So it's been a shitty week.
My bike chain keeps slipping off, and when I goggle the brand of bike, I find it's a common problem with that model. I think I've got the problem fixed, but it keeps coming back, and coming back and coming back. I get dumped when the chain breaks last Monday, and I badly sprain my wrist.
So I'm walking everywhere, because until this Monday's payday I've got something like 17 cents to my name. So Monday morning, I take the bike into the shop to get it fixed, because whatever's wrong with the fucking thing I obviously can't solve on my own.
Of course, the place where I usually cash my paycheck can't cash it because the little numbers on the bottom have a misprinted character at the end their computer can't read. So I end up walking my ass four fucking miles to this shitty payday loan store that cashes checks under pretty much every condition, but charges you your fucking firstborn child for the privilege. They fucking cash the thing, take a bite out of it like they were a Mafia loanshark, but it takes a fucking hour.
I stop next door at a hamburger joint called Culver's. Good food, the staff is very well trained and polite, and the place is clean to a level that I, who works in the restaurant biz myself, can appreciate. However, the place is playing full out gospel music on the overhead speakers. Ugg. Now the first song, it's all this Jesus-junkie nonsense, but I figure it's just a country song, and the next song in the rotation will be about pickup trucks and chewin' tobacco or something. Nope, the next song is more of the same; then the third song is about "there's a war between God & the Devil" and seriously, I'm about to puke up my fucking french fries.
On my way out, the manager is walking the floor, this little Filipino troll woman of about 4'2", and I go up to her, and I start the conversation with the fact the burgers were good, the service was polite, but that the gospel music really irritated me- I wouldn't even say it offended me, just made the whole dining experience less pleasant than it could've been. I tell her that yeah, there's a few non-Christians in Kerrville TX. Her response "I guess some people just don't want to be happy." She blathers some standard managerial customer service blather and concludes with "Have a blessed day!" In this faux-cheerful loud voice. I fucking wanted to strangle this ignorant hobbit-sized bitch.
So I walk back to the bike store to get my bike. Pay the man; it's ready the yuppie fucker says. Great, I pay him, take it out, and don't even get to the first light before the chain pops off again. I take it back, he does more work, and off I go for round two.
This time, I make it exactly 2.5 blocks before the chain snaps off. I trudge back to the shop for a THIRD fucking time, and again, some more work gets done. So I test ride it, go a couple more blocks and come back to say I think he finally fixed it. So I take it out, and this time I get nearly 3 blocks before the chain jumps. Ah, the sweet smell of progress.
At this point I say to fuck with this fucking cocksucking motherfucker of a bicycle. I toss the fucking thing in a dumpster and say screw it. This fucking thing either can't be fixed or is going to cost me more in repairs than the $95 plus tax I paid for the damn thing in the first place. So I need a new bike.
But first, I'm going to get fucking drunk.