I was coming home just a few minutes ago thinking of writing a new rant. As you can tell from my rants main page, it's been a while. It's not for a lack of ideas that I have not written a new rant since roughly the time of Jesus. It's just that I'm a lazy son of a bitch. But some things have really been bothering me lately. For starters, there was the tragedy at the school in Colorado. My liberal brothers and sisters say guns are the problem. So they're wrestling a new bill through Congress that won't work any better than any of the other gun bills they've passed in Washington. What gets lost in this debate is that not only did these trench coat mafioso have guns, they also had bombs. I'm not sure what kind of laws anyone, Democrat or Republican, could come up with that would have prevented Littleton from happening. Or a similar thing to happen again.

But this was not going to be a rant about that. I thought since I wrote a rant in early January called A Life in the Day of Flood, perhaps I should write a sequel of sorts to better illustrate how my life has changed since then. And maybe how it has stayed much the same.

I woke up late, at almost 11. I had trouble sleeping last night and had stayed up reading "The General's Daughter" by some guy whose name I can't think of right now. Through three chapters, the book has grabbed my attention and allowed me to get to know the main character and the circumstances of the plot as well as it should have.

So I woke up at 11, took a quick bath, washed some clothes and hung them out to dry on the line in my backyard. That's one way my life has changed since the dark days of January, 1999. I no longer live at Northwest Apartments in Lancaster. Instead, I am renting a two bedroom house in Rock Hill. This way I don't have to use my dining room as my office. Did I say office? How about computer room? OK. Sounds better.

But I still have a few things left at NW that frankly, I should have picked up weeks ago. But words can not do justice my loathing of that place. Not just the apartment complex, but Lancaster as a whole. Let me be blunt, folks, Lancaster, South Carolina is the armpit of America. It stinks. It smells like a dead dog on Riverside Road that keeps getting run over by all these SUV's in the area.

So I went back to the old apartment and did about thirty minutes of work there in a ten minute period, then high tailed it out of there. Rode by the L&C area uptown, then headed for Chester. Oh. I should stop here and mention that I once again have a car. During my first A Day in the Life, I mentioned that I lost my car when my then wife left me. In February of this year, she gave me the money I needed to get a new car and to get out of Little L.A. In my last rant titled "Forgiveness," I mentioned her in passing as being the one who helped me tremendously with a simple signature on a bank withdrawal statement.

Anyway, so I find the L&C in downtown Chester, a four engine day with four of their newest locomotives. But it's in a place where I can't get good shots of it, so I ride around eating chicken and taters from this place called The Spot that is just outside downtown Chester. If you want some good fried food at a cheap place and don't mind the sound of your atteries clogging up drowning out your radio, this is the place to go.

Meanwhile, I find myself listening to Rush Limbaugh on WBT. Why? Well, I found it is best to know thy enemies. Sp Rush shares this little bit of news with his didiots: It seems that Clinton's approval rating is going down. Not sure what Rush's point was other than he hates Clinton. Hmm. Let's see. We're in a war that has opinions stirred up across the board. There are those who think he should send in ground troops and are pissed that he seems hesitant to do so. Then there are those who think he should not send in ground troops and are sure he is about to. Then you have the ones who think we should try to work things out diplomatically. And, of course, there are some who think we should not be over there in the first place. No fucking wonder Clinton's rating is going down, you fucking right wing doughnut. It would be a wonder if his numbers weren't moving at all.

I listened to Rush for about two minutes before turning the station to 95.7. Oddly enough, they were playing Rush's "Tom Sawyer."

By the time, I made it back to town, the train had left out again but I slung around it in time to get some shots near the wye that leads to the CSX interchange in East Chester. I also beat it to downtown Richburg. For those of you who don't know the area, downtown Richburg is about the size of your computer screen.

So there was this kid there who was watching the train go by and he told me where I could go to get some shots of them switching cars. I laughed at the little punk ass, belittled him some, then told him I already knew where that was and plus, it's called coupling, not switching.

Well, actually, I thanked him for the info, not telling him I already knew that. He was a kid, just trying to be helpful. Besides, most people who talk to me when I am taking pictures ask me if I work for: A.) "the railroad" or B.) a magazine or newspaper. As if that would be the only reason one would take railroad photography. Of course, most of these same people are the ones who use their little disposable cameras to get pictures of: A.) their damn dogs, B.) their damn kids or C.) both of the above.

By this time, I really had to piss and my car was running low on gas. So I went to the BP near I-77, filled it up then drained it low respectively. When I came out of the men's room, the two people working there were fussing because one of them told the other that she had caused her register to come up short. So I go toward the back of the store. Being out on the sun had made me want one of those Good Humour chocolate chip cookie things. And if I'm going to get that, I may as well get a thing of milk. Right? Right. Except that the milk is dated 5/17. Which would be fine. Except that today was 5/19. So I had to settle for some chocolate milk, pissed off since white milk obviously goes better with ice cream. Everyone knows that.

So when I take my stuff up to the counter, the two Miss KNow It Alls are still fussing, totally oblivious to me and the man in line in front of me and the woman behind me. The man shoves a ten dollar bill in the cashiers hand, telling her he just has on one of the pumps. No visible reply from the cashier, except for a grunt toward the other woman behind the counter. So I stand there for a minute and wonder if I should bring her attention to the fact that there are other people in the area. Namely paying customers. Instead, I put the cookie and the milk on the counter and walk out. (I had paid for the gas before I went to the men's room.) When I got in my car, I looked inside. As far as I could tell, neither woman behind the counter had realized I had left. I hope the damn cookie melted and the milk soured.

Don't go to the BP in Richbug, South Carolina.

I left the BP in Richburg, South Carolina that I'm never going to again and went to the Wal Mart in Chester that I always go to for my film developing needs. They very rarely even laugh at me anymore when I bring in my rolls and rolls of train pics. Partly because I think I pay for half of their wages now. I'm not sure it's official yet though. Maybe next week.

And then I caught the L&C switching... uhm, that is, coupling cars at the Water Treatment Plant in Lancaster before heading back to Chester to pick up the film I had just dropped off as well as dropping off another roll. Rode around looking for a CSX train while this roll was being processed, then picked it up, came home, got on-line and caught up with my e-mail.

Actually, there was no e-mail. Which is good. Usually when I get e-mail now, it's from someone whose shit list I just went on. But there was one of those ICQ forwards telling me that if I didn't forward this to everyone on my list, ICQ was gong to go down. You know the ones. So I sent it out... but only to the idiot who sent it to me in the first place. I think the people who sends these ICQs ot should be tortured mercilessly. I think listening to Brittany Spears CD should do the trick.
 

So then I had o go to Wal Mart in Rock Hill. Now I really loathe this Wal Mart. No matter what day you go and no matter what time of day you go, you will wait in a long line at the registers. And, of course, they really fucked up the first rolls of film I took there before I found the Chester photo lab. But I needed some 12 pack Cokes and they are on sell there this week. So off I went to the Rock Hill Wally World.

So maybe I decided to buy a CD-ROM while I was there. And, OK, it was a
"Jeopardy" game. What can I say? Trebek is a cool guy. Sure, he's a know it all wuss, but I like that in a game show host.

So I took my three items up front to find a fast check out line. Which is pretty much like trying to find Larry Flynt at a Jerry Fallwell sermon. So, of course, I picked the check out line from hell. A perky little blonde husband and wife team that had half the store stuffed into two buggies. And for some reason, they were paying for it with about ten separate ATM cars. Some of it went to their debit card, some of it went to their credit card. Meanwhile, the couple behind me about my age start discussing retirement opportunities while I'm looking at The Enquierer wondering if that article about Linda Plato would be as interesting as, say, the article about Monica Lewinsky's near death experience.

Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Perky leave each pushing a cart that is packed about as high as the ceiling lights. So the cashier barely looks at me as she rings me up. And she doesn't even speak to me at all. Which is pretty damn mean after all I've been through because she hasn't exactly been Jackie Joyner-Kersey over there with the ringing up. So then she doesn't even tell me what I owe her. Luckily, I can read the digital print out. This being South Carolina, I can't speak for everyone else. Something tells me Mr. and Mrs. Perky read it fine.

So I giver her my money and she gives me my change, not bothering to count it out to me. Since it was over eighteen dollars in change, I thought she should have done that. Since the total was forty one and change, some people may have assumed I would have paid with two twenties and a ten instead of three twenties. Anyway, Little Miss Congeniality did have my change right. So I prepare to leave, hoping I'm not going to miss any of "Law & Order," which would have pissed me off even more. But guess what happens to me when I walk out the door? That's right. The detector goes off. Only since I am in a hurry and am generally pissed off already, I didn't hear it and kept walking.

That was when the cop/security guard came out calling after me, "Sir, I need you to step back in the store for a moment." There was a customer service manager in tow with him, not to mention a gang of middle aged folks who just happened to be walking out the door at that precise moment. So now they all think they've just witnessed a shoplifter getting what he deserves. I can't help it. I lash out at the cop. "This is just fucking great," I say within ear shot of anyone who cares to listen. "It took me forever to get this shit checked out. And now this." I hand him my receipt and point out, "I bet it's this CD-ROM I bought. I bet she didn't take the theft deterrent scanner off." Which, as it turned out, was exactly what had happened.

I ask the cop to get the store manager. The cop tells the CSM who had run out of the store after me to call the manager. Which she does. Five minutes later, still no manager, so she calls again. This time, the manager calls her. THE CSM tells the manager there is someone up front, a customer, who wants to speak with a manager. Five minutes later, the manager finally makes an appearance. I tell her about the long lines, Little Miss Congeniality at the cashier and that she didn't take the theft deterrent scanner off, adding that I was pretty pissed off about the whole mess. She looks at me and tells me I should call the real store manger tomorrow, that she's only a department manager filling in for an assistant manager.

I love Wal Mart. Don't go to the one in Rock Hill. I won't again.

So I get in my car and leave the Wal Mart in Rock Hill that I won' ever go to again and speed down Dave Lyle Boulevard, secure in the knowledge that no matter how shitty the night had been so, at least I had not missed my beloved "Law & Order." On the way, I was flipping through the radio dial and came across that Dan Hill song, "Sometimes When We Touch" on 102.9 WLYT. ("We'll leave the light on for you.") I have a confession to make. I kinda like this song. Maybe it's the line about being "just a struggling writer/still searching for his truth." But an odd thought came to mind. And it's simple really: If the parents of all those 80s metal kids can sue Ozzy Osbourne and Judas Priest for their kids suicides, can I sue Phil Collins and Billy Joel for turning me into a pussy back in the 80s? I mean, come on! I listened to their sappy love songs and didn't get ANY action  until well into the 90s. And I think it's high time someone pays me back for this!

Anyway, that was my day yesterday. And, oddly enough, my next few days will likely be much the same. All in all, after the influx of money into my bank account, after finally getting out of Lancaster, I find that I STILL need to get a fucking life.
 
 

Joseph C. Hinson
May 19, 1999
 
 
 

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