I Don’t Like Tuesdays

No, this is not an extremely late sequel to a Boomtown Rats hit from 1979.  I am finding I just don’t like Tuesdays.  There are a couple of reasons for this.  Tuesdays are the days that they clean the streets in my neighbourhood so you have to park elsewhere from 11:00 to 2:00.  Not that I have an objection to clean streets, but if you fail or forget to move your car this cash strapped city dings you with a $65 parking fine which hurt the first time and even more the second.  As well Tuesday is the day that the gardeners come to tidy up my little complex.  Again, I have nothing against gardeners.  They are everywhere here – landscaping fees are built into the rent.  The gardeners are almost universally armed with a variety of lethal looking, cacophony creating implements of mass vegetal destruction.  There are trimmers and mowers and blowers, all gas powered units belching noxious fumes and clamor in equal portions.  I call Tuesday mornings The Fall Of Saigon as the men traipse around the compound with bandanas tied around their faces, sunglasses and hats pulled low with leaf blowers (which look astonishingly like flame throwers) strapped to their backs.  Leaf blowers, by the way, are illegal in Los Angeles and cannot be deployed within 500 feet of a residence, which should come as a surprise to the guy who was standing on my doorstep this morning with his unit turned on full blast.

I tried to get a picture of one, but I suspect that both the blower AND the gentleman wielding it may not be here legally.

It seems for some reason that I am always working from home on Tuesday mornings so I am around to A) have my car ticketed and B) have my eardrums shattered and my respiratory system challenged in the name of urban beautification.

Today became an extra special Tuesday as I had to book a return flight  for my cat back to Toronto.  At first I called Air Canada, which is a delight in itself.  I waited on hold for 20 minutes listening to possibly the worst musak loop ever created only to be told by a surly French Canadian that I had to call Aeroplan to book the extra passage as they had handled the original ticketing.  Fine.  I did so, and was told by the sunny announcer recording that my wait time would be less than five minutes before I would be connected to an agent.  At the appointed time there was a click and I was transferred directly to a busy signal, then disconnected.  So I called back.  Seven times.  They have vocal recognition technology at Aeroplan but by about they fourth attempt the computer could no longer identify me by voice.  I imagine the yelling and profanity didn’t help.  I am curious indeed by what constitutes a “rewards” program as Aeroplan points are difficult to redeem and the customer service is appalling.  After FAR too long the cat has been registered and I suspect my blood pressure is returning to normal.

The day did manage to redeem itself as I had lunch with a composer called Jeff Grace.  Jeff hails from New York and he  composed the music for the spot I did for a Canadian client a while back.  He was not able to fly in for the actual session so we had only met over a computer link.  It was very nice to meet him in person.  The hour lunch turned into a three hour coffee where we covered topics from classical orchestration to the conflicts in the health care system.  If was a nice meal with excellent company and a great way to save the day.  Plus I saw this sign on a change table in Burbank.  I suspect it may be a translation from something not originally in English.

A Continental Comfort Oasis?  I think I need one of those.

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