You suddenly find yourself riding a giraffe, being chased by a bunch of wild horses, a lion and a monkey.  In front of you is a herd of ostriches who will not get out of the way so you can pass.  The lion seems to be gaining, but there is nothing you can do about the ostriches, who now seem to be slowing down.  A panic begins in the pit of your stomach as you realize this could be the end.  What do you do?  You get your immature ass off the carousel and let the kids ride for a while. 

I thought of that joke today as I ordered my fix of Ice Blended Mocha from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf nearest my house at Encino Place.  It is my regular hang out when I am home.  It is only a few blocks from the house, but I pride myself on walking instead of taking the car in true LA style, even thought they do have free valet parking.    

Just inside the courtyard of Encino Place is a carousel. I watched it go round as always and saw this.   An over-weight young father was straining the saddle of the giraffe he was riding giggling while his son (I presume) was beside him holding on to the pole of the horse for dear life sobbing hysterically.  I know some day the young child will look back on this moment and think, "That's when I realized my Dad was a jerk".

Angel, the girl behind the counter,  has worked at the Coffee Bean the entire time I have been supporting them with my habit.  She starts to fix my drink the moment she sees me walk through the door.  

"Haven't seen you in a while." She says with that cute little smile as she starts the blender.  It is obvious the neighborhood missed me and has been worried.

"Yeah, I was doing my show in London." I say proudly. 

But as I am unwrapping my straw, I prepare to tell Angel how I should have been in London all summer but the idiot producers I trusted didn't come up with their share of the budget and although we had great reviews and wonderful word of mouth they pulled the plug after only 11 shows before we had a chance to let people know that our Tony Award winning show was there in the West End theatre district and how I am very upset with Andrew Collier and Peter Clayton, still,  and wonder what I will do the rest of the summer since I cleared my calendar to be there doing 8 shows a week for those British bastards in a theater that I really didn't think suited the show but was willing to perform because I thought the English audiences would really appreciate the tone and nature of my show....(breath) ... because I knew she would ask me.  

"Ice blended Mocha... here ya go," she said and wandered back over to the bar to prepare the next order.  

No "welcome back" no "how was it in London" no "how did it go" no interest in my manufactured trauma at all.  Just a curt,  "here's  your order" with an implied "you old geezer" on the side.   End of inquisition, end of conversation and end of my fantasy that anyone in Los Angeles really cares about a show in London, much less mine.  

The lion will not eat me and the ostriches are not standing in my way. I hear the little boy inside of me saying, "Jerk".  Time go get off this mental merry-go-round.

As you were,

Jay