Chalk One Up For The Valley

The smog-trapping, greenhouse-like environment that characterizes the frightening model for urban sprawl and suburbia that is The Valley rarely gets a visit from me, much less a compliment. Today I'm altering that code, even if only for the few minutes I'll need to write this post, and giving credit where credit is due.

Consider all those restaurants you've been missing in your pristine [insert your coastal L.A. borough here] bubble--The Olive Garden, Outback, Red Lobster, TGI Friday's, Uno's, Great Steak, any one of those cheap buffets we all know and love, Wendy's, etc.

They're all in The Valley.

Sure most would say that we've "traded up" on our side of the hill. We've gained innumerable mom and pop operations, very specific ethnic cuisines, chic restaurants where being seen is more important than actually eating, and there's always valet. But sometimes you just need that specific food fix that can only be satisfied by the mechanized national chain restaurant.

Last night I committed to the forty-minute trek to the nearest Outback and devoured a bloomin' onion, a plate of cheese fries, and a cheap-yet-amazing steak.

Despite the mild indigestion and today's tight pants syndrome, the trip was worth it.

Normally holding a permanent boo, The Valley has made a slight, microscopic improvement in my eyes. I mean I can't give too much credit. I did have to park my own car and walk a few hundred feet through a nearly impenetrable wall of smog...

The Trapezoid

This sign was posted outside my building a couple weekends ago--hanging on the wall directly adjacent to my back stoop smoking den. Being "a girl that has it together," it doesn't take much to determine who put this fabulous piece of art in my smoking den: who else but the douchebag that prompted the linked post.

I can't decide what is more disturbing--the hazard triangles or the handwriting.

The fact that it has hazard triangles seems to imply that 1) cigarettes, not only hazardous to your health when smoked, are also composed of some highly flammable material that could explode at any moment just lying on the ground, or 2) his children plan to eat the butts that litter the ground.

The handwriting looks like that of a two year old just learning to write and sadly, this man has procreated. Hopefully the kids' Los Angeles Public School education can help them overcome their defective genes.

I should probably also address the fact that "the area" to which he is referring is an area no bigger than a parking spot, maybe two, and is a trapezoid shape. Pan Pacific Park is less than two blocks away from my building. In the amount of time it took douchebag to create this broke ass sign, he could have walked to the park with his kids.

Instead, douchebag has chosen to take the comfort out of my smoking den. Great.

In our first encounter, while spastically pointing at the cigarettes that littered the ground around him, insinuating that they were all smoked by me, he asked that I take my butts inside with me. While inconvenient, it was not an unreasonable request.

But...I was pissed that he could think any human being, let alone ME, could smoke that many cigarettes in a lifetime. I might have rolled my eyes a little.

"You do realize that these are not all my cigarettes, right? I mean people come out into the stairwell area on every floor and throw them down," I said.

Our first encounter went downhill from there. Apparently he lives in the building too, and apparently I'm the only person he ever sees smoking. (Yawn) At this point my eyes started to glaze over and he was clearly talking but I couldn't hear anything. I regained consciousness for his closing remarks: "We can all do our part."

A bit of advice: If you're asking something of me, don't piss me off and insinuate that I smoke too much, or that I am the sole polluter of your precious trapezoid.