I Hate this City

Drag yourself out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn because you have a 12 mile commute that needs to get you to work by 7:30am.

Walk into work to the nanny job to children yelling, “No, I don’t want [Short and Feisty] to be here! Go away!”

But it’s not the first time you’ve heard that and it certainly won’t be the last because who punishes their kids for being rude every morning, these days? Sure, they’ll recover in 10 minutes and start hugging you, but it doesn’t erase the shitteous start to the day.

Grandparents galore are in town so you’re routine is off kilter simply by them being there. Add in the fact that one of these grandparents enjoys rearranging the schedule with their preferences and their crappy ability to make you late for things, and your day is lining up nicely.

{Dear Parents: for the exact reasons why YOU don’t want to hang out with your annoying parents, your nanny does not want to spend 10 hours a day with them, either.}

You make plans only to have them interrupted by, not only the presence of the grandparents, but the fact that both mom and dad are home rearranging your plans as well.

WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE TO BE THERE IF THE ADULT TO CHILD RATIO IS OVERWHELMINGLY IN FAVOR OF THE ADULTS?!

Welcome to the world of high-net-worth nannies, where they can afford to just have you there sitting around twiddling your thumbs.

Oh, and one of your kids is a two year old. A raging, drooling, snot nosed, two year old who you alternate between wanting to shove in a corner and hugging. Because sometimes they can be so darn sweet and literally less than 2.5 seconds later and their screaming at you to “un-cut” the slice of bread that you cut in half…after they asked you to cut it in half.

You leave your job by sprinting out of the door and get in the car with three hours to get from the far West Side of LA to Hollywood to see a show for a sketch writing class you’re taking.

GUESS WHAT, THOUGH.

Just because you have somewhere to be that evening, every single solitary route you could use to expeditiously get to your destination is a bumper to bumper wall of solid metal and rubber tires.

You sit in the inching traffic, cursing your luck, and then you realize that the audiobook you were enjoying (Bossypants, again) only has about 10 minutes left while your GPS predicts you have an additional 90 minutes left.

Pull over for some food. Yum. Sit. Eat. Listen to that last 10 minutes of Tina Fey. Try and get BACK on the road. Attempt to stay awake, you’ve been up for well over 12 hours at this point.

Almost 2 hours of traffic later.

You pull up to the theatre of the comedy school you’re attending. You try to find parking but

  1. It’s dark,
  2. The signs on the streets of LA would confuse a WWII codebreaker,
  3. You can’t tell if the curb is painted red, or if it’s just the glare from some light.

While you’re searching for a space, your anxiety disorder comes out to play and you’re wondering why the hell all the comedy schools in this godforsaken town are located in the shitty dumpster parts of the city (cheap rent, most likely). You guess comedy needs an “urban/edgy” feel that you’re not going to find in Santa Monica or Beverly Hills (also, cheap rent).

Your brain is ticker taping the following: “You’re going to get shanked, you’re going to get stabbed, you’re going to get jumped, you’re going to be assaulted” all while trying to concentrate on finding some GD street parking so you don’t have to pay $5 for valet to have a stranger drive your car AND THEN TIP HIM FOR TURNING THE IGNITION ON AND OFF AGAIN.

You pull back around to the front of the theatre to see NO parking and several homeless people start to settle in for the night and a rather skeevy guy lurking around on his cell phone. Probably selling street pharmaceuticals.

STAY FOCUSED DON’T PULL OVER YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE AND GET SHANKED.

You pull onto a side street a second time just in time to see a sizable rat jump into the undercarriage of a Rav-4 in front of you.

Nope, nope, fuck that noise. I’m out.

And you hate this city and you’re tired of trying so hard to just end up treading water and you want to run away and–

shhhhhhh.

You’re going to go home, blog, eat some tortilla chips, sleep, and pray that there is a light at the end of the tunnel that makes all of the bullshit worth it. Because you don’t hate the city, you hate your circumstances and it’s up to you to change them.

looks-like-its-fuck-this-shit-o-clock

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One thought on “I Hate this City

  1. Pingback: Conversations with My Future-Self | Short and Feisty

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