Friday
Feb102006

« Driving In Hell-A »

I happened to be doing a truck driving gig for Yahoo Music in Hollywood on the night of the Grammys. About 11 pm I went in search of some chow, having just been told that my gig was extended for something like three hours beyond the stated time on the gig sheet. Now, I was in the biggest vehicle I routinely drive for work, a 16' bobtail truck. It's called a "city van" and is among the more nimble of the trucking family. Still, it's a pig to drive. The hotel I was at during the gig was quite a challenge as it was (with a tremendously tight driveway on a busy street, leading into two narrow spaces side by side with one truck in the near space and a wall to the other side and cars behind it all once pulled in) and it was easy to decide that I would not drive any more than I needed to in Hollywood on that mad busy day. Good thing. By the end of the gig, I was frazzled enough.

Anyhow, after arriving at the venue at the appointed time of 11 pm and being told the gig was striking "after 2 am, but maybe later", I drove about looking for some grub. I turned into an In-N-Out nearby partially because there was what appeared to be ample space to park in an actual lot instead of hellish street parking. I was behind this slick SUV with the stereotypical boob-enhanced and fashion model wannabe Los Angelite on the cell phone who turned into a space and a half that I was going for since the parking was tight and one space would not do. There are some cars behind me too, backing up as I sit in an almost parked position about 3/4 into the space, with this SUV woman on the phone and making it just impossible to actually get into the space. So I honk and get no response. Honk again. No response. Honk once more and finally she got out and said she was reserving a space for her limo drivers. I'm sitting there in this fucking truck, blocking three cars now, and finding that I have to try to justify getting this space I am already in. Lady, my options are kinda limited here, you see?

Then just as this exchange starts to take off, some In-N-Out dweeb comes by and starts telling me I have to move, that these spaces are being held for someone (presumably some pompous asshole with a shiny big car). I exclaim, 'where the hell am I supposed to park this thing?' To which he pretty much shrugs his shoulders and just says I can't stay there.

So I say, 'Oh, so you don't want my money then? You don't need my money? WTF?'

I gave up without much more hassle because I decided I didn't really want a burger anyway, but I had a mind to just spite the guy and go across the lot where I could have parked across five spaces and really torqued his jaw. I ended up going across the street to the IHOP and had an overpriced breakfast—in the middle of the night.

Then once the gig did end, after 2 am or so, it took another four hours to get it struck, drive to the shop and finally get to bed. What fucking hell it is in Hollywood. The only star I saw was David Spayd. If only I actually cared about such shit.

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