The Pho King

I was sick the last few days, and naturally craved soup. I, being the well cultured individual that I am, decided that I wanted to get pho. My decision was 80% based on a joke involving being the "king" of pho.

My fever had lead me to an odd sleep pattern. I found myself waking up at all odd hours of the day. Seven, Eight in the morning. I finally managed to gulp down enough green-dyed jager-flavored cough syrup to pass out until a far more manageable hour. Nine PM. At which point, I made the choice to seek the aforementioned pho.

Fortunately, I found a 24 hour pho place that was only a few miles from my place. Pho Citi in Silverlake. I arrived to be greeted by the kindly gentleman behind the counter whose v-neck was deep enough it revealed his chest stubble. He asked me to wait a minute. It's cool, I get it. I've worked shitty jobs too. He's got shit to do. And I had to decide which type of Pho was acceptable to order. Trite and tendon? Really?

I figure out what I want and set the menu back to let him know, ya know, I'm ready to order. No reaction, but it looks like he's kind of busy, so I don't say anything. Another customer comes to the counter. He helps them and goes back to what he's doing.

"I think I'm ready to order," I say. And he gives me this look like fucking whatever. Look, dude. Your job sucks. Bummer. Do it anyway.

I order the rare beef pho and he places the order with the cook in the back. In the meantime, his shift relief arrives. "I had to deal with the bitchiest customer today. It was like you wouldn't even believe." They do their respective eyerolls and the cook puts my to-go container at the window.

The cashier hands me my bag with the soup in it. And in the most bullshit passive-aggressive voice says "Thanks so much for coming. Come again soon." I honestly think he does shit like that to get a reaction out of people. Because his job is so tiresome, he can't help but want to provoke people with his sarcastic crybaby bullshit.

Pho was great though. Good Pho and I passed right the fuck back out.

I woke up at like 1pm. I slept like a narcoleptic. No, like a narcotics addict. I finally came out of my small coma and wanted more pho. So I drove back to this place, figuring asshole's shift was finally over.

I was right. When I arrived, he wasn't there. Turns out, he doesn't work 18 hour shifts so his job isn't really as bad as he thinks and he needs to shut the fuck up and stop being such a little girl. Or just kill himself. Seriously. No one cares about how bad his job is in this economy.

I arrived back at the 24 hour Pho place. At lunch time. The door is wide open, so I walk in. Two dudes are sitting at tables doing paper work. One of them tells me that they're closed.

"What?"
"Closed. No open."
"You're... 24 hours... "
"No Pho."
"But it's lunch time. All you serve is Pho."
"No pho."
"I really just want some soup. Do you know somewhere else that sells pho?"
"I don't work there. Go now!"
"You don't have any like... in the back I could—"
"No Pho! Go now!"

So yeah. Things got a little heated. Turns out, passive aggressive is a better attitude than aggressive aggressive, but aggression has no place in a business model. Especially not in a food service job that lives on tips. You wanna be a dick? Get a real job. The rest of us have shitty jobs and we just have to deal with it cause we know we're not hot pho king shit.

Space Brain Fever

I've been sick the last few days, and that's my excuse for not updating. Please, enjoy the following images I made while succumbed by Space Brain Fever.

Prom Queen of California

Fuck this town. The stars are ground down to gravel and paved in the sidewalk for everyone to walk on. It’s a dying behemoth, heaving under the weight of its final throes. Everyday a hundred thousand small town prom queens from all over Nebraska, Idaho, and all the other loser states come here to pay homage to the letters in the hills. Tomorrow they’ll bring me my coffee when I’m too hung over to speak. Back home they were hot shit. Now they spit in my eggs cause they know they’re not going anywhere, but they can’t go back.

They write their letters home. How they saw a movie star. A real-life movie star. They don’t mention he was a shitty tipper. They don’t talk about how many promises they’ve been seduced by. Then they’re thirty and the game is over. Just another weathered face, tired of filling my cup. There’s nothing left for them but they can’t go home. This is just how life is sometimes. But they can’t go home. Then they’re forty. An old apron on laundry day, hanging on the rim of the hamper, stained by strawberry jelly and God knows whatelse.

Fuck this town. If you’re not drowning you just haven’t realized it yet. So breathe in deep as you get off the bus. That haze is your life now. Fingers to the bone every day and you think you’re ready. Ha.

But buy that ticket, because fuck this town. Ain’t anywhere else on earth that’s got what she has. She’s the brightest star in the sky and you know she’ll kill you but the glint in her eye seduces you. She reels you in and sets you down on that couch. She’s all “ra-ra” and kisses your wounds and whispers those promises in your ear as you’re about to fall asleep. She’s a tease, but you’d do anything to have her. She’s the prom queen of California and God you want her so bad. Give it to her hard. Fuck this town.

No Careers for Young Men

In an interview yesterday, I was told that I wasn't interviewing for a job, or a career. I was interviewing for a lifestyle. It's an unrelenting force. You take it home with you. Your vacations become time with clients. Your hobbies become golf with executives. It consumes you and never lets you go.

Honestly, that sounds amazing. I want a job like that. I need something that I'm so passionately possessed by, I can't let it go. I don't want a job that I leave at the office. I want something that takes up all my time and grinds me to bits and leaves me wanting more.

Because I don't want a Hollywood career. I want the Hollywood life.

I've known it since I got here, that this is a beautiful city of people willing to help if you can help them. I'm always trying to help. You put enough in and you start to get returns. I've seen it already, and I'm gonna keep seeing it.

I don't know if I got the position. But I do know that if I did, I'm gonna be the best damn assistant possible. Not because it's good for my career, cause that's not a thing. And not because it's what my boss wants. I'll be the best damn assistant possible, because I have to be. I refuse to settle for anything less.

I'm not gonna stop till I'm more than everything I want to be.