A feast of friends, alive, she cried, waiting for me outside

I feel tired and a little beat up, but not bitter about it though, like a football player who, despite taking licking after brutal licking on the practice field, still considered it a worthwhile experience and maybe even grew from it. I had an active day, portions of which were taxing. In the morning, I took the T into Boston to do some recording at the registry, followed by a visit to the one in Cambridge to do some research and get certified copies of various documents.

At the Boston registry, where the help is generally nice, but with the prickly entitlement that city folk tend to have, I sensed open hostility from everyone around me. If you believe I was exhibiting signs of paranoia, you may be on to something. I believe it's equally as plausible that there were a number of people irritable from the heat and the run and the long week, who weren't invested in projecting glee.

My first order of business was to record several documents in registered land, where, before you do anything, you have to retrieve the massive book, or books, as the case may be, that houses the certificate of title your documents reference. I loathe this part of the process, but only at the Boston registry, because there you can't get the books yourself. No, you have to stand at a counter and ask the person working behind it to get it for you.

And it's always the same person, unfortunately. He is a miserable fuck who seems to relish his little crumb of authority a little too much. I suspect this is because in every other area of his life, he is an abject failure with no authority over anyone. I want to make him a t-shirt that says "Because My Life Just Plain Sucks, It Is My Duty To Make Sure Yours Does As Well". Actually, I want to make him a number of t-shirts. Here's a sampling:

"When Life Deals You Lemons, Deal Out Even More Lemons To Everyone Else. Why? Because Fuck Them, That's Why!"

"Happy? Not After I Get Through With You, You Privileged Cunt!"

"What's six foot two, has a stupid mustache, looks like the step father who most likely killed his son in the powerful documentary, Paradise Lost, and is two seconds away from punishing you for the stupid decisions he's made in life? Me, you rich, goodlooking, self involved asshole"

As you can tell, they're variations of a theme, but they're gold, baby! Anyway, back to our interaction.

I've tried being cordial and respectful, but he hasn't made it easy. Every time I approach his counter, today being no exception, he sits at his rickety desk no more than five feet in front of me and ignores me until he's decided he's made me squirm long enough. Then he saunters over to me with an accusatory stare that says, "This better be good, asshole. You just disrupted me from something very, very important." And when I tell him which book I need, he looks put out and even more miserable than before.

One of these days, and it may be soon, I'm going to punch him square in the face and knock him right the fuck out. The only thing that stills my hand is the belief that life has already beat him up pretty good, better than my knockout punch ever would. Ah, but a man can dream, can't he?

So, after dealing with this miserable fuck, who for the record looks like an uglier, more disheveled Meat Head from the early days of All In The Family, I headed over to the Registered Land counter, where I had another miserable fuck to deal with.

This guy, though, is usually respectful, if not affable. Today, though, he was getting on my nerves. The certificate Meat Head had pulled off the shelf for me had an issue with it and its replacement was recorded in another book. There was no way for me to know that, though. The clerk closed the book, looked at me, and shook his head.

"Is there something wrong?", I asked.

"This certificate has been cancelled", he said and continued staring at me as if I was an imbecile.

As much as I try to be polite and deferential in this type of situation, I've discovered there are times when it's to my detriment, that some people see it as an opportunity to be rude and condescending. I was already a little prickly after dealing with Meathead and wasn't in the mood for this guy's nonsense, so I said "Ok, and...?", with a little bite in my tone.

"You've got to get another book"

"Which book?"

"Let me look it up for you".

As he did, I wondered why he gave me a hard time when there was no way for me to know I needed to get another book, and even if I did, he still would have had to look it up for me.

He gave me the book number and I went over to Meathead's room and didn't wait for him to acknowledge me on his own terms. I barked out the book I needed and thanked him when he handed it over to me. My change in demeanor must have worked; he was much quicker this time.

I finished my business in Boston and took the T as far as North Station, where I had to wait with throngs of other people for another one headed to Lechmere Station. When it arrived, the train filled up quickly and, what seemed to me, beyond its capacity. I had to stand and couldn't move three inches in any direction. Having dealt with the horrors of anxiety, I was well aware that this situation had all the markings of being the perfect storm for a panic attack. Alas, I rode it out without even the slightest pang of anxiety creeping its way into my being. Instead, I fell into a meditative state, my heart warm and body relaxed, and enjoyed the ride.

Even in Cambridge, where I almost always have a good experience, I dealt with cold looks and behavior bordering on hostile. I was going to say hello to Carol Anne, the friendly clerk I've developed a little crush on, but she was too busy to approach. Oh, well. I'll have to write more in depth about her someday. I think she has muscular dystrophy because of her awkward gait, but that doesn't make her any less attractive or kind. Meathead could learn a lot from her.

Ok, it's getting late and I've got stuff to do. We're almost at ten thousand, people!