Everything For Young Men To Enjoy

          A stoic old Greek guy owns a convenience store on the ground floor of the building where I work, and though he doesn't say much, he's a really nice guy. I was out of cash and went to pay for a coffee with my card, and he replied that he couldn't take it. I apologized, and he just went, "Pay me later!" IOU: $1.40. For a while, I hunted through the Massachusetts Registry of Deeds for the deed on a client's home; said deed was signed on Halloween of 1985, which reminds me of the beginning of a horror novel. Speaking of horror, Misery appeared in the building, though our friendly security guy Rich turned her away. Though I don't consider this woman to be dangerous, I do have to wonder what her intentions were coming here. I was also subjected to a nasty phone trick, that is, the unannounced conference call. I was speaking for a minute or two to an attorney, and he abruptly asked a question of a female attorney, who broke her silence to answer it. Not cool -- I like knowing who I'm dealing with on the phone.
          I headed out to the Office of the Bar Counsel on High Street to hand-deliver our response to Misery's bar complaint. This took much longer than it should have because I missed the turnoff on to Water Street, and someone I asked for directions indicated that the nearest Water Street was 24 miles away, according to their GPS. Some trial and error got me there, and my business was concluded in about five minutes. On the way back, I discovered a charming little park on the corner of Congress and Franklin, which I will retain as an option for later adventures. Back at the office, I found that everything that I scanned through the ADF was creating streaky copies, and dissected the scanner to find some weird residue all over the glass strip inside. It refused to budge at first, but I eventually won out with liberal application of Windex and elbow grease. I won't let a goddamn printer get the better of me.
          Returning to IV with the intention of packing up all my things immediately, I was briefly stymied by the realization that I had to wait until 6:30 to get inside. In the meantime, I spectated as apprehensive freshmen moved in with their bemused-looking families, making eye contact as often as possible. Once it was time to get going, Iris helped me pack all my things and I was off to the YMCA, where Lauren will be housing me for (hopefully) the rest of the week. I'm going home on Friday, so the only remaining hitch is where I'm going to keep the stuff I already have in Boston. She let me in around 10:30, my first time entering the oldest YMCA in America and the birthplace of Northeastern University. It's a craphole. The building is ancient, and with every step I take inside, I can't shake the feeling that the whole thing is going to collapse around me. The Northeastern floors and YMCA floors are separated by ominous metal grates and fire-escape-only doors, including the spaces in between flights of stairs, leading to a "home, sweet prison" kind of feeling. Lauren's room is somehow smaller than my spot at home; there's room enough for her bed, her desk, and me on the floor with no space left over. Her window opens all the way, there is no screen, and it's on the 7th floor -- completely safe! The cart would never fit in her room even if I could fit it through the door, which I can't, so I left it out in the hallway with a few valuables stowed in the room. I also shifted a few things over into the common room down the hall and placed them behind a desk, so as to keep them out of the way and reduce the likelihood of someone pawing through them. I'm not overly worried, though, because there's all of ten or fifteen people living in the Northeastern part of the building right now. At least I've got someplace to sleep.

How is this bank like a bad porn star? They're both trying too hard, and it shows. I love dealing with companies like this.