I thought I would feel more victorious...
So, I got woken up at 11:00 this morning. This is actually a most horrendous thing that happened to me, though it might not seem like it at first glance. You may even be shaking your head in ill-concealed disgust at me as you read this. But, I swear on my favorite pair of black pants that I wear on fat days, it was horrendous.
I mean, I had spent almost 10 hours straight at a music fest with much dancing and mood supplements involved. Then, feeling the need to further torture our bodies, we went to what can only be described as a korean beer hall. A beer hall with meat. A lot of meat. Before thinking that hey while we're here in k-town, we might as well get a karaoke room with a couple bottles of soju. Needless to say, my go-to song - Careless Whispers by Wham! (featuring George Michael) - brought down the house.
But the point is, that I probably didn't fall asleep until almost four. And I needed my rest. And so I was woken up most - let me say it again - horrendously by... an ice cream truck.
And ice cream truck playing an ice-cream truck version of Pop Goes The Weasel. And the truck didn't just drive along my block, enticing children with their bacteria mobile. No. It must have just PARKED on my street. For 1... 5... 10... (all around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. the monkey stopped to pull up his sock, pop! goes the weasel! All around the Mulberry Bush, The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey stopped to pull up his sock, Pop! goes the weasel! ALL AROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH, THE MONKEY CHASED THE WEASEL. THE MONKEY STOPPED TO PULL UP HIS SOCK, POP! GOES THE WEASEL! ALL AROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH, THE MONKEY CHASED THE WEASEL. THE MONKEY STOPPED TO PULL UP HIS SOCK, POP! GOES THE WEASEL!) 15 minutes.
At which point I was enraged. What the fuck how much ice cream can the people on my block eat what the fuck move that fucking truck i want rest and i can't fall back asleep and it's surprisingly warm and oh my fucking god what the fuck.
And so, I throw on some clothes and force myself out of my building to find the truck. And it's parked there, right next door. So, because I'm a polite person, I calmly walk up to the window (it's like, a full-on catering-van sized ice cream truck) and politely yell at him over the horrendous noise if he could turn off the music (since it's been playing for FIFTEEN MINUTES).
One of the 2 guys back there gives me a mean look that he probably learned in prison before gaining his parole to work the streets, and turns off the music. And I give a relieved sigh, but the relief lasts only a couple seconds before I realize the weasel has been replaced by BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. I think for a moment, trying to decide which is worse.
I then ask him to turn THAT off. He tells me he can't. Then I say then move your truck, you've already been here 15 minutes. And he replies NO. And then FLIPS THE WEASEL MUSIC BACK ON. Oh my god, hello rage. I then tell him to get his truck the fuck out of here. He says NO. I CAN BE HERE AS LONG AS I WANT. And I'm all, LET'S SEE WHAT THE POLICE SAY. And then he says, GO AHEAD, BITCH. Oh my god. So I'm all FINE MOTHERFUCKER AND I HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR LICENSE, REGISTRATION AND PROOF OF INSURANCE WITH YOU. And then I pull out my phone and take a picture of him. By this time, the other guy in the van is looking nervous and the little Guatemalan lady who was getting some crazy coconut sundae thing has left after giving the whole situation a series of alarmed looks. And Prison Guy is all WHAT ARE YOU DOING? And I'm all, DOCUMENTING. And so I go, around the van, taking a picture of the other guy and the license plate (with its expired tags) and make a big fucking show of dialing. At which point, Prison Guy finally flips me off and starts his van and drives away.
Satisfaction swelled through my tired, battered, body.
So. That's why being woken up at 11:00 can be horrendous.
And why each of you should think twice before moving into a sketchy-ass neighborhood because you've fallen in love with a 100 year old building with cheap rent. Because, when you live in the hood, even THE ICE CREAM GUY WILL CUT YOU.
I mean, I had spent almost 10 hours straight at a music fest with much dancing and mood supplements involved. Then, feeling the need to further torture our bodies, we went to what can only be described as a korean beer hall. A beer hall with meat. A lot of meat. Before thinking that hey while we're here in k-town, we might as well get a karaoke room with a couple bottles of soju. Needless to say, my go-to song - Careless Whispers by Wham! (featuring George Michael) - brought down the house.
But the point is, that I probably didn't fall asleep until almost four. And I needed my rest. And so I was woken up most - let me say it again - horrendously by... an ice cream truck.
And ice cream truck playing an ice-cream truck version of Pop Goes The Weasel. And the truck didn't just drive along my block, enticing children with their bacteria mobile. No. It must have just PARKED on my street. For 1... 5... 10... (all around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. the monkey stopped to pull up his sock, pop! goes the weasel! All around the Mulberry Bush, The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey stopped to pull up his sock, Pop! goes the weasel! ALL AROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH, THE MONKEY CHASED THE WEASEL. THE MONKEY STOPPED TO PULL UP HIS SOCK, POP! GOES THE WEASEL! ALL AROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH, THE MONKEY CHASED THE WEASEL. THE MONKEY STOPPED TO PULL UP HIS SOCK, POP! GOES THE WEASEL!) 15 minutes.
At which point I was enraged. What the fuck how much ice cream can the people on my block eat what the fuck move that fucking truck i want rest and i can't fall back asleep and it's surprisingly warm and oh my fucking god what the fuck.
And so, I throw on some clothes and force myself out of my building to find the truck. And it's parked there, right next door. So, because I'm a polite person, I calmly walk up to the window (it's like, a full-on catering-van sized ice cream truck) and politely yell at him over the horrendous noise if he could turn off the music (since it's been playing for FIFTEEN MINUTES).
One of the 2 guys back there gives me a mean look that he probably learned in prison before gaining his parole to work the streets, and turns off the music. And I give a relieved sigh, but the relief lasts only a couple seconds before I realize the weasel has been replaced by BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. I think for a moment, trying to decide which is worse.
I then ask him to turn THAT off. He tells me he can't. Then I say then move your truck, you've already been here 15 minutes. And he replies NO. And then FLIPS THE WEASEL MUSIC BACK ON. Oh my god, hello rage. I then tell him to get his truck the fuck out of here. He says NO. I CAN BE HERE AS LONG AS I WANT. And I'm all, LET'S SEE WHAT THE POLICE SAY. And then he says, GO AHEAD, BITCH. Oh my god. So I'm all FINE MOTHERFUCKER AND I HOPE YOU HAVE YOUR LICENSE, REGISTRATION AND PROOF OF INSURANCE WITH YOU. And then I pull out my phone and take a picture of him. By this time, the other guy in the van is looking nervous and the little Guatemalan lady who was getting some crazy coconut sundae thing has left after giving the whole situation a series of alarmed looks. And Prison Guy is all WHAT ARE YOU DOING? And I'm all, DOCUMENTING. And so I go, around the van, taking a picture of the other guy and the license plate (with its expired tags) and make a big fucking show of dialing. At which point, Prison Guy finally flips me off and starts his van and drives away.
Satisfaction swelled through my tired, battered, body.
So. That's why being woken up at 11:00 can be horrendous.
And why each of you should think twice before moving into a sketchy-ass neighborhood because you've fallen in love with a 100 year old building with cheap rent. Because, when you live in the hood, even THE ICE CREAM GUY WILL CUT YOU.