the ex and to friends and to my future host upstate -- I should be arriving in his town in a couple of days. He made the offer a few months ago to let me stay there for as long as I want. But he doesn't even know that I've even left LA, or that I've even made this big change in my life. I wonder what he'll say when I tell him? He doesn't answer and I leave a message briefly describing my 'Crisis-Quest-About' … I figure he'll call back. Hope he will, actually.

At 85% charge I've had enough of this upscale shopping center and check my route. Turns out this road doesn't go where I want it to go, but the road I do want is coincidentally adjacent to the shopping center. I'd like to think it was Karma because I didn't steal the guy's DVD toy, but probably it was just coincidence.

Soon I'm in Frisco. "Not if you don't wanna make enemies, you won't." That was the answer to the question I asked this angry fat queenie AAA rep

when I arrived the first time in 1985 -- "Can you call this place Frisco?" I decided right then I would ALWAYS call it Frisco, only not to their faces. I park at a meter and pay a buck for 30 minutes, then hop into a hospitality store (oh, you know). I get back to the car and discover a ticket for 75 poppers. The bastards. Turns out meters in FRISCO which are painted yellow are the same as yellow curbs. Was that Karma for calling it Frisco? I didn't wait to find out. After spending accrued weeks in this city over the last 25 years, I know it well. Pretty, expensive and a driving nightmare. It's like most big cities so I left, headed out through the gate. The Golden Gate.

Ended up in a town called Rohnert Park, at a place called the Extra Super Budget Dirt Cheap Sleazebag Rat Motel. Not the name, just what I call it. My first room had no air. Literally. I couldn't get the door open, the vacuum was so intense (Okay not literally). The second room was better by a fraction. The AC pumped out air marginally warmer than the chilly outdoors -- I left the door open. There were two beds crowbarred into a room so tight that a wild eightsome wouldn't fall off the edge. The lights flickered. The TV smelled like eggs. Missing tile in the bathroom. And there was a perfectly formed iron burn in the carpet -- I think they use it to point North. My next door neighbors had 32 teeth -- between them -- all 6 of them. The scaly woman upstairs on the walkway asked me for a cigarette while I was tending to my car. I didn't have one, so she asked if I had any crack. I said no to that too and she asked if I wanted a blow job for $20. I said she'd have to pay me more than that, and went inside.

Oh, and the WiFi sucks. All this for the low price of $79, marked down to $53 because I complained. Cross Rohnert Park off my list of potential life destinations.

My buddy up north called and said he was happy to host me for as long as I want. Yay! Then my friend down south Skyped me and we chatted for an hour and eleven minutes, like old times. I tell you, set the computer in the right position when you Skype and it's like you're there!

I'm out of here. Gonna find a beach and toast up. More later.