It's so sweet to love you darling

I finished my day at the courthouse in Cambridge and my time there was not a success. In fact, it was a bit frustrating. My intent was to purchase certified copies of several deeds. Typically a simple affair, but not today.

I arrived there a little after three and climbed the stairs to the top floor where the Plan Department resides. If there was to be any type of hassle, I figured I'd get it there. Perhaps because of their isolated perch on the top floor, these gentleman are a moody lot, prone to rudeness one day and smiles the next. Today I was treated well and I obtained my certified copy of a Plan without a hitch. Must have been the ol' pure heart that influenced them.

I made my way down a couple of floors to the copy department, which is merely a small section of the square of counters within the Recorded Land section of the registry, to get the rest of my copies. The woman behind the counter informed me that two of the copies I needed were generated from the Registered Land department because they didn't show up on her computer.

I had anticipated this scenario. Marcy had tried to look the deeds up before I left the office. They were old, went back to twenties, and probably hadn't been scanned into the system yet, but they were not from Registered Land. I tried to express as much to the clerk, but she didn't seem to hear what I was saying. It's possible she was distracted by the ever-lasting light that washes over me.

Are you still with me? Good. Hold tight. Take a swig of brandy or ice your genitalia. Get the blood pumping. We still have a ways to go, but the story improves, if only infinitesimally. So I says to her, I says "Look here, you dopey broad! I want those copies and I want them now. If you don't hand 'em over toots sweet, you'll be sleepin' with the fishes!"

We both know I didn't say any of that, chiefly because my name is not Edward G. Robinson and I am not living in the era those old deeds were culled from, but I wanted to wake you from your skimming. I demand your full attention! My ego is so fragile that I die a little bit each instance I don't receive it. You weren't skimming, you say ? I'll take your word for it until I see you face to face. The eyes speak only truth.

After minutes of conferring with a coworker, the copy clerk informed me I needed to go down to the basement and pull the books the two older deeds were in, make copies, and then bring them back up to her to be certified. I was not surprised at this development, but nor was I tickled pink by the inconvenience it was about to cause. I told the clerk, who had already printed and certified the other deeds I needed, that I'd be back in a few minutes with the copies. (I would be remiss if I didn't clarify my mental state and this is as good a place as any to pull over, so please forgive the indulgence. I was in relatively good spirits, moderately irked, but balanced. That's all I wanted to say. We can proceed. My ego can sleep well now, knowing it was well represented.)

In the basement, I found the books I needed and made copies of the deeds. On my way back up to the copy department, I met the copy clerk on the stairs. She looked like she was done for the day. I asked her if there was someone else who was going to process my transaction. "I don't know", she said with little concern. "Everyone is going home. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

Sure enough, when I returned to the Registry, just about everyone was gone. I saw that the supervisor was still there and asked him if he'd certify the deeds I had just copied. He gave me the same response the copy clerk had given me. I told him she had been in the middle of the transaction, that she'd already certified several of the deeds. "Sorry, we can't process anything after four." It was four o'clock on the nose. "You'll have to come back tomorrow." I felt like telling him I live in Fitchburg, or some other out-of-the-way-and-it-would-be-a-real-fucking-thorn-in-my-side-if-I-had-to-come-back-in-the-morning kind of place. Instead, I pulled out my tommy gun and filled him full of lead. That's right, see! Edward G. is bringing the ruckus!

I'll be there again tomorrow. I'm okay with going. Oh, and one last thing, and this is something I learned from working in retail: When you're about to close, and you're in the middle of a transaction and your customer departs to get one or two more things, you might want to tell him YOU'RE ABOUT TO FUCKING CLOSE! And don't you dare blame me for not knowing, because I had no idea. It was a frame job, see! Those dirty rats! .
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My ear is still clogged. I think I've got an inner ear infection going on. Because of my diminished hearing, I've had more than a couple of incidents wherein someone tries to get my attention and I completely disregard them. Oddly enough, this seems to have garnered me some respect.

On a related note, I've had several* men throughout the years express to me their belief, nay, their conviction, that, almost always, women will favor the so-called bad boy over the nice guy. Not too keen on being attached to generalizations, but I've seen plenty of instances in which this seemed to have been the case. It's not uncommon, but it's also not uncommon for people to be passed over for a myriad of other reasons, like stinky-ness (Is that a word? 'Tis now, son.) So keep on being nice all you nice guys out there. You'll meet someone someday who will be as nice as you are. But then again, nice guys do finish last. Says so in the good book, it does.

Netflix is streaming all four seasons of Mad Men. I found this out yesterday and commenced to watching the last season, which I missed when it aired. I'm two episodes deep and you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be watching more tonight.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about altercation I had with a cop this morning that nearly came to blows. So, there I was, minding my own business, walking along the sidewalk, when this copper yells at me from across the street, snapping me out of my gentle reverie. I didn't know what was going on, but when I saw how upset, how utterly livid the cop was, I knew it wasn't good.

Here's where the story gets real juicy, so juicy you'll have to place a pan under your monitor to collect all the run-off. I looked around me in the vain hope that the cop is yelling at someone else, but there was no one else in the vicinity. He stampeded across the street towards me, one hand caressing his revolver, the other on his walkie. I heard him requesting back up. He looked like he wanted to rip my face apart. What did I do? I thought about running. He was getting closer. I had to decide a course of action. I knew I was going to regret my next move, but I



* I was going to write "a goodly amount of", but backed off when I realized it would have made me sound like one of those fancy lads. You'd be referring to me as Little Lord Fauntleroy in no time. I couldn't allow that.