I think we just had Christmas

Have the holidays finally ended? I'm sorry to say it, but i'm so glad they're over. I'm not sure that I will fully believe the holidays are over until Monica and I shove our christmas tree out of our second story window. This holiday season really packed a punch for me. Christmas wouldn't be too hard but when Chris, Donya, Gunita, Monica, Angela, Joseph, Matt, Reza, and Jesus all have birthday's at once it makes the month little stressful. Add in 14 hour work days at the end of the quarter and you've got a big stress pie. How else would I relieve stress but by having a little party on New Years. The plan for this year was to get off of work at midnight and then head out. Luckily for me, we were out at 8:30. I had planned on going to 1015, 111 Minna, and two house parties and changed my mind at the last minute. Let's start from the begining.

As you know from previous blogs I kinda sorta go Melong's car impounded. The reprocutions of said impoundment have caused me several traumatic events and will unfold as follows:

I retrieved Melong's car from a jumk yard that reminds me of the junk yard in the animated classic, The Brave Little Toaster. Not much else was left to do but appear in court on the day stated on my ticket. 12/23/2004. What convoluded this simple rectification was a letter that arrived in the mail some time after I was pulled over. The letter states three possible solutions to my perpetration. The first is to mail in $225.00 for a fine. The second is to "fix it" if possible and mail in proof along with a $10.0 processing fee. Or, appear in court on 12/28/2004 to fight the ticket. Now I'm a bit confused. I suppose this is because my ticket was for two infractions of the law. Driving with an expired license and driving an unregistered vehicle. Ok, we all know that the vechicle was infact registered but the registration sticker was not on the license plate of the car. It was in the glove box. Thus, what I was pulled over for. That's fixable. The other part of the ticket, the misdemenor, was punishable by a court hearing and a $1,000.00 fine. So this letter made things confusing. I assumed the letter was for the registration issue on my ticket and that I still had to appear in court. So to fix the registration it was either, pay the fine, come to court and fight it, or fix it and pay ten bucks. I assumed the court date from my original ticket still held. A quick phone call to the court house could absolve my confusion. Unfortunatly I had the following converstaion.

**Warning** The conversation that follows this warning may bring you some joy, but please be fully warned that the joy you are about to indulge in would be much better if I was sitting next to you reading the blog aloud. It is for this reason that I "axe" you to humor me in reading this portion aloud like a middle aged black woman with corn chips nail tips and a surley demeanor.

Michael: "Hi, I wonder if you might be able to help me? I received a ticket for driving with an expired–"

Big Black Woman (BBW) *please bear in mind that there is no real way to tell if the woman was big, or even black, but this is how I imagine her.

BBW: (Laughing as she answers the phone) "You need to call traffic."

Michael: "Oh, well my ticket says to call the criminal division."

BBW: "What's show name?"

Michael: "Michael S. Harris, ignored star of stage and screen" (Ok, I didn't say the last part, but by now I think it goes unsaid after my full name is stated.)

BBW: "All I have is a minor in possession of illegal substance court hearing on the 28th."

Surprisingly that wasn't me, though it probably should have been.

Michael: "Oh, that's not me, mine is for driving with an expired license."

BBW: "Call traffic."

Michael: "Ok, do you have the number."

BBW: (Huffing and frustrated) "Yeah, it's five, five, fo, six, six fitty fo."

Michael: "Thanks! Have a nice day."

Ok, so I called traffic. I called traffic like four times only to find that the phone would ring and ring and then somone would pick up the phone long enough for me to hear some ambient noise, and then quickly hang up. What the fuck? I called back and was promptly hung up on again. I quickly called back Shaniqua.

Michael: "Hi, I was just talking to you and you told me that I need to call traffic for my ticket but they keep hanging up on me."

BBW: "Well then you need to keep trying."

Michael: "No, they are physically hanging up on me, I can hear them answer and then they hang up the phone."

BBW: "Maybe they busy, so keep trying." Click!

No way that bitch just hung up on me.

Michael: "Hi, you just hung up on me and I'm not sure why."

BBW: "Sir, I've toe you everything that I can. We don't have you in the system so you need to call traffic." Click!

Fuck, she did it again. Ok, now I'm getting really angry. Oh, I forgot to mention that now I"m yelling at my phone.

Boris: "Michael, calm down, what's wrong?"

Oh yeah, I was at work when I was making that call. Boris is my supervisor who sits next to me.

Michael: "This stupid bitch keeps haning up on me."

Boris: "Ok, ok, calm down, is it a customer or is it personal."

Michael: "IT'S PERSONAL!"

I called the bitch back.

Michael: "Ok, now I need your supervisors name and phone number!"

BBW: "Why's that?"

Michael: "Because you are the most unprofessional person I have ever had to deal with."

BBW: "Well I can't give you that infa-mation! I toe you what to do and you keep on being persistant and I'm afraid I have to terminate this call."

Michael: "Don't you hang up on me!"

BBW: "BYE!"

Click.

Well shit. I spent the rest of my work day trying to find a friend with connections to the mayor. I wanted to have the bitch erased but government employees are hard to extinguish.

So I showed up on my scheduled court day according to my ticket on the 23rd of December.

It was a crisp morning, the kind that chaps your hands. Let us keep in mind the importance of lotion and the benefits of being well lubricated. I arrived at 7:35 in the a.m. I was twenty-five minutes early when I headed into the court house and opened my bag for security search at the metal detectors.

A large man told me eloquently, "Building's closed, wait outside, at 8 you can come back."

Oh, ok. I went out side and took a seat on a piece of stone. It's the kind of seat you take when you look at where your are about to sit real hard and determine if you are willing to risk the seat of your pants. Like when there is only one seat left on the muni and your pretty sure it's dried paint on the seat, but it could be fresh gum. I sat anyway. Then I noticed a coffee shop over yonder.

With sixteen cop cars parked infront of me, I thought it best not to J walk across the street but to walk the length of the block, cross the street and then back down to the coffee shop. This might seem foolish, but ask Matt Larriva about spending a night in jail for J walking and you might have made the same decesion.

I got my coffee and headed back to the court house making it just in time to see that large man working the metal detector come out of the building.

"You all can come in now, but I want you to be quiet and listen up. Now I know some of you's can't speak english too good so listen up." (I've left the e in English lowercase in an effort to make a subtle point. I fear that due to my many spelling errors some may not see that so I'm pointing it out for your.)

We made two lines one infront of each metal detector and my first day at boot camp began.

"NOW LISTEN UP. AND DON'T PUT NOTHING ON THE TABLES."

A confused man asked, "Wait, can we or can't we put anything on the table?"

"DON'T PUT NOTHING ON THE TABLES."

His statement clearly didn't clear up the mistery as his use of double negatives in fact meant to put something on the table. It was at this point that my smile grew larger as he continued through his rant.

THE COURT HOUSE AT 850 BRYANT IS A BIDNESS, JUST LIKE ANY OTHER BIDNESS. THE DOORS OPEN AT 8 AND THEN YOU CAN GO ABOUT YOUR BIDNESS. NOW I WANT YOU TO LINE UP STRAIGHT, REMEMBER WHEN YOU WAS IN SECOND GRADE AN YOU LINED UP REAL STRAIGHT, DO IT NOW. OK, NOW WHEN YOU COME IN HERE AND WE TELL YOU TO WAIT OUTSIDE THAT MEANS WAIT OUTSIDE, NOT WAIT IN OUR LOBBY. YOU CAN'T GO TO THE BANK AND WAIT INSIDE UNTIL THE BANK OPENS. WHY? BECAUSE IT'S A BIDNESS AND YOU CAN'T GO ABOUT YOU BIDNESS UNTIL THEY'S OPEN."

"NOW IF YOU GOT A BELT ON , TAKE IT OFF! AND IF YOU HAVE ON STEELTOE SHOES, TAKE THEM OFF." Fortunately I wasn't wearing a belt, and something told me to leave my steel toe shoes at home this morning.

The man continued to yell at us for about 15 minutes then asked if we had any questions. Fuck no I don't have any questions. I didn't want any trouble. I passed throught the metal detector like a warm knife through butter.

Shortly after I found my self in the criminal division on the fourth floor. An old skinny black woman took the lead of the line. She had an abnormaly large ass and walking cane. When she screamed, "I'm crippled! I'm crippled," I took note and kept a comfortable distance between us. The man behind the bullet proof glass told her to take a number and wait for her hearing.

Following crack head crazy skinny woman (CHCSW) was a man, his wife, and their inter-racial children.

CHCSW: "Is those you babies?"

The man turned and noded.

CHCSW: "You got you some beautiful chidgren. Is they twins?"

The man noded again.

CHCSW: "I knew it, we have five babies in our family and two of them is twins. We got two who is paternal, and two identical. Those babies of yours sure is beautiful! They gonna bring your some beautiful gran babies."

Someone must have called her number because without a moments notice she was on her feet. She made almost a full step every minute like the time when Hsiaowen was trahsed and tried to get off a curb. All the wile the woman kept screaming, "I can't walk fast enough, I can't walk fast enough."

It was at this moment in my life that I realized that crazy seems to find me. I'm a magnent for it. A tall, devilishly handsome, magnent for crazy.

I consider all momemnts in my life like sceens in a movie. So as crazy eked her way into the court house I fantacised about how this sceen might be shot, and what shots would flatter me the most.

It was now my turn. I quickly found that a court hearing would not be held for me, and that all I had to do was pay my fine. On an additional trip to the court house on the 28th of December, when I tried to pay my fine, I was asked, "Why are you paying the fine, all you have to do is have a cop sign off stating that the registration sticker is on the license plate, pay ten dollars, and mail it in." Super.

I'm sure that the woman made some error, and while I will correct this violation, I fear that this event may come back to haunt me later in life. I can only hope she didn't make a mistake.

If she did, I plan to sue the city and everyone working in 850 Bryant. I pray that my experience with the courts of San Francisco isn't emblematic of our government in it's entirety. But I'm still afraid.

All the while it was quarter end at Macromedia and I was working very long days. Two fourteen hour days later, it was new years eve.

My cubicle was like a full service bar as my coworkers kept sneaking over for a shot. We closed our quarter with record breaking numbers.

Whoopie.

I left work, ran home, shit showered and shaved and went to a house party for new years. Chas, spun a fantastic set as always. At 10, the cops came. I was drunk by this point, and quite empowered.

"The cops are here? This is fucking ridiculous! They have to come three times before they can come in, and there is a noise ordinace of 11:00. Chas, turn it up! Fuck em!"

We drank, danced, and slurred our words as the New Year rang in. It was at this point that Jared mentioned an a gay party that he new of. Drunken Reza was hailing a cab before Jared finsihed his sentance and we were off to party with the gays. I hate these kind of parties. They usually consist of obnoxious gay teens who are all dancing to crap music and looking for a cheap hook up. Homie don't play that. Five minutes after we entered the party, I had a bitch fit.

Michael: "Jared, this is unacceptable."
Jared: "Do you want to go?"
Reza: "Where are we going to go?"
Michael: "I don't care, but I will not stay here, we need to leave now!"
Jared: "Power exchange?"

Swell. What better way to ring in the new year than with a case of VD. I went along to supervise the boys knowing I was about to throw an even bigger fit.

We got to the Power Exchange only to find a large line. I approached the bouncer.

Michael: "Hi, how much is it to get in?"
Bouncer: "It's fifty dollars tonight sir."
Michael: "I will not pay that."

Clearly he didn't recognize me.

Bouncer: "Then you wont come in."

I turned to the boys. "I'm not paying to get in; I shouldn't have to pay to get in."

Jared suggested that we go in and try to negotiate with the person inside. The bouncer checked our ID's and we went inside. Jared asked the guy working the cost and he quoted us the same price. I stepped up and said, "We will not pay that to get in, how much is it?"

So we left the power exchange and tried to get a taxi. We couldn't. Then I noticed a damsel up the road, all dressed up, with a taxi right in front of her. I ran over. I asked her if she was going near the richmond district and she said that she was headed home to Marin. Perfect, I said, that's right on the way. We all got in together. It was at this point I flipped the switch to my crazy magnent.

The woman sitting next to me, who's name I will not say to protect her anonimity and because I forgot, looked like some sort of large black fuzzy cotton ball. She had on all this black fake furry stuff and she had so much black hair that she was like this big coco-puff with a face. She had a deep voice and kept talking about her horses that she needed to feed in San Rafael where she has lived most of her life. We wondered why she was alone at the power exchange on new years and she wondered why we hadn't brought women with us. "Next time, bring a girl, and you'll get in for cheaper." Um, no thanks.

I asked fuzzy puff how old she was. I was astonished when she said forty. She took that as a complement but really it was because I thought she was older. She replied in a deep raspy manish voice, "It's my Greek genes, it's my Greek genes." At this point I didn't care who made her jeans, all I could focus on were her black die-ables shoes that had to go. We got out of the cab handed her some money and headed for Jared's house. As the cab pulled away Jared laughed, "I told her that we gave her 12 dollars, but really it was only 9." Not only was she alone at the power exchange on new years with only a couple of horses to welcome her back at home, but now she was short changed, and still wearing those God awful shoes.

After rereading my little tale I can't seem to find the words to draw a conclusion to my final days in 2004. Almost any Jerry Springer final thought would do it really, but at this point, I can only forget my past an look forward to 2005.