The City of Angels

Monday, 9pm:
Slamming the door behind me and bracing my back up against it as if I were running away from the zombie horde of some post-apocalyptic nightmare, I had a sudden epiphany about the city I called home.  While catching my breathe, I realized the subtle irony of the nickname given to Los Angeles: The City of Angels. 
Pause. 
You may think at this point that this post is going to be a cynical yammering about how every person I came across today was unpleasant, rude, or in some way undeserving of the title "human being".
You're right.
Unpause.

Monday morning started off in a nonchalantly pleasant manner.  I had just wrapped up a good night's rest and was greeted by my childhood friends who I now called roommates.  We joked and chatted over breakfast while the calming voice of Josh Elliot recapped the weekend's highlights on Sportscenter.  I packed my messenger bag and headed to the garage where I found my car boxed in by an unfamiliar black BMW seven-series.  A neatly placed scrap of paper in his front windshield read: (almost illegibly) "call if need me to move",
then 10 digits.  Irked, because I had to go back upstairs where my phone could get reception, I took a deep breathe and went back to my apartment.  After about 10 minutes and 5 miscalls, an Asian man with a heavy accent answers the phone curtly.  I explain to him that I owned the blue Honda Pilot he had graciously trapped in the stall and requested he promptly back out so I could go to school.  Long story short, he moves and "forgets" to apologize.  Obstacle cleared.
As a bonus pick-me-up, while waiting to make a left out of the garage, a middle aged man with an uncanny resemblance to Pat Morita from The Karate Kid yelled at me to "WATCH IT!".  Of course, it was my fault for sitting there idly for an entire minute while signaling and not his absorption into his Blackberry that startled him.  That one might be on me.

I'm about 1 hour into the start of a brand new week and already I begin to question how long I could last before involuntarily punching someone in the throat. 

Proceeding.  Classes go smoothly, thank God.  Lunch time rolls around and I opt to indulge in a nice meal at Chipotle.  On my way out, I'm greeted by a homeless African American lady who asks for spare change.  Nothing wrong with that.  Except when I apologize for not having any loose change on me she decides to heckle me about being stingy.  Wide-eyed and shocked, the only thing I can muster to defend myself with is "I've given you money before..".  A bad move on my part, for this opened Pandora's box.  I was lectured for about 30 seconds on why I might think she wouldn't need to eat everyday or something along those lines.  I was more concerned by the Chipotle patrons sitting outside and staring at me being chastised by this woman than her actual argument.  I see her point now though.  I SHOULD be the one to provide her with daily meals.. afterall why shouldn't a 22 year old college student financially support a woman he doesn't know?

The bulk of my day passes without any more unfortunate interactions until a heavily tattooed man at Seven-Eleven asked me "What the *%$# I was staring at".  I wanted to reply with "this month's issue of Vogue behind you", but I realized that would probably only further provoke him and embarrass myself in the process.  I opted with a respectful "nothing man, I'm cool".  Upon completing my transaction with the store clerk I sprinted to my car like a NFL draftee doing the 40-yard dash at the combine, and hauled gigantic ass back home.  Finally within the safety of my own apartment I couldn't help but laugh at the severely misleading nickname "City of Angels".  Walking into my room I realized what a beautiful blog post this would be and... voila!