I don’t really want to be
subversive/alternative/whatever
I just want a nice job
where I can be around pretty things
I could wear jcrew slacks
and silk uniqulo tops
Maybe I would have
a cute house in Los Feliz
Yeah, that’d be
pretty nice
I don’t really want to be
subversive/alternative/whatever
I just want a nice job
where I can be around pretty things
I could wear jcrew slacks
and silk uniqulo tops
Maybe I would have
a cute house in Los Feliz
Yeah, that’d be
pretty nice
The Expo Line can take you to Culver
The Blue Line can take you to Long Beach
The Gold Line can take you to Pasadena
The Red Line goes from Downtown to NoHo
No one really knows what the Green Line does
Yeah,
fixing German cars is so fucking expensive.
When I’m loaded,
I’m just gonna buy two Mercedes
and blow one up if it breaks.
“Yeah, I have some in my car.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, they’re only fifty milligrams, but I can go down and get them when I’m done with this cigarette. I mean, I’ve never tried to get high off of them but they make me feel better if I have a strong headache.” I don’t know why I offered. I really don’t want to give her any, though it’s probably not my place to be concerned.
Jane asked, “Do you take that for your hormones or something?”
“No, it’s for chronic headaches.”
“Can I bum one off you?”
“A cigarette?”
“Yeah.”
I replied, “Sure, no problem.” I don’t smoke much, at least not as much as I used to. I ‘quit’ when I was 21 and saw my first age line, on the left side of my mouth. It ran down from the top of my lip to a half inch above my chin. I bought the pack today because Jane and I used to share my cigarettes and I thought it’d be cute or something if we did it again. I lit her cigarette and then one for myself.
“Where’s Mel?” I asked.
“No fucking clue. Her and Rusty haven’t been home in three days.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, it’s been so quiet without them, it’s nice.”
“What’s she been up to?”
“The same. Oh! She actually just called me yesterday. She was coked out and kept talking about how she wanted to quit her job at the café in Westminster.”
Cafés in Westminster are actually quiet strip clubs. Everyone sits inside a purposefully dim interior with no windows, smokes cigarettes, and talks about whatever the kind of people who go to cafés to see talk about. The waitresses wear lingerie, walk around, and make the men feel like they’re important. I’ve never been to one and don’t plan to, but the exposé in OC Weekly painted a good enough picture.
I asked, “Oh wow, she’s been working there for a while, right?”
“Yeah, she has. I think she really liked it at first, like, she made a fuckton of money and this one guy who always came to see her hooked it up with free Percocets.”
Just as she mentioned the Percocets, I noticed a mirror with white dust and two rectangular pills, scored into four pieces.
It’s too goddamn sad to see my high school friends living like this. At our magnet school, it was forced into our heads that we were the best and the brightest. Our administration reminded us constantly that our school was ranked 23rd in the nation, and it made us feel like we mattered. We were all going to be rich, we were all going to drive German cars if we didn’t already, and we were all going to good schools. USC was expected and UC Riverside was failure. Conversations in the quad weren’t about upcoming parties or who was fucking whom. We talked about homework, applications, AP tests, and moaned how our parents wouldn’t let us out during weeknights. We were special, important, gifted, and better than the other kids in other schools. I feel like the ego boosting really fucked us up.
I felt like Jane could tell how uncomfortable I was.
She continued, “But she’s been pretty down lately. It probably has something to do with the fucking creepy-ass people she has to see every day, right?”
“Yeah, I can see why she wouldn’t like that”
“Yeah, the place is just so fucking sad, it’s like - “
“Wait, didn’t you say that you didn’t know where she is?” I really wanted to change the topic.
“What?”
” ‘She’s been gone for three days I don’t know where she is.’ But didn’t you just talk to her yesterday?“
“Oh. Yeah, I forgot to ask.”
I asked Jane, “Oh. Want another one?” I wanted another one.
“Yeah sure, thanks.” This time, Jane lit my cigarette.
“Oh, you’re looking for a new place, right? I mean, we have a room open. Mel’s staying there for now, but if she’s really quitting her job, she’s definitely not going to be able to afford six-fifty a month, and she’s been talking about moving into my room so we can split the cost.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m sort of looking. My place is pretty terrible, but it’s close to school.” I guess she forgot that I go to LA City College. “I think I’d be okay staying there for now, especially since I’m leaving in June.”
I don’t want to be here anymore. I texted Hong and told her to call me when she could so I’d have an excuse to leave. She called within the minute.
“Yeah, damn, I have to go. I totally forgot about my appointment today.” It was a half-lie. I had an appointment with Hong later, but I didn’t forget about it, and I certainly didn’t have to leave yet. I’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Oh, okay. Damn, I feel like this happens a lot.”
It does. It was usually because I was actually busy, or I didn’t want to go to Orange County.
“Right? I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, well, I better see you soon.”
“Yeah, definitely. Tell Melody I said hey.”
“Drive safe.”
I couldn’t think as I walked back to my car. A particularly strong headache started to creep up on me. I grabbed the pill bottle in my purse and took 100mg of Tramadol. My headache was gone by the time I got to the freeway. I was stuck in traffic for ninety minutes. There was an accident that blocked three lanes where The 710 meets The 5. I chain smoked four cigarettes along the three lane squeeze of The 5 in Norwalk and felt sick once I got to The 101.
I got out of my car and walked down Sunset past a Zankou Chicken. I walked inside a place named The Melt. I think I only walked in because they had a photo of tomato soup on the outside window and I had been thinking about tomato soup for the past half-hour because driving through Hollywood always makes me wish I was in Los Feliz and I recently went to a Mediterranean place there and had the best tomato soup I’d ever tasted. I didn’t go because it was lunch hour and it’s always packed at lunch because it has a four and a half star review on yelp.
Five minutes after I finished the grilled cheese and tomato soup, I felt sick. I always forget I’m lactose intolerant. I probably should’ve taken a walk, but walking in Hollywood makes me feel insecure.
When I got back to the meter, I still had twenty-six minutes left. I sort of wanted to take a twenty-minute nap in my car but I remembered that I had taken Tramadol and I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I texted my friend who lived down the street but she didn’t respond. I wanted to hang out with someone smarter than me to remind myself what I’m working for. I turned on KSPC and listened to the DJ talk about how Morrissey had a large fan base of teenagers in Boyle Heights. I wondered what hanging out with Morrissey fans from Boyle Heights would be like.
After the meter ran out, I drove East past the Scientology Center to the Hospital Complex for my appointment. I tried to find a close parking spot since I hurt my back walking down and up a hill the last time, but I remembered I had taken Tramadol so I wouldn’t feel any pain even if I did walk up and down the hill. I got lucky and there was a spot on a side street next to the crosswalk I needed to take for my building. The open space was directly underneath a pair of signs that read, “No Parking Wed. Noon – 3pm, street sweeping” and “No Parking 7am – 5pm, school days.” It was 2:45 on a Tuesday, but there were four other cars parked on the wrong side of the sign. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter, I won’t get a ticket,” I told myself repeatedly. I was hoping I could convince myself, thirty minutes into the future, to suppress the inevitable parking anxiety.
No one in LA pays attention to you when you’re in a car. But once you leave your car, you get more stares than you would in any other city. People here care about what other people look like. I felt nervous walking along Sunset. I probably shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I walked through the lobby – a Citi Bank – and toward the elevator, eliciting scrutinizing stares from the receptionists. They all knew what I was doing there. I passed fairly well in public, but in front of these receptionists, under extra scrutiny, my wide shoulders and seventy inches of height were an easy give-away. I remembered my therapist telling me that most people stopped getting so anxious after the first year. It had been two years now and I wished I could care less, but the stares still hurt every time.
I took the elevator to the fourth floor and wandered around until I realized I was on the wrong floor. I had been seeing Hong for over four months now and she’s always been on the fifth floor. I got in the elevator and was pathetically elated to see no one in it. I was five minutes late and felt like shit about it. I hate wasting the time of people I care about.
“Rachel Jasper?”
“It’s actually ‘Lindstrom’ now”
“What?”
“My last name, it’s Lindstrom now.”
“Oh, well on your record - never mind. I’m sorry Miss Jasper - wait, sorry- Miss Lindstrom.” I don’t understand how someone can be so sarcastic to someone they don’t even know. “Hong Diep told me to tell you she won’t be able to make it today.”
“Um, did she say why?” My voice cracked. She had to have heard it.
“Last minute family issues. She said she’ll call you later tonight.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
Leaving, I got the same stares from the receptionists and tried again to pretend like I didn’t care. My car didn’t have a ticket. I was supposed to go to class at 7, but I didn’t go. I texted more people but no one responded.
I drove home and wanted to avoid LACC so I wouldn’t have to be reminded about ditching class but I didn’t want to drive any farther than needed. I could still feel the Tramadol but I felt nauseous now.
I was stuck in traffic on Vermont and it took me thirty minutes to get home to Koreatown. I chain smoked four cigarettes in traffic, parked my car, walked upstairs, threw up, and laid on my bathroom floor. I wanted to get up but the floor felt comfortable enough and I soon fell asleep.
“Can I help you ma’am?”
“Yeah, uhhh - “
“Take your time, I’m not doing anything.”
She said that without any tinge of sarcasm but it still felt sarcastic. I always feel bad for not knowing what I want but I feel like it’s slightly more okay to be a little indecisive if I walk up to the register and there’s no one in line. It still feels uncomfortable though.
“I’ll just have an americano please.”
“Okay, it’ll be ready in a sec.”
An americano? Why did I order that, I’m tired as hell and I need as much caffeine as I can get. Most people think, well at least I used to think, that espresso had more caffeine than drip coffee because espresso is supposed to be bitter, strong, and dark but I remember reading somewhere that drip coffee can have almost twice as much caffeine. Shitty espresso with water always tastes better than shitty coffee though so I feel like it’s a safer thing to order. Maybe that’s why I ordered it.
“Here you go ma’am, the milk and sugar is right behind you.”
“Oh, actually, do you have soy milk?”
“Sure, let me get that for you. Just tell me when.”
“That’s perfect, thanks. Are there any outlets outside?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I can grab you an extension cord?”
“Oh, that’s okay, I think I have enough power for now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, thanks.”
“Okay then, enjoy that coffee.”
“Thank you.”
Total lesbian. Straight girls never smile at me like that. Straight men never smile at me like that.
I always feel like an ass when I ask for soy milk, like the sorts of try hard vegans you always hear engineering majors complain about. I want to just say, ‘Oh, I’m actually lactose intolerant.’ but that’s like coming out of the closet as a insecure neurotic and I don’t necessarily want every barista I order from knowing that.
Damn, only one table left - and it’s in the sun. I hope Shannon doesn’t mind. It’s supposed to be 84 today, way too warm for January. I usually bank on not shaving my legs until March so I’m wearing pants and I can already feel the sweat bead up in my ass crack.
“Rachel, hey!”
“Hey! Wow, you look great.”
“I’m going to go get get a coffee, I’ll be right out.”
“Okay!”
God, she looks great. Her skin looks like fucking porcelain. Fuck, and here I am with my sweaty ass crack and recently shampooed dried out curls, if you can even call these curls. I try to only shampoo my hair about once a week because it’s so thin and dry but I forgot I shampooed my hair two days ago and now I look like shit. I wanted so much to look perfect for today - for Shannon. I can’t just surrender and accept defeat this time. No, that’s why I never got any of the women I liked. I give up when things aren’t perfect.
“Ooh what did you get?”
“An iced americano with soy milk.”
An americano with soy? too perfect. “Oh, are you lactose intolerant?”
“Why, because I’m Korean?”
“What? No! That’s not what I meant I - “
“Oh my god, I’m just messing with you. No, I’m not lactose intolerant, I just like the taste, it’s not as heavy.”
“Oh.” Damnit, I think I lost my opportunity to tell her that I’m lactose intolerant.
“So what’ve you been up to? Do you still work for that art magazine?”
“Oh, Dwell? The architecture one? No, I don’t do in-house PR anymore, I work for a small firm in Oakland now. We work with smaller clients. Artists, architects, a few small publications. It’s nice but it’s not very exciting.”
“Do you want exciting?”
“I really do. I miss feeling important. Well, uh, maybe that’s not the best way to put it.” Actually, it really was the best way to put it. I miss working in the city, I miss seeing things, I miss feeling relevant, I miss walking to work, I miss the meetings, the influential clients, the brilliant creative minds. Fuck! I miss needing to look my best everyday. I could never tell her that though. She can’t know I’m that pathetic.
