Whew Chile, My Nerves Are Bad

Now this has nothing to do with you, and it may make no difference in your life at all, so if you clicked on this by mistake, feel free to see yourself to another entry, such as something in the While In Los Angeles section…

But if you insist on hanging in with me here, that’s cool too.

I’m just pissed because I’m headed way out to freaking Malibu on public transit with this trailer-park-trash-looking woman that seems to be experiencing homelessness, talking aloud to herself as I was about to try to edit footage from a roller set I did for the very first time on this super kinky hair of mine, or write a spill about my experience at the Veuve Cliquot Polo Classic on Will Rodgers Historic State Park grounds yesterday.

Okay, that’s not even why I’m upset. I’m accustomed to being around people with a few loose screws. That’s nothing. My nerves are bad because I’m supposed to be clocking into work at 2:30pm, and as I type this, it’s 2:28pm, and I’m an hour away. And I, in a way, was supposed to be there two hours ago.

Wait, I know what some of my girlfriends, or best guy friend, or former co-workers would say… “Now, Tee! Kay! you…”

But let me explain.

I’ve had this wedding gig on my agenda for a couple of months now, and before I even accept gigs, I find out the rough location, then when it gets closer to the day, I look up the location and exactly how long it’ll take me to get there from my house.

Yesterday evening, when I got home from the Veuve Cliquot event, I got a gps estimate on my route to today’s event. The call time wasn’t until 2:30pm and it was right there at Griffith Park. (For the caliber of clients I deal with, it’s not unusual for them to rent out a state treasure for their personal pleasure.)

I set my corresponding alarms and went to sleep. I wake up super early, as my mind tends to do, even when my body is dog tired, I browse on my phone for a bit, then I make myself close my eyes. When I reopened my eyes around 10am, I see a message from a staffing coordinator asking me if I could come in for 12:30pm instead because some people called out.

Being that the event was right there at Griffith Park, maybe all of 15 minutes from my house (on a Sunday, when LA doesn’t have its usual congested traffic), I agreed to the earlier call time.

I get out of bed, start shifting my mane from a high puff ball down to some detangled plaits could throw a hat over, since I knew we’d be out in the sun for hours setting up for this outdoor wedding. I throw my turban and edge toothbrush in my purse, get myself together, and ready to leave right before noon.

Walking out of the door is when I see a message saying, “the venue details have changed.”

I’m thinking it’s going to be something small such as park here, not there, or have Uber/Lyft drop off at such and such.

Oh buddy, was I wrong.

The darn thing said, “make sure the gps is taking you to Malibu, not Griffith Park.”

WTF?! Malibu?!

First of all, Malibu?! I may not have even accepted the gig in the first place if it had said it were in Malibu when it was offered to me because it takes too much to get way out there and sometimes calculates to not being worth my time.

And even if I did accept a gig in Malibu knowingly, I for darn sure wouldn’t agree to an earlier call time on the day of because getting to Malibu from L.A. without a car is a trek!

Then, you tell me this within minutes of the event?! You can’t get from the center of Los Angeles to Malibu in under a half hour by car, let alone by public transit!

And if you think I’m going to spend my money on an Uber/Lyft all the way to freaking Malibu, and you’re not even paying me travel pay, you’re out of your jack rabbit ass mind.

I immediately contacted the staffing coordinator and let her know there’s no flipping way possible I’d make it for that earlier call time, and making it for the later one was unlikely too.

[takes deep breath]

Okay, venting has calmed my nerves a bit. I’m on two stops away from where I’ll then hop into a rideshare because public transit doesn’t go way up into the ultra wealthy folks’ neighborhoods.

Let me put on my happy face and contribute to a lovely day for this union.

Later, y’all.

You see how the devil be working? I just told y’all I was about to hop off the bus and into an Uber. And look. No Uber. I scheduled this ride over an hour in advance, to be here when I’d get here, in order to get to avoid any more delays getting to this darn Malibu wedding event, and also to avoid standing out on Pacific Coast Highway. But what do we have? We have me, delayed once again, standing on Pacific Coast Highway looking like a hitchhiker without a home.

The extra time waiting did allow for a selfie, so the picture you see up at the top of this blog post is me currently in this debacle.

Hopefully, when I return, I’ll be telling you how magnificent this event gig was and how I’m so happy that I still went instead of telling them people to kiss the Blackest part of behind.