my painful period
I went to get a new sticker for my license plate today. I went early, trying to beat the lunch crowd. Trying to be smart. I like to run errands on nowhere-days, the kind of days that float around like little turds, because what the fuck. Today certainly fit the profile, one of those real head-cracking-headache days, thanks to some mysterious teeth-shifting (the tell of the doomed, grinding sleeper) and a lingering, half-assed cold.
So I get down there, and there's no line, and what should be a five-minute procedure turns into a forty-minute crotch-grab because someone (read: not me) put a period instead of a comma between the first and last name on my driver's license, and when the chick tried to swipe it through the computer reacted very badly. And then it turned positively pixilated when it discovered another DJ Berger - with the same birthday - existing somewhere else in Ontario. And with a name like that you just know the fucker probably doesn't pay his fines.
Still: I did get to pay my $75 in the end.
And since now I only had time to grab a take-away lunch, I went next door for two slices of pizza and Pepsi. All-dressed, Canadian. It was $5. The place smelled like old vomit on a wet carpet.