WAVE WAVE WAVE . . .

Last Wednesday I changed my mind on the True Story I planned on posting that Thursday, and posted about something that happened that Wednesday. Well, I had planned to push the original story back to today (Thursday), then this happened last Thursday after I posted DON’T LOOK.

Whatever happened I’m still confused about. So is my mom. It happened when we were leaving a Wal-Mart parking lot (see Wal-Mart again!), and were stuck at a Red Light, in a Left Turn Lane for almost twenty-minutes.

This is a True Story I Call Wave, Wave, Wave . . .

There are two ways out of this Wal-Mart Parking lot. The southern exit pulls right out onto an intersection of the Main Road and the Freeway, and right into construction. We decided to go out the west exit, where the construction had just finished and the road would take us straight home.

No cars were at the lights, and I pulled up and stopped at the red light. First in line, first to turn. At this exit one can only turn left or right, there is no road on the other side, just a field. The arrows were red and traffic was flowing nice. A few cars pulled up, turning right. Cars lined up behind us.

We were still there waiting. And Waiting.

And Waiting.

I considered pulling over and turning right, since that lane was empty. The only problem there, is it would take us in the opposite direction. Mom decided to wait.
The light didn’t change. Some cars pulled out from behind us, turning right – eventually getting stuck in the road works. Others started honking their horns.

At me! The arrow was red, and I wasn’t pulling out into traffic. The only thing I could think of, is someone wanted me to pull up further, and trip that imaginary line people believe there is that will make the lights change. It doesn’t exist people.

Finally, this blue coup driven by a haggard looking old lady pulled out of line from behind us into the right turn lane. She didn’t turn, instead she stopped by us, and started mouthing off. She actually started waving. Waving?

Not waving hello.

She mouthed off and was waving at me to Pull Out. My mom rolled down her window slightly and I heard, “Fucking Pull Up. Go . . .” and more. According to this haggard lady, I was holding up traffic, not the red light.

Then the guy behind her laid on his horn for her to turn.

I would have turned right, but that lane filled up. No one else made any gestures or mouthed off though.

The light finally turned Green and we went home.

My mother shrugged it off, explaining that she felt the woman was waving for us to turn right. My GREAT mom is like that. Always look for a good things, in a bad.
I felt different though, damn bitch wanted me to pull out and turn left on a red light, with traffic on the road!

As I wrote above, whatever happened there (and whichever of us is right), the whole thing with the haggard lady was confusing.

 – Ace

P.S. One thing, I don’t see how she could have been waving for me to turn right since she was in the right turn lane and I couldn’t turn with her there.

DON'T LOOK!

This is not the story I had planned to post today, but this happened just yesterday. I still don’t know exactly what happened. Confused really. Whatever this was it went from me allowing a woman to go ahead of me when leaving a store, them me being a “fucking asshole.”

Yes, this is true. Yes, things like this do happen to me. Yes, I do have witnesses to some of these.

This is a True Store I call DON’T LOOK.

For this story I can’t change anyone’s name, because I don’t know the name.

Yesterday afternoon, around five PM, I went to my local Target to look for something. I didn’t find it, but since I had more errands to run, I decided to grab a coke. Since all I had was a coke, I used the new self-check and was one my way within two minutes.

As I stepped away from the self-check, a nice looking young lady came my way, heading toward the exit. I stopped, and let her go ahead of me. I recognized her as the person who had been at customer service when I walked in.

As she headed toward the door, she looked back and said, “Don’t look at my ass.”

WHAT?! I was taking a drink at the time and my eyes where nowhere near looking at her.

She left the store, and I was right after her. She headed down the same isle I was parked in. I really didn’t know what to think. Was she serious? Was this some odd come on?

She looked back again and said, “I said don’t look at my ass!”

She was serious. It felt like she was accusing me of something. I could have stepped to the side and went down another isle to my car, but that would be suspicious. Instead I figured out what I would say if she . . .

“Stop looking at my ass!”

I really don’t know what her problem was. “I would if you stopped looking to me,” I said as I continued on to my car.

It took her a few seconds to “get” what I said. As I got into my jeep, I heard a “Fucking Asshole,” yelled my way.

Ace.

OLD MAN LOGAN’S OLDEST FAN?

This is a True Story that just happened last week. In order to really understand it, one must be a comic book reader. Not just a fan (of say, just comic book movies), but actually read comic books. Specifically X-Men, New Mutants and X-Force.

Last Friday (March 3rd), I was driving home and drove past a theater – and thought it would be nice to see a movie. Then I suddenly remembered: Logan Opens today.

A second later I remembered something even better: I STILL HAD A FREE MOVIE PASS TO HARKINS THEATER!

Once home, I checked the movie times, took a nap, grabbed the pass and was Logan bound!

Seeing Logan is not what this story is about though, that will be a different blog (What I What I Review in next week). When I was in my back row corner seat, I saw a little old lady struggling to get up the stairs with her walker to find a seat.

One of the theater employees was helping her. Doing my good dead for the day, I went and offered my assistance. She didn’t want to use the handicap seat, to close to the screen for her. I helped her about half way up, until she found a seat she liked, on the edge of one of the back rows. A few seats in front of me.

She was very talkative in those few minutes – she is 82 years old and wore a . . . OLD MAN LOGAN t-shirt!

This is a True Story I call OLD MAN LOGAN’S OLDEST FAN?

This is true, I kid not. This little 82-year old lady wore an OLD MAN LOGAN shirt. It wasn’t just for show.

After the movie I decided to help her down the stairs – at least to make sure she made it down safely. She asked me an odd question: Did I know who Rictor was? (Movie Spoiler).

I answered that I did, and asked if she did.

Her response: “Of course, New Mutants and X-Force.”

I couldn’t believe this lady knew who Rictor was – the only child in Logan identified by name other than X-23/Laura.

If you read X-men comics, you’ll know Rictor and why I was surprised this lady knew him.

If you don’t read the comics, you won’t understand.

Ace.

WELL DONE

I have written about JAG a few times, an office where I used to work. JAG was a division of a larger mental health services company I once worked for in Phoenix, AZ. Before JAG I was a billing manager for the company out of their Goodyear, AZ office.

This office was out in the boonies, the fringes of the Metro Phoenix area. A small office of about 8 people total. Myself, the receptionist, a doctor, a college intern and therapists. My best friend at the time, Gil, worked IT for the company. Once or twice a week he would come out to our office, and the two of us always did lunch, or dinner after work.

One lunch, he took me down to a Mexican restaurant about a mile from the office for lunch. Turned out he had been eating at this place for a long time, before the Goodyear office even opened.

This is a True Story I call WELL DONE.

There wasn’t much on the menu that I liked, except for the Steak (I love Steak). I ordered the Steak and asked for it to be Well Done. BANG!!!

You would think I just – BANG!! – tried to rob the place. The server got pissed and started to mock me. Apparently having a steak well done is for pussies. She tried to convince me to have it medium rare, but I insisted.

Gil, joking, got in on the mocking. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy,

When are food came out, the cook came with it. This ass let it know he didn’t like Well Done.

The steak was actually good, but the experience was terrible. The only reason I stayed was because Gill drove and paid for lunch.

We haven’t even got to the good part yet of this story yet, as this wasn’t the only time I ate here. There were a couple of other times I got railroaded into this place, with the same experiences.

Then came the fateful day, an office dinner. Our entire office – eight or nine total, including Gil – went to dinner there. I wasn’t happy, but went along for office unity. As always, I ordered the steak, well done. I received the usual mocking – evening from my co-workers - but let it slide.

The next day only three of us showed up at the office. Everyone else was sick!

Guess what? I (we) found out that this restaurant already had a health violation against it, and had failed an inspection earlier that week. They were shut down for two weeks or so to make changes.

Can anyone say food poisoning?

The only reason I wasn’t puking my guts out was because I had my steak Well Done.

Almost everything at this place was undercooked – hence the food poisoning.

The place did reopen a little while later. I never returned. Gil I don’t believe went back. Some other co-workers did. At least one got sick again.

Then it happened again – BANG! – another health violation!

The restaurant eventually shut down, or was closed down depended on the source, because nothing was well done.

The thing I could never figure out is why my co-workers – who got food poisoning from this place more than once – actually missed the place.

Ace.

1st Grade Pile Drive!

Oh boy. Is this a true story no one will believe. That is a statement, not a question. No one will believe this, I am sure of that. This DID happen.

I was 6. I was in 1st Grade. This happened in the classroom at James Bickley Elementary School.

It involved me, a 6-year old wanna-be greaser class mate of mine, a fight and a bitch of a teacher.

The year was 1981. I started going to James Bickley in the middle of the Kindergarten school year that January, after my dad was stationed at the local Air Force Base. I had been around long enough to make friends and know who the bullies were. Sometime the bullies in schools are called Teachers.

My first grade teacher was one of those. Another was a kid my age in my 1st grade class who always wore this tiny leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, looking like Stallone from Paradise Alley or Lords of Flatbush.

Slick was always pushing kids around, but I also remember he was a favorite of this bitch teacher. I don’t know why, because he was nothing but trouble. (Maybe that was the reason, he was the hard luck case, allowed to get away with stuff because he needed more attention than others. This is just a thought looking back, I know I didn’t think that at 6 years old).

He was always trying to push me around too. Problem was (still is, for better or worse), I pushed back. One day this broke out into a fight in class.

This lead us to the True Story I call 1ST GRADE PILEDRIVER

Yes, a fight broke out between me and Slick in the classroom. I remember what is was over to – He stole my Star Trek watch. He pulled it off my wrist as he walked by my desk going to his seat, after returning from the bathroom. He yank it so hard, my wrist jerked up and the strap’s pin that kept it in place broke.

I stood up, grabbed him to get my watch back and a shoving match broke out. The teacher told ME to give him the watch. It was my watch!

Then things got weird.

If we were going to fight – she was going to let us. REALLY!!

She had the entire class move their desks to the right, opening up an area to the left of the classroom. There was already a ‘play area’ with toys and books, for use during lunch and recess. She had Slick and I go to this area, and told us to get it out of our system while she went back to teaching the class.

SERIOUSLY. THIS HAPPENED. She urged us to fight.

We did.

At that time I was nowhere near the Pro Wrestling fan I would become, but I did watch it when my parents did, and I remembered some of the cool moves. So, guess what? I decided to do the smartest thing I could in a fight . . .

We were wrestling on the ground when I got to my feet and he was still on his knees, then I did it. Just like on TV. I put my legs around his head, lifted him up . . .

The Teacher screamed her head off at me . . . Too Late!

I spent the afternoon in the principal’s office, being punished. Of course my parents were called. I really had no idea what ‘suspension’ was I just knew I got out of school the next day. Slick was never called in to the principal’s office, and the principal’s never believed the story about the teacher.

Suspension or not I was at school the next morning, my mom brining me to school to confront the teacher and principal. Who else was there waiting outside our classroom? Slick and his grandmother whom he lived with. A little old Italian lady. A pissed little old Italian lady.

I thought there was going to be trouble. There wasn’t. She was here to talk to the teacher too. Slick didn’t tell her the entire truth (stealing my watch), but told her about the teacher making us fight in class. She was pissed. My mom was pissed.

A lot of parents were pissed. Turned out a number of our class mates told their parents what happened, and in turn they called the school and district to complain.

We never did see the teacher that day, but the principal was another story. Apologizes were made, my suspension was lifted and for the next week we had a substitute teacher – our regular bitch teacher was put on some sort of disciplinary leave.

The good news in all this, I got my watch back.

The better news, fortunately I had no idea how to properly do the Pile Driver.

CHUG, CHUG . . . STUPID

I’ve written true stories about JAG before, where I used to work.

Well, here is another one. This is the tale of a time when a teenage girl at the center challenged me to something I ‘couldn’t do,’ and even bet me I couldn’t do it. Two other kids there jumped on and so did my Co-Worker.

Big mistake, but I am not sure for whom. Why? Well, when I’m challenged and told I can’t do something . . .

This is a True Story I call CHUG, CHUG . . . STUPID

On this fateful night we already had two kids in the center when a third, a young teenage girl, was brought in. It was myself, my co-worker and friend and an intern from ASU working that evening.

My co-worker and I were constantly playing Domino’s. He was actually a very good player, and taught me the game. I was constantly determined to beat him. We often engaged the kids brought into the center as a way to spend the time.

We also kept the fridge stocked with snacks, food and soda (Coke!). Well on this night we made a good time of it. We had a big game of Dominos, ordered Pizza and had a mini party.

Then a challenge was made – the teen girl made a comment about how much I must like Coca-Cola, and dared me to chug the can I just opened. Just a can, no big deal. Chug done.

Then she pressed – daring me chug a bottle. No biggie, I grabbed a 12 oz. bottle from the fridge. “Pussy,” she called me and grab the full 2 Liter (67.6 oz.) bottle.

She dared me to chug the whole thing.

Was I up for the challenge? Was I that stupid?

She dared me, and laid a $5 on the table. Made it a straight up bet and trying to punk me out. In fact, everyone got involved. $25 on the table, betting I couldn’t do it.

Well . . .  guess what?

I burp so hard and loud and for so long almost everyone, except for the girl, was concerned for me. I thought the pizza and my internal organs we going to fly out. I literally had to sit down and recover from the burp.

Her response? “COOL!”

Ghost Not

I used to work at a place called JAG (Juvenile Alternatives in Glendale). I was considered a counselor, and did intakes, outtakes and monitoring of Juveniles for a 24-hour Time Out. At least that was the job description.

I’ve written about it before.

It was hit or miss as to whether I liked the job. It wasn’t a job I wanted or applied for – but that is a story for another time.

It was claimed that the JAG building – a single story converted bungalow that use to be a house – was haunted. Lots of people claimed it. My Co-worked claimed it. Many of the kids who stayed there claimed it.

I never believed it.

This is a True Story I call GHOST NOT

I worked the 12P.M. to 10P.M. shift. After 5P.M. only two of us worked, so every night it was me, my co-worker and anywhere from zero to ten Juvies.

Many times my co-worker would tell me the place was haunted. Many times the Juvies would claim it as well.

The most common claims were simple: voices, weird noises and shadows. All easily explainable. JAG was on a very busy street corner, just off a housing area, and across from a car shop. All noises explained.

No one bought that. Why? The one big thing that kept happening. The TV.

The TV in the meeting room kept turning on by itself!

Keep in mind this is 2005/2006. The TV was an old counsel CRT TV. Not digital and defiantly not HD.

Now, I did experience the TV turning on by itself a few times. Much to my co-worker’s delight, who used it to prove the place was haunted. Some of the Juvies who spent more than one time out at JAG did the same.

TV on. Place Haunted. Ace Wrong.

Well . . . not really!

I noticed very easily that if there was a power surge, the TV came on. Sometimes the TV came on when a switch was flipped, or a door closed very hard. Obviously there were some wiring issues in the house. There was also something else.

I check over the TV one day – yes being a jackass to prove my point – and guess what? The push button to turn the TV on was loose. I took the TV apart and found the switch was broke and loose inside, the slightest movement could jiggle the switch on and off.

I fixed the switch and like a miracle the ghost was gone! JAG no longer haunted!

My co-worker moped for a while, he liked the idea of the place being haunted.

The boss was glad I did it. He could now use the TV in meetings, and it put an end to the Haunting idea he hated.

Simple, huh?

Ace.