What To Do When A Roll Off Dumpster is Blocking Your Driveway
Who even knows what a roll off dumpster is except for the people who need them, and the goons who supply them. And what was I supposed to do after five days of not being able to use my driveway because the company wouldn't come and remove that rude piece of crap.
It wasn't just me. Four other people couldn't use their driveways either. But no one that I am aware of anyway, has had their period for three weeks straight, and for sure, no one else put themselves through another automated system from hell (the city of L.A.'s notorious #311 line) for 30 minutes before losing it. The heartbreaking thing about this call is that I finally got to someone nice and then f'ing Verizon dropped the call. I was steaming. The guy at the roll off company didn't stand a chance at this point. Even I felt sorry for what might come out of my mouth.
When the call to the City dropped (I was simply trying to determine what options were available to get the stupid thing out of our way), I stormed over to the the ugly green monstrosity filled with someones castaway dirt and dialed the number on the side, which was answered by some guy.
"Hello Sir. I am calling from the City of Los Angeles Bureau of Parking Violations. Is this one of your roll off containers parked in front of 2442 Serrano Drive?"
"Ahhhh, um, yeeesss."
"Well sir, it's your lucky day because I am calling to do you a favor. I am standing here looking at it right now, and number one, it is parked in a tow zone. Number two, the complaint I have in front of me states that it has been blocking four private driveways since last Friday. Isn't that correct, sir?"
"Ahhhh, um, yeeesss. I guess."
"Well I am calling to give you one chance to get here in ONE HOUR and remove it, or the City is going to take care of that for you."
I'm not sure I can capture the hemming and hawing that ensued, but suffice it to say that he wanted, no, begged me for more time.
"I am not in a position to do that sir. You have one hour."
I think he started to cry.
"Alright sir, now that's enough. We are not the horrible people everyone makes us out to be. Look at this. Already I am calling you first to give you an opportunity to take care of this with no penalty. Now tell me one time, just how much time are you telling me that you need to remove your equipment from a tow zone and from continuing to inconvenience all of the people who live near here?"
"I need at least 3 hours. PLEASE!!" blah, blah, blah. And he wouldn't shut up. About traffic. About his flatbed. About his other jobs. I wanted to skewer him. So I did.
"Sir, you have an hour and a half. That's it. Be there, or it's gone."
And then what happens. F'ing VERIZON drops the call. Of course. It was pretty good timing but there was a chance that he would call me back, and stupidly, I had not blocked my number to begin with. Three weeks of hormonal raging isn't a good catalyst for rational thought. And of course he did call back. Par for the course with Murphy's Law.
But like anyone on the brink of insanity or already there, I just didn't care. I didn't really think he was going to sit around chewing tobacco and wondering if I really worked for the city or not. He really did have a lot to lose.
I made that call at 1:00 PM.
At 2:25 on the dot, lo and freaking behold, a huge flatbed truck came rolling down the street, and within about ten minutes, the big ugly monster was finally gone.
I think I cracked a crazy-laced smile, and I know I tucked that one away in my special toolkit for future use.
Pig Penitentiary Redux
Torture me. Torture you. Now it's my turn roll off dumpster guy, because I am back to work at the hellhole.
But let me go back a step to the compendium of document review terms that I have been working on, just so that people who have never done this work are able to rubberneck into our world a little bit.
In my last blog I explained what a document review project is. My next glossary item is:
Contract attorneys do not perform substantive analysis, review contracts, conduct research or otherwise engage in legal work of any kind. As mentioned before, a monkey or a homeless person would be the first hiring choice for a law firm of any true intelligence. It's just not kosher to do it. Yet.
A contract attorney's only working tool is a mouse. We use various e-discovery software products developed just so that our employers can count just how many clicks each of us produces each day because really, there is little else to oversee, and oversee is a control freak's favorite pastime.
We are ClickMonkeys. We sit and we click for a minimum of 8 hours a day, often without getting up from heinously uncomfortable, old, broken and stained office chairs that are dragged up from storage and reserved just for us.
We fill out sign in sheets to track our movements and bathroom breaks. Our clothing is heavily scrutinized and policed, although most often we are crowded into airless closets with no windows and sit at 9 foot plastic tables with heavy cables, wires and routers tangled underneath our feet.
These pathetic, inadequate tables wobble and sag beneath the weight of the antiquated computer equipment (also reserved just for us) spaced three inches apart, the CPU's most often doubling as footrests. If you are unlucky and lucky enough to get an end spot at one of these tables, the tradeoff is that your knees will be constantly bruised from the corner brackets, other ClickMonkeys will despise you, and you will probably have to operate your mouse from your lap. Next up I will explore the position of the law firm Doc Review Babysitter...
Back to the Pig Penitentiary
I don't think you are supposed to feel like throwing up the night before you start working. I think you are supposed to feel at least some relief that your will get a paycheck. Or something like that. But I knew what was coming, and if I tell you that I went to bed when I got home from work yesterday and didn't wake up for 13 hours afterward, it should give you an idea of just how much it took out of me to be there.
We had been basking in our good fortune for a few minutes after arrival because our digs were actually reasonable. In a conference room, with a beautiful view, drinks, soda and ice refilled on an hourly basis, and great chairs. Within 10 minutes we received the new that 25 more people were being added to the project early in the next week and yay!!!! we will all move in to one room together. Big surprise.
During the next few minutes the ugly, Irish bitch who heads up the project (not the Babysitter associate who sits with us mind you) came down to "talk" at us. Well, not me apparently.
She said "So, how are your Saturdays?" and my two idiot colleagues started bobbing their heads and smiling and said "oh fine." When I looked over at her, she turned to me and said, "I don't mean you." I think I started to shiver while I muttered hallelujah under my breath.
One positive for me.
More to come, but it is imperative that I end on a positive note tonight, to avoid a 5150 to Gateways Hospital, and this is the only one I've got people.
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