I may have mentioned that the O’Day offices are smack in the middle of midtown Manhattan. We're right across from The Port Authority Bus Terminal, a Catholic Church and a halfway house for addicts. The west side of 42nd Street between 8th and 9th is filled with many lovely people who dwell in and among those establishments.
Today, while walking down the west side of 42nd St, I heard a crazy, crazy, crazy woman screaming, “Stay away from me you fucking PSYHCHO!” She was screaming and screeching and throwing bottles. It happens from time to time just outside the halfway house for the criminally idiotic.
I felt bad for the person being screamed at, but I didn’t go back to help because my mother was a raving, skinny lunatic with missing teeth who had frequent rage episodes and I learned early on not to try and make any sense of it, or even attempt any kind of rescue. It only got you a good beating with her hook.
So I’m walking down the street, looking for a cop because you could tell from the sound of things someone was going to get hurt -- when suddenly the scarecrow toothless crazy woman is in MY face screaming, “Stay away from me you fucking PSYHCHO!” And then she spit in my hair.
She. Spit. In. My. Hair.
Luckily, I had just come from meeting my parole officer, who demanded that I continue with my anger management courses.
I unclenched my fists and grabbed my cell phone.
I immediately called 911, as much for her safety as mine, but before I could give my location I saw a cop in the lobby of the Commerce Bank on 42nd and 9th -- ON HIS CELLPHONE.
He was staring out the window right at us and HADN’T SEEN A THING BECAUSE HE WAS CHATTING ON HIS CELL PHONE.
I immediately corrected this situation by dragging him out and leaving him to chase her through traffic while she screamed, threw garbage and spit all over everyone.
I marched myself up to my offices to shower and beat the crap out of a pillow.
I lathered, rinsed and repeated three times. And one of my pillows sustained serious injury. And just as I was toweling my hair, I received a call on my cell phone -- from 911.
911 Operator: Did you place a call regarding a woman creating a dangerous public disturbance?
Sandra O’Day: I did.
911 Operator: The situation is being taken care of, who came to your assistance?
Sandra O’Day: Well, not the cop ON HIS CELLPHONE! I had to pull him out of the bank where he was HIDING FROM THE RAIN and put him on the case. So who helped me?
I HELPED ME.
911 Operator: Are you still on the scene at this time ma’am?
Sandra O’Day: No. I had to run to my office and shampoo crazy lady SPIT out of my hair.
911 Operator: Oh.
Sandra O’Day: When they take her in will they test her for TB?
911 Operator: I don’t know anything about that. But I will pass on the information that the officer was on his cell phone.
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Put Your Legs Together
Dear Sandra,
I get so angry when guys sit on the subway with their legs
spread out really wide and don't move to make room when
I sit down. What should I do?
Pissed Off
Pissed,
I know how you feel. Rude people are EVERYWHERE! In the past I would have ripped their nuts off and tossed them onto the tracks for the rodents and vermin to enjoy. Those were the days!
But now, thanks to anger management, I usually just squeeze in next to them and start coughing without covering my mouth. Then I start talking about how my TB meds aren't working. Sometimes I sneeze and get as much spray on them as I can.
And once I even sat down in the guy's lap! I started telling him what I wanted for Christmas! Boy was he freaked out, and his legs snapped together like a nun's in a cathouse.
But it's best not to get violent, because that will get you arrested. (And honey, you don't want to be put into a holding cell in Manhattan. The hookers will steal your cornflakes.) Just remember, it's hot, everyone is in a bad mood, and hitting people will only start a riot. And while it's never too hot to rip a rude person's nuts off -- it is illegal!
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
I get so angry when guys sit on the subway with their legs
spread out really wide and don't move to make room when
I sit down. What should I do?
Pissed Off
Pissed,
I know how you feel. Rude people are EVERYWHERE! In the past I would have ripped their nuts off and tossed them onto the tracks for the rodents and vermin to enjoy. Those were the days!
But now, thanks to anger management, I usually just squeeze in next to them and start coughing without covering my mouth. Then I start talking about how my TB meds aren't working. Sometimes I sneeze and get as much spray on them as I can.
And once I even sat down in the guy's lap! I started telling him what I wanted for Christmas! Boy was he freaked out, and his legs snapped together like a nun's in a cathouse.
But it's best not to get violent, because that will get you arrested. (And honey, you don't want to be put into a holding cell in Manhattan. The hookers will steal your cornflakes.) Just remember, it's hot, everyone is in a bad mood, and hitting people will only start a riot. And while it's never too hot to rip a rude person's nuts off -- it is illegal!
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Not Managing my Anger Right Now
The O’Day offices are in the heart of midtown Manhattan. It’s convenient, because you can walk to pretty much any subway or bus you would ever need. It’s harrowing, though, because the neighborhood is very congested with aggressive drivers who are in a big hurry to sit in traffic at the Lincoln Tunnel and with buses full of people who want to tour around our city. Our offices are also a stone’s throw from The Port Authority, which is the biggest bus depot in the USA.
Recently I was walking to my office and crossing the street at 9th Avenue and 41st Street. 41st Street is where buses exit the Port Authority and cross 9th Avenue to get to the Lincoln Tunnel. It is also an intersection where people frequently break the “No right hand turn on a red light" law. Sure, they might not have the light, and there might be pedestrians in the way – but it’s more important that they HURRY UP and get to that tunnel so they can bask in the glory of bus fumes and road rage while they rush home to their miserable lives and ugly children.
Luckily, we have a lot more cops out on that corner now, because people keep getting run over in my neighborhood. Because drivers don’t realize that people actually live in my neighborhood and that pedestrians are just as important as drivers from the suburbs. But people who are in a big rush to get back to their lawnmowers and PTA meetings don’t really care about people who live in cities. They think we battle rats using sharpened sticks and duke it out over dumpster scraps. WELL, THEY’RE WRONG!
So I have the green light, and I’m crossing the street on the corner of 41st and 9th Avenue. And a BUS runs the light and almost HITS ME because the driver of the bus was TEXTING! He was TEXTING while DRIVING A BUS.
But there’s a cop on the corner, right? RIGHT! Thank goodness! Someone cares! But wait, what’s this?! THE COP IS TEXTING TOO so he doesn’t see anything. Were they texting each other? Was the bus driver texting, “Ha ha cop, I’m going to sneak past you again today!” and the cop texting, “No way bus driver, I’m gonna bust your ass!”
People, road rage is going to take on whole new proportions if folks don’t get their shit in order, ‘cause I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. Our city is HOT, it’s filled with bus fumes and we sure as hell don’t need “VISITORS” driving like drunken rickshaw pullers all over us.
SO BACK DOWN and mind your manners! WE LIVE HERE. Don’t make us key your cars and push you down the subway stairs.
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
Recently I was walking to my office and crossing the street at 9th Avenue and 41st Street. 41st Street is where buses exit the Port Authority and cross 9th Avenue to get to the Lincoln Tunnel. It is also an intersection where people frequently break the “No right hand turn on a red light" law. Sure, they might not have the light, and there might be pedestrians in the way – but it’s more important that they HURRY UP and get to that tunnel so they can bask in the glory of bus fumes and road rage while they rush home to their miserable lives and ugly children.
Luckily, we have a lot more cops out on that corner now, because people keep getting run over in my neighborhood. Because drivers don’t realize that people actually live in my neighborhood and that pedestrians are just as important as drivers from the suburbs. But people who are in a big rush to get back to their lawnmowers and PTA meetings don’t really care about people who live in cities. They think we battle rats using sharpened sticks and duke it out over dumpster scraps. WELL, THEY’RE WRONG!
So I have the green light, and I’m crossing the street on the corner of 41st and 9th Avenue. And a BUS runs the light and almost HITS ME because the driver of the bus was TEXTING! He was TEXTING while DRIVING A BUS.
But there’s a cop on the corner, right? RIGHT! Thank goodness! Someone cares! But wait, what’s this?! THE COP IS TEXTING TOO so he doesn’t see anything. Were they texting each other? Was the bus driver texting, “Ha ha cop, I’m going to sneak past you again today!” and the cop texting, “No way bus driver, I’m gonna bust your ass!”
People, road rage is going to take on whole new proportions if folks don’t get their shit in order, ‘cause I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. Our city is HOT, it’s filled with bus fumes and we sure as hell don’t need “VISITORS” driving like drunken rickshaw pullers all over us.
SO BACK DOWN and mind your manners! WE LIVE HERE. Don’t make us key your cars and push you down the subway stairs.
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Lowes of Lloyd
Up at O’Day camp we have a lot of gardening to do. And, wanting to make healthy food for my plants, I was on a search for a composter. If you have a composter you can rake up your old leaves, your grass clippings, your garden scraps and even take vegetable and fruit scraps from your kitchen, put them in the compost container, tumble it regularly, and in about two weeks you have great fertilizing material for your garden.
None of the Mom and Pop stores in the area carry them, because they are too large to keep in stock.
A new Lowes opened up recently in Lloyd, a little town about 20 miles from O’Day Camp. I figured Lowes is always advertising their helpful, friendly and knowledgeable service, so I thought I’d give them a call. Plus I hear the local economy was hoping for a big boost by having the superstore in the area. Lots of people would be employed, and that’s a good thing.
The first time I called I spoke to a man who identified himself as the manager of the garden center. He said I should call back the following week, because he was going to order composters.
I called back the next week and asked a young man in the garden center if the composters had arrived. He asked me to hold, which I did, for eleven minutes. The young man then got back on the line and asked me if composter was a name brand or some kind of a garden tractor. “Do you know what a composter is?” I asked him. “Uhhh. No.”
Now, this usually wouldn’t bother me, but since the guy was working in the garden center and not in window treatments it kind of ticked me off. Especially since I had been on hold for so long.
“May I speak to your manager?" I asked.
I waited another eight minutes, being bounced from one department to another, when a man identifying himself as John from the garden center got on the line. He sounded very much like the manager I had spoken to the previous week.
“Hi, I spoke with the garden manager last week. He said he was ordering some composters and I’d like to pick one up. Could you check and make sure they’ve arrived?”
John put me on hold -- for another 11 minutes. He then got back on the line and told me rather than keep me waiting, he’d call me back with an answer.
He took my number -- and never called me back.
I called back a couple of times over the next two weeks, but no one at Lowes of Lloyd could answer my question as to whether or not the composers had arrived -- or if they had even been ordered.
I ordered my composter online.
I think the local economy is a victim of its residents.
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
None of the Mom and Pop stores in the area carry them, because they are too large to keep in stock.
A new Lowes opened up recently in Lloyd, a little town about 20 miles from O’Day Camp. I figured Lowes is always advertising their helpful, friendly and knowledgeable service, so I thought I’d give them a call. Plus I hear the local economy was hoping for a big boost by having the superstore in the area. Lots of people would be employed, and that’s a good thing.
The first time I called I spoke to a man who identified himself as the manager of the garden center. He said I should call back the following week, because he was going to order composters.
I called back the next week and asked a young man in the garden center if the composters had arrived. He asked me to hold, which I did, for eleven minutes. The young man then got back on the line and asked me if composter was a name brand or some kind of a garden tractor. “Do you know what a composter is?” I asked him. “Uhhh. No.”
Now, this usually wouldn’t bother me, but since the guy was working in the garden center and not in window treatments it kind of ticked me off. Especially since I had been on hold for so long.
“May I speak to your manager?" I asked.
I waited another eight minutes, being bounced from one department to another, when a man identifying himself as John from the garden center got on the line. He sounded very much like the manager I had spoken to the previous week.
“Hi, I spoke with the garden manager last week. He said he was ordering some composters and I’d like to pick one up. Could you check and make sure they’ve arrived?”
John put me on hold -- for another 11 minutes. He then got back on the line and told me rather than keep me waiting, he’d call me back with an answer.
He took my number -- and never called me back.
I called back a couple of times over the next two weeks, but no one at Lowes of Lloyd could answer my question as to whether or not the composers had arrived -- or if they had even been ordered.
I ordered my composter online.
I think the local economy is a victim of its residents.
I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle and will continue to inspire you.
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