Dow and My Face

I have been heavily involved with Dow Pharmaceuticals research teams this season. The smallpox thing, the psoriasis thing. Lots of trips to Davis, Vallejo. Even a trip down to Petaluma. Well this most recent adventure takes place on the homefront, right here in grand ol' San Francisco.

"ZG"
Model

That's what my nametag read, but I'm not at that part yet.

So it was a long, glorious day spent with my lovely girlfriend, and it was getting late. I was at her house when Mom stopped by to pick my ass up. I had brought the essentials for a one-night trip, minus the pills and the pot, in a backpack. I watched Volume 3 of the Aqua Teens Hunger Force most of the way, keeping my mind on stand by. We got to our house, but had to stay for about an hour before Andrew got home to let us go. Mom had warned that he was in an antizach mood that day, but he seemed nice like a ferret when I walked by him, making for the car. More Aqua Teens and I think I slept the whole way into San Francisco.

We arrived at a valet parking garage on Geary, just a block away from my old haunt, O'Farrell St. We rounded the corner and made for a huge nondescript building with massive sound coming from it. Mom made a comment: "See that nightclub where that line is?" Yes. "That's where we're staying." So it was a hotel. A very very nice hotel in the middle of town. And the best of it was:

Everything was being paid for by Dow.

I ordered my ass up some food while Mom got tired on pain meds for her back. The LAN that was in the room refused to work, so I wasn't able to really get word out of where I was to anyone. The wireless there was subscription only. Three shrimp cocktails, a fat steak, a ceasar salad, two cokes, two iced teas, and a slice of cheese cake found its way into our room. Mom had half of everything.

There was a bit of computer drama though, as I pointed out to Mom that her screenname was still signed on at 1:30 in the morning. I remembered that the computer at the house was on and online when I left there hours beforehand. She got all up in arms and commandeered the phone and my computer, out for Andrew's blood. "That fucking bastard..." she kept saying to herself. We found out later that it was David who had snuck out of bed and onto the computer. Mom changed her password, and I played GTA: Vice City until I was too tired to think. Then I slept.

Next morning, I was alone. Mom had left early to go to some fucking seminar, and the room was mine until early afternoon. I contemplated ordering up some spectro-vision, but decided to get another shrimp cocktail instead. Took a long shower and enjoyed the terrycloth bathrobe that I almost stole right then and there. A call, and it was Mom with some bad news. No time for more food, "come down here ASAP." I got dressed in the clothes I had slept in and went downstairs, smelling like a clown.

I saw Janice. Janice is a blatantly overweight (but not fat) x-gen soccer mom liberal type, and she just loves to talk down at people. She was to be the "guide" for the acne models. That meant me and 5 others. I went downstairs and helped myself to some tidbits and a $7 bottle of water (free to me, of course), while waiting for Janice to do whatever it was Janice was doing. We went to Wallgreens for no reason after meeting model #3; model #2 was already downstairs, and joined us.

Models #4-6 joined us slowly on the 15th floor superbalcony. We sat and said nothing to eachother for something like an hour in the cushy retro livingroom. It smelled like expensive hotel, and I was listening to the Pixies. Janice was aparently there to "keep an eye on us, to make sure we didn't go anywhere or get lost." Right. Sooner or later, I ended up back in my room so we could pack up. I could barely fit in my newly acquired shot glasses, coffee mugs, ethernet cable and $21 worth of bottled water. The bathrobe had to stay.

I went back up to the superbalcony and sat in the first of three tall chairs facing the bright windows. Beside me was a table and on it were some Kleenex and a bottle of hand lotion. Had I known that these people were going to be poking at my face, I could've assumed they were there to jerk me off. It was a jerk-off atmosphere anyway: bright sun, hushed tones, lots of middle-aged people making more money than they knew what to really do with. It took me three hours or so of these people stroking and softly poking my face for them to be done. April, one of the Solano people I can actually stand, sympathized. "Stop looking at my sheet, it is making me nervous." Indeed.

Eventually, after a few second and third goes from all 12 doctors, we were finished. I grabbed what was probably my 4th 10 oz. glass bottle of Coke and sat down in the livingroom. They handed me a check for $250 and a t-shirt. It was all worth it in the end.

And afterwards, I went to the Manor Dr. McDonald's and learned they are not hiring; there are no hours available. So it looks like this chapter of my McDonald's epic is fast approaching its end. Time to move on.