mercoledì 3 agosto 2011

We're On The Road To Nowhere

For once the image has really not much to do with the post, but it looks the right way. It's a spirtual connection.

Also, even if it looks like it, this isnt meant to be one of those posts where the authore describes its "crazy/sad/stressful" day, looking for some sort of empathis connection with its five readers and the spambot that follows him. No, i despise those. There's something inherently self pitying and pathetic in someone who describes his "bad day" (unless it had a meaning in their life or contained some important happenings that had to be shared) and even worse if they try to add some half arsed "womp womp, murphy's law is on me" jokes.

Still today was an amazing example of how no matter how good the intentions of an individual are, a series of weird twists will make them pointless.

I had to visit an ill friend today, a brother who is fighting against some bad, nasty disease and i want to help and be close to. Since he's been placed in a special clinic where the disease is being taken care of more properly (thats the new age of privatized healthcare, y'all), which is outisde of the main city and not easy to reach, i took a full day off work and got ready. The road was long and complex, so i didnt really want to drive it by myself.

Get to the train station. Ticket lady is off duty for the whole month of august. Only shows up early in the morning. For the rest of the day, you have to either buy the tickets in other stores (which are closed) or at the automatic machines. Which have been both broken for a year. Right. See i usually dont travel without a tickets since i look nlike thew type of person that security loves to check and possibly molest, so i have to be careful. But if you WANT me to do it, then i will. Fuck it, no ticket. I'll get it on the train if i'm asked.

I wasnt asked. The train departed and arrived with the usual half hour of delay, filthy, with no air conditioning and a jolly smell of urine. Got to the small station where i should catch the Bus which would then bring me to the clinic.

There was no bus. I mean, the bvus existed but it was suppressed for the month of august. So if you wanted to actually visit your cancerous loved ones on august, you'd better geta car or find another solution. I heard an unspoken "you stupid piece of shit" in my head but i'm a negative thinker.

I think, "well at this point, since i'm stuck here i might as well call a cab!". Totally. Crappy Cab stickers were all over the tiny smelly station. A ride with one of those guys, i was informed, was around 50 bucks. And would take about an hour more.

I dint have fifty bucks, even if i wanted to spend them. Also if i had fifty bucks, i'd rather spend them at the colourful folksy bar with no sign where all the town peeople seemed to be. A poster outside shouted indignation against the evil of alcohol and how it's a demonic drug. inside the 80 year old up clientele seemed seriously drunk in bright sunlight.

Options are either sell my cavities for a lift (not even home, to a tumor clinic. would have been a nice story), which i had no intetnion to do. Or ask my buddy's wife,w ho already hjas enough troubles to come and pick me up. I dint want to be a pest. I called my friend, explained my situation and we had a fun chat where i managed to make him laugh. That made me feel better.

I had to get back. Shall i buy a ticket? Lets try. The ticket seller is closed. A guy there says "wait, i'll do you a handwritten thing instead of a ticket". Sounds like the beginning of a weird horror or an hilarious porno, but yeah.

The train is ready for departure but the guy is stalling.

"Sir, the train is leaving"

" minute..."

"Sir the lady is yelling"

".... Tell her to wait...."


"....Jesus, what's the rush, i'm doing you a favour! Go then!"

After that, he just goes away and i fling myslef on the departing train, ticketless.

A lot later, i'm home.

On the return train, a guy with crotches asked to a lday if the seat next to her was free. She ignored him. The seat was occupied by her purse. I offered my place to the guy.

While returning, i saw my father hanging out of some bar, looking like a child molester. Neithere here nor there.

One note: having a scruffy outlook, a t-shirt with jesus on a cross and the phrase "DEATH OF A SALESMAN" on it and a pair of cool headphones blasting weird music in your ears will make you feel like you're in a movie and keep people away from you. Yet the town's immortal psycho drunk ( a guy named "Cavaliere", whom i remember since i was a kid and is stuck to the age of 70 since then) will approach you and call you "Evil", to then start yelling how he will kill all women.


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