Dial M for Madness

Due to a bizzarre coincidence M shares a phone number with a rehab centre here in San Francisco. This means that unless you call her through the reply button on texts you’ll get through to them instead. This has led to no end of frustration on my part, not least because anytime you do get through the stingy bitch probably has no credit and is therefore completely uncontactable!

However it has led to some fairly ironic texts being sent by the likes of Laneways and myself to said rehab centre. Texts like; “wanna get drunk”, “we need drugs”, “are you in town?, lets get drunk” etc. I just can’t help but try and imagine what its like being at a switchboard for a rehab centre and getting fairly consistant texts and phonecalls about ‘partying’…..

sack wallet!

Remember that job I had as a chugger a few weeks ago? Well, I came out with a load of phone numbers and good intentions which I never really followed through on. I didn’t call anyone or hang out with any of them bar the Urchin but thats only because he lives beside me. Anyway, loads of people have my number too and I’ve just had a very odd conversation with one of them.

There was this kid, I called him the Rockstar-17 and far too cool. Always talking about drugs and always sounding really really stoned, typical 17 year old I guess. I’ve had no contact whatsoever with this guy since I got fired but he called me up today out of the blue to ask if I wanted to hang out, “y’know man, any parties or anything going on?”

I am hanging like a hound dog so I said no in as nice a way possible and we went through the friendly motions, pleasantries  and other bullshit used to get someone off the line. Then, just as I was about to hang up he says “hey man, do you know where I could buy some ecstacy?”.

What an absolute tool

You want me to take a what test?!

I am currently sitting on my living room couch waiting for a callback about a job handing out fliers(I know, glamorous). The guy called me up in the Mall but(in a fit of unparalleled idiocy) I asked him to call back in an hour because I couldn’t hear him over the anarchy in the background. “oh, you’ve a lovely Irish accent” sounded like “welcome aboard, we just have to fill out a bit of paperwork” as well as bit of a come on. Who knows, if the bastard ever does call me back I might live out the American Dream and fuck my boss up the ass(I’m not gay but I’ll learn, for all the dreamers out there…).

I applied for the job with a certain reservation. The add on craigslists made repeated use of those dirty words ‘clean and sober’ and worst ‘drug test’. Granted, gone are the days when my piss was so intoxicated that’d melt clean through the test cup (whilst sprouting out unicorns and other mythical creatures) but I’d still have a hard time passing. In fact, I’ve spent the last half hour trying to work out whether or not I need to fork out $20 on whatever ’snake-oil miracle drug test passing kit’ they have in Walgreens. I found two timetables of how long it takes for stuff to get out of your system and decided that the most accurate one was the one in which I had the best chance of passing the test.

The guy has a fair point though, people in such important jobs need to be checked up on. I handed out flyer’s with AAF in Dublin, it wasn’t the worst job ever but the people we were working for were assholes. It quickly got to the stage where we were showing up drunk not for fun but out of some warped sense of principal. The worst was handing out Wall Street Journals having gone straight to work from the night before, literally standing up at a session table downing drinks and saying “we goshta gofer worrrrrrr…..k”. Our supervisor was not impressed, I stopped getting phonecalls after that. AAF got the odd one but only because she wanted some of his honey*.

Speaking of which, his girlfriend is coming over which means…… he’s moving out which means…… I get a room all to myself for a full 4 days!! Although, I can see the Coy getting promoted from the floor in the girls room……………nahh! 4 full days!

 

*not literally, you fucking moron