| Constant Complaining
Complaining about how difficult life can sometimes be has not been a normal part of my life for some time. Although, reminiscing, I can think of several people who would beg to differ—mostly prized individuals who would listen to me rant about being employed by West LA Music. Essentially, whenever I overhear people complaining about how difficult their life is, I tend to gloss it over. My tendency to let such things pass is magnified whenever people complain about how bad their day is going. Of course, I would never flippantly deny someone the right to mourn the trespasses of a day when things are truly not going well. However, I must admit that I have a lower tolerance today than I ever have of unabashed complaining over the miniscule things in life. That leads me to what I have to say today. I suppose my readers would suppose that I only provided the preceding disclaimer because I am about to log several complaints of my own. Today was not a great day, although in all honesty, I could not say in good conscience that it was an awfully terrible day. Today has been odd so far and that is to say the least—as I write this at 3:30 in the afternoon. To prove my point, I shall recount the details of the events of my day. I had woken up at six o’clock in the morning because I wanted to make the trek down to the Port of Los Angeles to watch the USC women’s rowing team practice. The crew departs the USC campus at 6:15 so I figured that I would be on time if I departed Temple City at about the same time, considering that they would spend a little time warming up. Baldwin Ave. is closed at the railroad tracks because of construction but I thought taking Temple City Blvd. to the freeway would be more efficient anyhow. By the time the freeway was in sight, I could see that the cars on it were barely moving. At 6:30?—I asked myself. I hoped with all my might that the slow-moving traffic was only in my immediate locale. How wrong I was. The parade continued from the 10 west to the 710 south to the 105 west and then of course for at least a little ways on the 110 south. When I finally arrived at the USC boathouse, it was 7:30. Since the girls had already launched and were on the water, I had to call the coach to come and pick me up. I got his voicemail the first two times I called but the third time; it rang for a while before going to voicemail. Sitting in my car, I was content, so I was about to ignite my engine and head back up the 110. That was when coach called me back and said “Jeremy—I’m in the middle of practice right now”. I know! So I told him that I was waiting at the boathouse and he came by the pier to pick me up for the ride. The girls looked fantastic on the water. My pants were soaking wet because our motor boat had to work twice as hard with me on it apparently, kicking up water in a mean fashion. That doesn’t sound too bad now does it? Aside from being overly tired and now, also soaking wet, things actually were not off to all that bad of a start. Driving the 110 north, I encountered some traffic but I thought perhaps I would be able to get a drink at Starbucks before going to my tutoring sessions. As I was waiting to make a right from Exposition Blvd. on to Figueroa Street, a couple of women walked into the cross-walk so I idled for a bit as they made their way through. My light was red anyway so the women had the right of way. There were cars traveling from my left to my right but the moment the cars stopped whizzing by, two cars behind me, someone honked because I hadn’t moved yet. The women were still within the cross-walk so I waited some more but the car directly behind me heeded the sound of the horn and proceeded to ram right into my back. I was in shock so I sat still for a moment and then reached for a pen and paper before she would have a chance to get away. I slowly made my right against a green now and the young lady driving the VW Jetta followed me to a stop. I checked for damage and there wasn’t anything visible but I told her I would take her information and that she could have mine in good faith. I wasn’t hurt and my car looked fine but I was still in shock that I was struck while in my vehicle. What irked me mostly was that the young student seemed like she did that all the time and acted like it was no big deal. She didn’t even seem relieved when I told her not to worry about it. She drove off well before I began to move so I suppose she really figured no visible damage meant nothing was wrong at all. I decided to scrap my Starbucks venture and found a four hour parking spot on the outskirts of the campus. Tutoring went fine. I had a new student today but he was cooperative and didn’t come off as any sort of head-case so my morning at work went rather smoothly. After tutorials, I knew I had to get back to my car before the meter expired and was ready to head back to Temple City because the cable people were coming to do an install on our house. I didn’t have any cash in my wallet so I decided to get lunch at the Galen Center and just swipe my student ID. I got a cheeseburger and fries with a Coke in a decent amount of time and began to walk back to my car. That walk is about ten to twelve minutes at a swift yet leisurely pace. This would be a good time to mention that I am not a fan of having to transport hot food from one location to another. If food I order is hot or prepared hot or warm, I want to eat it before I go anywhere. So of course, this situation wasn’t putting smiles on my face. However, that’s not even the best part. As I approached my parked car, salivating since I had not eaten since around six o’clock in the morning, I noticed a two ladies speaking with each other in front of the library. As I passed them, I realized that one was a vagrant and the other was someone she had just asked money for. Honestly, I was not trying to pass them as quickly as possible, but I knew I didn’t have any cash and even if I did, I wouldn’t have wanted to put my food down to get it out. Now, I’m cool with vagrants asking for money as I pass them or if they walk up to me from a-ways. Of course, I can’t stand it when someone tries to ask me for money when I’m on the phone, talking to someone else or when they have to call to me from a fair distance. So I’m already more than twenty feet away and the vagrant lady of course noticed me so she starts yelling to me. I oblige and turn around and even walk back to her. I was about to explain that I didn’t have any money as she muttered a million things but then all of a sudden, her voice became clear as she stopped looking at me and stared right at my food. She said “Do you think you could spare me fifty cents? I’m getting awfully hungry.” And I thought—my, what proper English for a lady on the street asking for money. I didn’t know what else to do so I offered my food, somewhat begrudgingly. She didn’t say thank you and took it without much of a smile. Now that got to me some so I offered my drink with a little attitude as if to say, well you’re going to clean me out aren’t you? She stood and actually thought about my proposal and said “Nah!” So starving, I walked back to my car and got in. I wanted to feel good about what I did but I couldn’t help but feel resentful and regretful. I kept on trying to convince myself that it was because I was just hungry. I’ve been treated to so many meals this semester, I couldn’t even begin to count them and I’m sitting in my car seething about a measly six dollar lunch that I gave to someone who really needed it? That couldn’t be right. I actually prayed that I would have a softened heart and that I would be able to experience the joy that normally comes with giving and sharing. Of course, my mind was clouded with the fact that after I handed over my lunch, I witnessed the woman change her course and walk behind me and eventually ask two more people for money with the same line. I thought, well, yes—you wouldn’t be begging if you didn’t actually need the money. But what was she doing? Planning for tomorrow? She had told me she was hungry and I gave her food and she went and asked for money from others with a mean cheeseburger and fries in her hand. I don’t know how those people felt but I didn’t stick around to find out. I wasn’t sure whether I should continue to feel pity for the woman or just plain embarrassment that although she was not able to support herself monetarily, she wasn’t able to figure out that people might notice she is begging for money for food with great food in her hands. I suppose this would be a good time to mention that she didn’t look much like a vagrant with the semi-nice clothes she had on. I don’t know how this random entry got so long but I’ll conclude by saying that I went to McDonald’s to get food for myself and as I prepared to make my right turn into the drive-way, someone coming south on Figueroa cut diagonally across four lanes to cut me off. I’m not sure how long my mouth was open, but that was when I decided I needed to write about this wonderfully strange day. No, it wasn’t terrible, but I can’t recall a time when I felt this awkward about the things I went through within a seven hour span of morning/afternoon. Hopefully, tomorrow is surprisingly normal. Oh and in case you were wondering, I didn’t win the lottery. |
