This has been happening the past few days as well, since I’ve been having to introduce myself more with soccer and on the phone trying to sell “it”. Usually this is the response when I say my name – Hi, I’m Mark…Merrick? Hey. Now its gone to this several times…Hi, I’m Mark…Merrick? Hey…No, MARK…Oh, Omar? Hey…No, MAAAAARRRKKKK…Sorry, my bad Eric. Good work. I’ve given up. I refuse to open with Mork.
I realized today that I am obsessed with the Bucket that sits outside my front door and wrecks my neighbors’ heads(One neighbor asked yesterday if I was buying that truck, I said no selling it, she gave a big pheeeeewww, we were hoping you weren’t buying it, it looks awful…nice one!). I have put everything else on hold until I can sell it. For the past few days I have decided to not booze, not to go out, not to look for a job, forget about acting classes, forget about sorting out a visa, and forget about life, until I have sold the Bucket. No more, enough is enough.
Today I got up about 10 o’ clock. This lovely, sound chap who I met last night was coming about 10.30 to buy the truck. The reason he didn’t take it then and there last night was that he needed his wife to drive his car home, and he’d drive the bucket home. So, I kindly listened to his stories about his holiday home in Mexico, the parties, the Coronas, the Patron, the ay ca-rumbas and all the rest. Senor Silvester was coming back in the morning with $400 and taking the Bucket out of my life once and for all, it was the least I could do.
So I have some breakfast, watch t.v, get a few more calls about the truck from interested parties, read a book, have some lunch, watch some t.v, cruise the internet. All the time ringing Silvester to see where he is. Senor Basatardo doesn’t even answer my calls or call to say he’s not coming. Two more guys ring to tell me that they are going to come check it out…no sign of either.
At this stage my agitation is building up a head of steam. I get in a stupid argument with my roommate over a yogurt (one funking yogurt!!!), realize how stupid I’m being, apologize and settle back in to waiting for the first buyer to show up. My phone rings again…Mike. I’m wondering who Mike is, his number is saved in my phone, but I can’t remember who he is…Was he a gym buddy I met? Was he the dude who owned the house in the hills who took a fancy to me? No, it clicks, that funk who sold me the Bucket. Sweet Jesus, I almost drop the phone with the surge of rage that overcomes.
Answer the phone, he starts to give me crap, how he is going to kill me, then he is going to sue me, I better watch my back, he knows where I live, I better take his name off Craigslist, thats derogatory and blasphemous(the idiot doesn’t even know what words he is using or what they mean, I presume he meant defamatory). I had put an ad up trying to sell the truck, and gave his name as the con who lied to me, if anyone knew him, tell him I want a word (tough man and all that I am). He had seen the ad and now his phone worked. I better watch my back, he was going to get my ass killed, or sue me, so I had better get my lawyer ready as well. Funking ape. So, somehow the guy who lied and sold me a heap, is now on the phone threatening me, how the funk did this swing around?!!!
The surge of rage spills out, Im effing and cursing at him “Come up, kill me, I’ll get you first, you effing pr**k, my lawyer is waiting, you cheeky b*****d, wasting my time, you f**king langer” and so on. At the time it was a good rant but typing it out it seems womanly enough, felt good at least. Pity he probably didn’t get what a langer is. Pity as well that I think he hung up the minute I spoke for the first time. I try to ring him back but his phone is back off.
The rant did the world of good. I gave up on waiting for the other fools who said they’d come to buy it (there’s only one fool really in all this but I’ll forget about that for a minute). If they do ever show up I’m always within walking distance of my house anyways, ha, no car and all.
I get a call from my roommates, they are in Chateau Marmont up the road having a drink, come join them. The drinking ban is lifted. Up I go. I know now that the incident was still on my mind on my way up. A hot girl compliments my t-shirt while we’re waiting for the green man to cross the road, and all I say is “Thanks” and walk across, not waiting for the green man and leaving her at the other side of the street. Smooth enough if I say so myself. Smooth. It was too soon after breaking up with the Bucket anyways, it would’ve been unfair on her. Sure.
So, up in Chateau Marmont, my roommates and I, with Cameron Diaz sitting next to us, probably on the rebound too, not looking great though. While I’m busy squirming at the prices – I’ll have a vodka, please($15) – Vodka and? Vodka and…water (Ha, never a good sign) – Fiji water, sir? ($5) No, no, tap water will do, cheers boss – my roommates point out that my Bucket affair has been a comedy of errors. Cant help but laugh at it all. Another weight is lifted off my shoulders when I admit this to myself. If I sell it, I sell it, if not, its given me plenty of material. I’ve wasted all this time when instead I could be out and about, not being smooth and being surprised at how someone doesn’t look as good as I thought she would. Far more productive.
I was meant to celebrate selling the truck tonight. Instead I’m just going boozing on with my new soccer buddies, celebrating breaking free of the Bucket’s spell. At least I now have a few wingman. And can use the line “Want to come back to my house up on Mulholland?” Ha, wuu huu. I’ll obviously be going home alone tonight.
I know who to blame or thank for all these ups and downs as well, Craig, but I’ll write more about that tomorrow. Here’s a good song to get pumped too and suitable for the Bucket episodes…Stuck On Repeat by Little Boots.