Optimist Prime

I don’t want to get up today. I want to go back to sleep. It’s got to be after noon already, but I don’t care. I check my phone for the time. It’s only 9:00. I try to go back to sleep until six in the evening, but my mind’s not having any of it. I keep thinking about everything I left behind. There was so much potential for a good life back home. Sure, I hated my job, which left me unhappy with my lot, but I was starting to agree with the idea of hating my eight hours of the day if it meant getting to sleep for the remaining sixteen hours. There was so much potential for me back home. Then I realized there is just as much potential for me in California. Sure, it’s only potential. But that’s all I had back home too. Nothing was set in stone--just a bunch of possibility. The same things that could work out there could also work out here.

Eventually, I secede and get out of bed. It’s now 9:20. The first thing I notice is how bad my feet and legs hurt. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the unexpected sandaled walking tour of L.A. I took last night, would it?

Climbing down the stairs out of my top bunk almost proved fatal when one of the rungs started spinning wildly like a dervish when I stepped on it. This is probably my roommates’ doing. Speaking of which, still no roommate. Good. It can stay that way.

Well, since I’m up, and I already hate California, and I haven’t even been here a full day yet, I decided to do something rash and unexpected. I tried optimism. I’m here now, I need to try and make the best of it, because I can’t go home already. “Give it at least a week before throwing in the towel, ya jackass,” I kept telling myself.

Not quite knowing how to handle an optimistic attitude, as I’m a cynic by nature and a pessimist at heart, I pulled out my computer and checked WebMD for what to do with optimism. Yielding no result, I started looking for other places to live, because living la vida hostel is not going to work for too long. After perusing the fruits of Craigslist, I looked up a few apartment renters that needed roommates and inquired more about them. I talked to some Russian girl on the phone about one, and would check the place out later tonight. Before noon, I had three places to look at over the next three days. Hooray! Leads! Yay, optimism!

I should also mention, while optimistically looking for apartments, I optimistically did a search for comic book stores in the Los Angeles area. I found a shop up on Sunset Boulevard. As it would seem, the apartment I was going to look at later in the evening was right up near Sunset too, and since Invincible Iron Man #4 came out yesterday, it would serve me well to go check out this apartment during the day so I don’t get lost at night when street signs would be hard to read. Although scared to drive, I knew this was something I had to do, so I hopped in the Cougar and we went exploring.

The drive to Sunset took forever. There were so many cars out and roads in Los Angeles weren’t built for motor vehicles to reach an optimal performance level, so there is a lot of stopping and waiting for other motorists to make left turns. But I don’t want to go into too much driving detail right now, as the upcoming California Driving Edition of Chicken Shits is coming. So sit on your socks for the time being.

Arriving at the comic store, I climbed out of the passenger’s side door because I got tired of waiting for cars to stop whizzing past me on the driver’s side. I don’t recall what the comic book store was called, so we’ll just say it was the Biggest Suck of a Comic Book Store That Ever Did Suck, because what they had was disappointing. Again, I won’t go into detail about the comic store itself, because no one really cares to read about it, not even me. And no, there will not be a Comic Book Store Edition of Chicken Shits for the already addressed reasons. But I will say it knocked my optimism down a peg. Defeated, I left the comic book store without buying the new Iron Man.

After driving around for two hours, I arrived back at the hostel. Why two hours did it take me to get back? Well, because I wrote down directions to get to the comic book store, but not to get back. After all, I’ve been in Los Angeles for approximately 23 hours at this point—of course I know my way around by now. Turns out the way back was different than the way there. Couple that with my absolute lack of navigational skills (North is whatever way I’m facing at the time), and it resulted in getting completely and utterly lost. Parking in the first open spot I found, approximately three blocks away from the hostel, I trudged back to my room. My optimism level was taking a beating the likes of which won’t be seen until Dallas is on his third or fourth marriage, or, in other words, it was skirting somewhere around my shins at this point. Worried I would run out of optimism, I decided not to leave my room until later that night.

Later that night came, and I had to leave my hostel room to look at potential apartment space. I called the Russian who I was to meet. If memory serves me correctly, her name was Anna, but she sounded more like an Olga. It was agreed I would call again when I got there so she could let me in to the complex. Leaving ample time for traffic and getting lost, I headed out to Sunset Boulevard again, this time with directions on how to get back.

Although time consuming, the ride went smoothly. I found the apartment, dialed Olga’s number, and got her voicemail. I left a message informing her I was there. I waited a little bit longer for her to call back—nothing. Being optimistic, I assumed maybe she was out of the room or taking English classes, and that she would call back as soon as she got the chance. Rather than stray too far away from the apartment, and needing to find a place to park, and having not eaten since last night’s Carl’s Jr., I went to the In-N-Out Burger down the block.

Ah, the In-N-Out Burger. Nothing says California quite like it. I’ve wanted to see an In-N-Out Burger since 8th grade, when a kid in my science class wore a tee shirt advertising the joint every three days. But it was Donny wanting to eat there so badly in The Big Lebowski that really pined me to for its fast food splendor. But before I got inside, a black man with a perm, cowboy hat, and sunglasses slapped a CD in my hand and started rapping at me for a good solid two minutes. Not understanding a damn thing he said, I’d occasionally smile and nod my head to make him think I was enjoying his freestyle performance, which I actually sort of did. Eventually, he stopped, and I complimented him. Then he started laughing and dancing around. I faked a laugh and started dancing around too—this time to amuse myself. Eventually, we both calmed down. He tried to convince me my car was dope. I told him that was whack—my car is fifteen years old and has rust damage. In response, he said it’s probably got some power underneath the hood. To that, I was not sure, but it did remind me I needed to check the oil. Pleasantries out of the way, we started talking shop. He wanted to know how much the CD of his rapping was worth to me. I said I was new in town and didn’t have a lot of cash on me. He said, “I’ll take whatever you think it’s worth to you.”

“I’ve got three dollars on me,” I said in response.

“Whatever it’s worth to you,” he reiterated.

I handed him three United States of America dollars and he let me keep the CD already in my hand. After that, he took off and started rapping at other people, which was really what I was trying to accomplish in the first place. To this day, I still have that CD. But don’t be surprised if someone gets it for a Christmas present this year.

But back to In-N-Out Burger, I’ve got to tell you, I like what they preach. I go in. I come out. I even get a burger. Simple. They tell me right up front I can leave. They don’t specify a time limit, so I can loiter all day if I want to, or I can leave as soon as I come in the door. Do I get that same guarantee from McDonald’s and the “I’m Lovin’ It,” campaign? I don’t care who this ominous person is that is lovin’ it so, but that doesn’t mean I’ll love it. I also don’t like Burger King’s “Have It Your Way,” spiel. It’s too commanding, too militant. What if I want to have it someone else’s way? Can I? And Wendy’s—the less said about you, the better. But more to the point, In-N-Out Burger did not disappoint. They made a tasty burger. Their fries were a little too soggy and lacking in delicousnessity, but I’ll forgive them. Even if I can’t cut it in California, at least I’ll be able to say I’ve eaten at an In-N-Out Burger—optimism level rising.

While eating and keeping an eye on my car to make sure my side mirrors weren’t being stolen, I got a call from Olga. She said her name was Anna and that I was to meet with her this evening to look at the apartment. I said I had called not even twenty minutes earlier and had gotten no answer. She apologized, said for me to finish my meal, and then come up. I’d planned on it.

Leaving the Cougar parked at In-N-Out Burger, I snuck past my freestyle rapper friend who probably sold me a blank CD, and went to the apartment complex. I punched in the code at the entrance Olga told me to (*36), and went up to view the apartment. Oh boy. Olga waited at the door, introduced herself again as Anna, and we shook hands. But trust me, she was definitely an Olga. For that matter, so was the apartment. It looked like a cat’s vomit had died there. The kitchen was a mess, as was the living room, where I would be sleeping, and the bathroom. I didn’t see Olga’s room, which for all I know could have been immaculate (that’s optimism speaking). It was also about 90 degrees Fahrenheit inside. Olga herself was very rude and not a pleasant person to be around at all. This was clearly not going to work out. We said our goodbyes (Olga said hers rather surly, as is her way), I promised I would call her one way or the other (I didn’t), and made my way back to the Cougar, still parked at In-N-Out Burger, fortunately. With all her power under the hood, we made it back to the hostel.

My optimism was just about shot at this point. I’m still without a roommate. But come tomorrow, I have to move to another room in the hostel, so I’m sure there’s one waiting for me there. All optimism depleted.

I called my friend Ben, a fellow I graduated college with who had moved out to California a year ago with similar pursuits and ambitions as myself. Maybe I sounded a little defeated on the phone, or maybe Ben was just speaking from experience, but he picked up somehow that I was in a bit of distress. He said it’s a tough town at first, but in no time at all, I would be zipping around here like a water bug. With my optimism reserves on E, I decided just to take his word for it. We agreed to meet up some time this upcoming weekend, and to hang in there until then. I’ll be glad I did.