Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Damn George Thorogood

Over cheap Japanese food during lunch one day, some friends and I were swapping tales of jackassery and embarrasment. Among the usual gross out tales of pants pooping and throw up, I remembered when something embarrased me that didn't involve drunken antics or fruedian slips.

It was a few years ago, during my first summer living in Los Angeles. I was working as a Production Coordinator on a low budget film. Production Coordinator was the title given to me, but I was just a glorified PA. I got paid nothing, and my days were split up between hanging out at the production office in a run down building on Sunset Blvd, and driving to the set in El Segundo to deliver important things like ice, and lunch. This was tough for me, since I wasn't being paid, I was spending a lot of money each week on gasoline expenses.

One hot afternoon, after having to schlep between the office, and the set all day through traffic since 7am, I get a call from one of the producers saying that they needed me to pick up boxes and deliver them to the set. I had just returned from the fucking set! I wasn't even out of the car for more than two minutes. The idea of getting back into my truck, fighting through traffic to get to some box store, then getting back on the 405 to El Segundo made me want to eat a baby's face off.

But, I was young, and was eager for the "experience" so I kept my mouth shut, and drove to the Producer's "box guy". The Producer had a "box guy", which meant I was going to some back alley box store to save him a couple of cents per box. I follow the directions to this box store, and after a few turns I end up in an alleway off a small side street near La Brea and San Vicente.

There was no real parking, so I pulled up as far as I could go, which still left a good portion of my truck sticking out in the small side street. I didn't think it would matter, since I was only going to be there for a short time. I didn't really care either since I was annoyed and in a rush.

I was in the store for about a minute when I start hearing all this honking, so I run outside to move my truck. Immediately, the guy in the car trying to pull into the driveway/alley starts screaming at me.

"MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!" the guy says.

I yell at him politely to "Calm the fuck down!", and ask him to back up so I can move my truck, but the guy doesn't move, he just sits there honking and swearing.

That's when I flipped out. The guy was yelling at me to move my truck but wouldn't back up to allow me to do so.

I started yelling and swearing unintelligble things. Much like the scene in "A Christmas Story" where Ralphie starts beating up his bully, my words came out like this:

"Rajja frajja, fucking blah blah blarrgh, car, blagga blagg shit backup jarba jarba!"

At this point, people from the box store come outside to see what all the commotion is about. These employees are treated to the sight of me outside some guy's car screaming and yelling.

Finally, after a minute or two of brilliant negotiation:

"You fucking move!"

"No you fucking move!"

The guy starts backing up, screeching the tires as makes room for me to get my truck out of the driveway.

Fuming, but satisfied, I walk past the the box store employees, get in my truck, slam the door, and start the car.

Now, I should explain something. When I drive, I listen to the radio loud. Really loud, mom says I'll go deaf one day.

That day I had the radio turned on loud when I pulled into the driveway of the box store. The radio was loud when I turned the truck off. So, when I started up my truck, ready to leave, the radio comes on blasting the lamest song ever, especially after my public tirade.

"B-B-B-B-B-BAD, duh nuh nuh nuh nuh, B-B-B-B-B-BAD!"

The fucking George Thorogood song "Bad To The Bone" blasts out of my speakers. Loud for everyone to hear.

I felt immediate embarrasment. Especially when one of the box store employees raised his fist and shouted


Among the laughter of his co-workers.

George Thorogood made a mockery of my seething venomous rage. It was so lame. I don't want this stupid song to be the soundtrack of my rage.

Granted, it wasn't the kind of embarrasment you feel when you get caught singing naked in your grandpa's bedroom, or taking a dump on the doctor's finger while getting a prostate exam, but it was still very embarrasing to have the moment replay in my head over and over for the rest of the day.

HAHA!! What a wanker!
Yes sir, that very well could be the lamest song ever. What's with the saxaphone? There's nothing bad to the bone about a saxaphone solo, it's just plain bad. Like, not good.
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