For those of you playing the home game, I just want you to know that I am currently typing this entry directly into the little entry box on the...you know what, this is uninteresting and doesn't really matter. What the fuck do you care where I'm typing this shit? What do you care whether or not my computer at work seems to be mysteriously lacking any Word or WordPerfect or WordToYourMother or whatever the hell other word processing programs might be out there? What do YOU care? You selfish bastards. See if I ever call you again.
Yesterday I had to give a deposition on this business, in lieu of appearing at the actual trial, like they originally said. I have mixed emotions about that, frankly. I mean, I was really kind of nervous about the trial, and not for any good reason. I mean, it's not like its outcome is going to affect me, really, but still. I just had these visions of lawyers bearing down on me with sneaky questions, and miserable-looking defendants, and angry-looking plaintiffs, and then I'd get all worked up over it. But I also had these visions of me in my most awesome suit, looking all composed and stylish on the stand, and being The Best Witness EVER -- to the point where I could HEAR the jury in my head while they deliberated, all, "Oh my gosh, and what about that guy who witnessed the accident? Wasn't he so composed and stylish? What an awesome suit, too! And he was SO hot! Do you think it would be inappropriate if I gave him my phone number?" And all the other jurors would be, like, "Okay, calm down Ryan."
But I seriously did have weird fantasies like that. And then? No trial. Instead, I had to drive all the way out to Latvia -- excuse me, "Long Beach" (so called because it's about 600 miles away) -- to sit down for thirty minutes with some attorney and a court reporter, and of course the commute took twice as long as the meeting itself. And he asked me the same questions over and over again, just rephrased, maybe trying to see if I was...making shit up? I'm not sure. My statement was pretty simple. It's not like I was talking about solar flares and chaos theory, or whatever. Oh, and the reporter (who is essentially a stenographer) typed out everything I was saying as I was saying it, and it really put a lot of pressure on me, you guys! You don't really think about your speech patterns until somebody is transcribing every word coming out of your mouth. Every time I paused, she paused, and then I'd be like, "Uh..." and I'd hear her type a couple letters, and then I'd laugh a little bit, and she'd type some more, and I'm thinking, "Is she making notes of my sound effects? What if I burp? Will she copy that down? Ohmygaw, what if I...you know...fart? Will THAT be entered into my recorded testimony for posterity?" And then, of course, I couldn't think about ANYTHING else for the rest of the morning.
Well, except for all the excessive mileage and the fact that I had to make up all the hours that I missed at work. I mean, when they told me that they wanted me to give a deposition (To depose me? Does that sound right?), they argued that it was for my "convenience". You know, this way I could avoid having to go to the trial and all. And while I'll admit that there is definitely a convenience factor there, consider this: the courthouse is maybe a twenty-, thirty-minute drive from my apartment, I would be able to just sit around all day reading my book, I'd be able to tell my boss that I'd miss a day (and although I wouldn't get paid, at least my whereabouts would be accounted for and my absence excused), and I'd get Ryan Phillippe's phone number. With this dad-blamed deposition, I had to drive a hundred thousand miles all over creation, work until nearly 8:30pm, and waste a quarter-tank of gas, largely expended on the trip from the Caucasus Mountains back to the Valley where my stupid office is. Yeah, thanks for the "convenience". Next time, I'll kick MYSELF in the nuts, thank you.
Of course I got lost on my way there, too. There was a street that bore a name suspiciously close to that of the one in the address I was given for the attorney, so I turn down this road, and it's suddenly all potholes and lumber yards and some scary, like, scrap metal recycling plant, and I'm picturing this hole-in-the-wall office with bullet holes in the glass and a sign reading 'Honest Abe Legal - Divorces While U Wait!!!" or some such, and a dead woman in a chair on the sidewalk out front. Then I discovered I had turned down the wrong road, and the office was actually in this immense tower of glass and steel a few blocks over to the east. That was comforting. At the very least, I figured the words on their sign would be completely spelled out.
Oh! And to pile insult on top of injury (or rather, vice versa), my engine light popped on in my car on the way home yesterday, which, sound familiar? Hopefully this will prove to be nothing as well. I mean it's a different car, but it's the same make, you know? Maybe VWs just have particularly sensitive...whatevers. (Don't look at me like that -- I read mysteries, not automotive diagnostics manuals.) In the meantime, I just clench my hands a little tighter on the steering wheel and hope that if everything just suddenly conks out and stops working while I'm on the highway, I've got enough momentum to keep rolling all the way to work. Or at least to the side of the road, but you know California drivers. Switching lanes is like performing a surgical air strike, and without the advantage of acceleration, I would probably end up as That Guy In The Middle Of The Road Who's Not Moving, And Whom Everyone Honks At Despite Being Able To Clearly See That His Hazards Are On.
Hey, and why do people do that, anyway? Every time I see someone honk angrily at some poor sap whose car has died in a turn lane, its hazards blinking apologetically, it makes me just want to key the shit out of their Mercedes/Lexus/Escalade/other obnoxiously expensive car. Like, having been there, I know how frustrating it is to be stuck in a forty-car lineup with your blinker on, trying to get around a stalled Volvo, but honking just makes you an ass. Like they're sitting there for kicks.
Okay, anyway, I should get back to work. You all stay cool, though.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: dream gang I�m Watching: Passions. It was actually "Passions Day" at Universal City Walk yesterday, and I was filled with a burning desire to go, but...deposition and work, y'all. Life ain't fair. I�m Reading: Whenever I get a chance. Which is to say...I'm not.