Keeping it Clean

In my last post (if any of you can remember back that far) I asked someone in my other job to have a spot of blood checked that I found on what was left of my car, and the results came back lacking. It's since been sent off for a more in-depth search and I'm eagerly awaiting the results.

They should've been in a week ago, but apparently the guy who was looking into it had an incident with a can of bug-spray and blew up half of his apartment (at least, that's the story the press were given). Weird.

Fortunately, I haven't had the time to get impatient as Other Job sent me on an errand. I can't say where to, exactly (bloody red tape), but suffice to say it was deep, dark, flooded and hot - 35C (um…90F?)! Traipsing through a flooded city in a tropical storm just to pay someone a visit! But if The Boss says jump…

At least the coffee was good.

On a side-note, whenever I'm whisked off to these paradisiacal (ha!) climates I'm always given a thorough medical before and after. The doc performing the exam asked me if I'd popped my shoulder again recently because it wasn't quite re-seated correctly. I could only shrug (which drew a wince), but that at least confirms my suspicion. Anyway, all better now!

And the up shot is I got out of two weeks of janitorial work (I even got a doctor's note). I'm back tomorrow.

For the record, I’m not moonlighting, though I do work for two separate companies. It’s a bit complicated, but not very interesting, so I won’t bore you with the details, suffice to say my current job’s only a part of my other job.

Anyway, in my other job I work with people who know people who can find out things and last week I had them looking into something surrounding my car’s unfortunate accident.

I was a bit too traumatised last Monday, having seen the wreck, but I had a long time between sweeping a few halls and fixing a fried fuse box on Tuesday to do some pondering. Remember the mysterious shoulder pain I mentioned? It’s persisted ever since and feels very reminiscent of an old injury.

I lived in London for a while when I first started my other job and was taking some self-defence classes (which I recommend to any of you planning a holiday there in the near future). We were practicing a figure-four arm-lock when my training partner got a little over-zealous and dislocated my shoulder.

Ouch.

Fortunately it was patched up pretty quickly and was fine after only a few days (the painkillers helped).

Then, a few years ago, I took a clumsy spill out of a third-storey window and landed on that same shoulder. Unfortunately, medical care was somewhat lacking where I was and I had to put it back in myself.

Ouch!

How it feels now very much reminds me of how it felt then. That got to me to thinking that maybe I might’ve been in the car after all. And if so, I must’ve been driving, because there is no way I’d have survived what happened to the passenger side.

After work I called back at the junkyard to have a talk with the owner, under the premise of having left something in the car. I thought it was a bit odd that, so soon after a crash, my car had been towed away for scrap. I’d have thought an accident investigator would’ve wanted to have a look at it.

“I’ve been towing stuff for the police for years,” he tells me. “Some police woman calls me and tells me to tow a wreck, so I tows the wreck.”

“About what time was that?”

He shrugs. “After midnight?”

Why’s he asking me?

I know if I was called out on a job on a Friday midnight, I’d be a lot more curious and a lot less blasé, but I let it go.

And so, to my car, and the thing that was bothering me. I’d noticed a spot of blood on what was left of the near-side door when I saw it on the Monday, which I just assumed belonged to whoever had pinched it, but I couldn’t remember seeing any inside. If someone was in the passenger seat, surely there’d be a mess?

I sneakily scraped off the blood (not that the yard-owner was paying any attention) to hand over to someone in my other job to hand over to someone to take a look at.

Came back on Saturday with a big, fat bugger-all.

Literally. Nothing.

So now the question is; what is somebody who doesn’t exist doing bleeding on my car after it’s been battered?

My pondering continues.

Another quite day at the office, which is probably a good thing since my mind's been distracted all day. Something bothering me about my car.

I called the junkyard after work. They said they towed a wreck away in the early hours of Saturday morning that matched the description of my car, so I went over to take a look.

It was mine and it wasn't pretty. Passenger side completely smashed in. Bonnet (sorry, hood...) buckled. Scratches all over (which, in hindsight, is pretty academic considering the rest of the damage).

I guess it was stolen. So much for bloody immobilisers. Still, looks like they got what they deserved (hehe).

I should get a good wad from the insurance, but it's a pain in the arse not having a car.

I think I'll be drowning my sorrows in whiskey for the remainder of the evening.

Slàinte!

Weird day.

Well, weird night, too. I had a dream about driving to work, only I took a route past my regular drinking haunt, which is actually in the opposite direction. I was anxious about something (probably going in the wrong direction) and focusing hard on the road ahead when someone crashed into the side of me. Normally I'd give the guy a good telling off, and maybe a slap or two, but I was in too big a hurry so I stole this silver Ducatti that was sitting at the side of the road.

Then I was suddenly in Prague! Don't ask me how I got there. I only knew where I was because I could see the old factory I worked at for a couple of months through this big church window. I was still very anxious, but I couldn't help laughing at someone, which made him very upset, which made me more anxious, which made me laugh even harder (sometimes I'm my own worst enemy).

Then I was back in my apartment eating a huge BLT with this girl I once knew in Prague. But I hate tomato.

Any ideas, Dr. Freud?

Anyway, to The Hunt. This morning I called Billy, but he wasn’t much help. Too busy getting the kids ready for church (bloody Catholics), so I set off to try to retrace my steps.

I started off at the pub, just in case, but there was no sign, so I walked in the general direction I was driving in the dream. I was never big on the whole deeper meaning of dreams stuff - however much an old girlfriend tried to bring me around to the idea - but I couldn't think of anything better to do (I really didn't want to have that conversation with the police: "Hi. I was wondering if a [enter car description here] had been found...um, unaccounted for...? Stolen? No, just...misplaced... As a matter of fact...yyyes, yes I was... I don't think I was driving... No, I can't be sure... Could you please stop laughing... And no, I don't appreciate you spreading it around the station, either.").

I went two blocks before I saw the skid marks on the road and the bits of glass in the gutter. At the risk of further embarrassment, I stopped into the grocery store on the corner:

"‘scuse me pal, Was there a crash out there yesterday?"

"Couple nights ago, I think."

(crap)

"I don't suppose anyone's bike was stolen?"

He just looked at me like I was strange.

I'll call the local junkyard tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll have to commute.

Not happy.

I went out last night.

The Exported Stuff

Gotta love the exported stuff.

Work’s been particularly crap lately and the dump I live in is getting me down (I know it’s a self-inflicted misery – if I picked up a paintbrush and some emulsion the place would be better), so I thought, fuck it. Night on the town. Live it large. (Or at least live it medium …)

I’d like to tell you where I went and what the place was like but I can’t really remember many details. I drove the car into town and I met my friend at our regular, but aside from that it’s a bit of a blur. Must have been a good night right?

The car wasn’t where I left it. Over-tipped a cab driver back at the apartment, so I know I didn’t drive home. When I dragged my arse out of bed I called Billy (names have been changed and all that) to see if the car was still there. He laughed at me and said it wasn’t.

What the fuck? I must have driven it somewhere else, but I don’t usually drink and drive. I guess it’ll surface somewhere. I’ll go look for it tomorrow.

I think someone made breakfast in my kitchen before I got up. There was stuff around the place. Didn’t look like something I’d done – after all these years I recognise my pig-sty mess. Is it really bad that I’m not sure what happened? I mean maybe there’s some girl out there all mad at me for not waking up and making her feel at home or something. Or she was as wasted as me this morning and didn’t remember how she got to be in this broken down palace with an Irish tramp and hot-tailed it before I started showing signs of life, haha.

My shoulder hurts.

Jesus, how hard is it to think up an appropriate and succinct blog post title? Can I just put random words in there, like 'Dingy Moon Carp', or is that considered cheating?

Yes, I know, the first post was a little short. Sorry about that, all you virtual (and possibly non-existent) readers - I had to get it done before heading to work or I wouldn't have done it at all. One of my mates has been on at me  to make a blog - it's the 'new big thing', right (or it was, about two years ago)? He insinuated that I'm probably the only guy in the whole of America who doesn't have one (I think he meant to leave out some of the central states) so what the hell, here I am.

All right, let's think of something more entertaining to write... Can't talk about my job too much - my boss takes 'scary' to a whole new level and if they found out I was even alluding to the place they'd probably have my arse on a plate for supper. It's not like anything 'trying' happened today, anyway (for once). Up early to get to work; mopped some floors, cleaned some stains, boarded up a smashed window (that's right, I work in a zoo cleverly disguised as an office building); left at precisely 4.30pm and here I am. Back in what I'll affectionately call The Septic Tank, browsing the 'net on my all-alone.

Rotten Tomatoes gave Hellboy II a grand 86%, I see. Fair's fair... 86%'s pretty good from them! I always worry that They'll mess up the sequel. You know who I'm talking about, right? Them. They Who Must Not Be Named.

Hah.

Maybe I'll go and see it. I don't like sitting in the cinema on my own - makes me feel like an eedjit - but who's going to take me?

Bare with me, this is my first blog post.

EVER!

My name's Xander.  I'm 31 years old and hail from Ireland, but I'm currently residing in a crumbling shack somewhere on the outskirts of New Jersey (I kid you not - if I sneeze too hard in this place, the roof's gonna fall on my head).

I moved away from home when I was young, arsed it around Europe for a while, then got myself a job cleaning up garbage for a 'big, faceless corporation' that landed me here on the wrong side of the Atlantic.  I haven't yet managed to drop the accent.

Hopefully there'll be more to follow.

Stay tuned.