It’s covered elsewhere, but WAMU stole my morning again. They just cannot do anything right over a stretch of even a few weeks without screwing something up, and passing the cost on to you. I planned my morning to take money out of the ATM, pay the car repair bill, and read a good book. Washington Mutual, by closing down a branch but leaving the sign up and the lights on, with a little sticker in the window that the next branch was thirty blocks away, where the ATMs were not yet working, turned the ten minutes into a major 3 hour long drive. Using up time, gasoline, and driving twenty miles through Miami weekend traffic. But, I had to make a deposit, so away it goes. Had to stop and use another expensive ATM, which in turn lowered my WAMU balance below the no-fee threshold, and stop twice to let the car cool down. You get the idea. WAMU is like that kid brother with piss in his water pistol.
The only high point was there was another moron standing outside the WAMU branch, and I got to tell him off. He was totally plastic, wearing a Sear’s catalog suit. He was greeting people for the grand opening. I politely informed he would have been of better use at the other end of the parking lot telling folks the ATMs were down before they parked their cars and walked all the way over. He said it wasn’t his job—wrong answer. I told him he was a moron. He feebly remarked that the “Bank was worth trillions”, so how could they hire only morons? I informed him so did MacDonald’s, and their morons were far younger and better looking.
It was mid-afternoon by the time I got to El Mago. There is something incredible about finding an honest mechanic in this town. I have one, named Manuel. The symptoms of that fuel pump were so distinct, he could have charged me and I never would have known. Instead, he found it was a tiny clip in the ignition area that was not grounding, thus stopping the fuel injection. Same net effect, but the repair was only $125.00. That puts Plan 81 back on track, so I tipped him twenty and went over to JPs. He wasn’t home, so I stopped in at an art store on US-1. Full of neat shit or what! All kinds of handy little doodads and gear. I’d spent another twenty just browsing, and there was even a kid there who knew I was the toothpick man. I learned that there are precut wood pieces that artists use to make frames that they stretch the canvas over, I did not know that before. I learned about acid-free glue, miniature hand tools, and got a ton of ideas for the toothpicks.
Then I finally found Deli Lane. Unlike the directions I had been given, it is not on US-1. It is not visible from the main roads. It is not a right turn, but more of a veer off to the right into a weird area full of stop signs and police cars watching them, just like Montana. There’s more. It is not a deli, and does not have a sign saying Deli Lane that I could see. It also faces east, so you can’t really see it until you have already driven past it, and what you can see is heavily camouflaged by tree branches. It looks like a sidewalk café, but the sign says “Tavern”. Jaime was not on duty, a few inquiries showed that normally she would have been but is on suspension. Yes, that would be Jaime.
Then I drove over to the mansion. JP was painting up a ladder, a few feet at a time. That is painstaking work. Ha: Paint-staking. Anyway, he is also taking down and repairing the shutters so that is why it is taking so long. I’ve painted bigger houses myself in a week. Next Saturday we are planning to get together and finish the job, if he’d quit worrying about my heart already. He does not believe I can tell if there is a problem, and his theory is that quitting smoking causes heart attacks. He may have a point, but I think it is lack of exercise. As far as construction goes, a paintbrush is not that heavy. He knocked off work, I was still thinking is was hours earlier than it was, thanks to the bank. We went over tto the Winn-Dixie across from Deli Lane. I bought a tooth brightening-product, cost me fifteen bucks. [It didn’t work.]
JP is one of the slower shoppers. My car needed a deep clean, so I bought paper towels and did a section of the car at a time in the parking lot, waiting. It must have been over an hour, because by the time he came out, I had done the entire car, inside and out by hand. Mind you, he spent fifty bucks, so that takes time. Be warned other shoppers, JP is not above “sampling” things left in the open, like strange vegetables and such. He enjoys shopping like I do, often just to see what is new. He bought some Icehouse beer, which tasted more like yeasty ale, and we packed everything back to his place. Talking business, broads and watching cop shows on TV. It is plain, getting pulled over in a car is one of the worst things that can happen to you, and makes up the bulk of the television programming. The police have plainly got laws passed that allow them to push people around more from a car check than in other scenarios. [Author’s note: remember I am West Coast, where such stops are fewer than in Miami.]
On almost every car stop, the police were able to trick the people into saying something incriminating, or got them arrested. I mean, are people stupid? Once those cuffs come out, you shut up. The worst and most obvious trick was the police asking you incriminating questions that were none of their business, that you probably would never answer except when surrounded by armed men at a roadside. What’s your buddy do for a living? Well, that is something you should ask him, not me. Another sad police line, “You’re not being honest with me.” Well, quit asking questions that are not your business. I would tell a judge whether I had been arrested before, but never a policeman. It is not his concern. We had grand sport watching all those stupid people talk themselves into jail. I always get Alzheimer’s when questioned by police, but never lie. They get anal about that.
JP made steaks and coffee, he used to work in a restaurant for years, you know. Great cook but makes lousy coffee. We couldn’t find a Saturday night movie. I wanted to go chase women, but he still remembers the women who were checking us out at the bookstore back in, January was it? True, JP, but the bookstore thing is something you plan a week in advance and do in the morning. Can’t hop over there at eleven on Saturday night. Plus, I suspect all women who go to bookstores to meet men are already in an unsatisfactory relationship, not like they left the bum and are on their own looking for a new man. You are going to get caught in a crossfire dating women who do things like that.
My bookstore logistics go back decades, it is not the woman you meet, it’s when you hold back and meet her friends. (This also, somehow, makes you a gentleman.) Is that ethical? Entirely, if you have not done anything with the first woman, made no promises, and clearly understand the game being played. She is out there looking for someone to rescue her, I am looking for someone smart enough not to need rescuing in the first place. She will not be able to resist telling her friends she has “met someone”, ensuring they will be all the more receptive by the time peer pressure forces her to bring you along somewhere. There is no honor among women under this circumstance, and that is not your fault. [Author’s note: I am describing my old tactic of not messing around with older women until after you have met their friends. It works for me. If they are babes, however, that is a different matter all together.]
My one failure at it was Sharon from the phone company. She had played the game so long, that she stretched the never meet anyone else stage out indefinitely (over a year). This is the gal who would even rip out advertisements in magazines on her coffee table if they showed pictures of younger women. She was fanatical on that point, and I didn’t want to know why. Good thing I didn't stick around.
