Yes, that’s really my phone. I’m a man of modernity.

You win some, you lose some. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. Well, maybe I am. My evening started off easily enough. I jumped in my car and headed into the city. This is where I should probably mention that my car was the no. 2 of a 10-car BART train. Apparently someone thought it was a good idea to let people and their bikes clog up any train at any time. They tell me it’s a pilot program—a test—to see if the strict ‘bikes on trains’ policy can be loosened. Well, I’ll tell you right now this test is a failure. The last thing I need is a batch of bikes taking up space on my dirty BART train. Besides, I saw three fat people with bikes, so they obviously don’t work. Let’s just move on.

The disaster continued as I crawled out of the sooty tar pit they call the Montgomery station and into the cold, grey day of San Francisco. Welcome! I left the perfectly sunny and warm skies of Berkeley for this? I’m about to get really bitchy and call it ‘Frisco, but I’ll take a deep breath and soldier on. After all, I’m meeting a good friend at a warm café before we head to a free screening. It’s some raunchy comedy called, ‘For A Good Time, Call…’. I’m not sure what more the film can tell me about phone sex that I don’t already know, but I’m game.

Mark was already sitting with a salad when I arrived, so I made him hold my bag while I went over to the counter to make my order. Of course, it’s the cute, sweet guy that’s always there ready to service me. You know which guy I’m talking about. He’s the one that smiles at you and says hi. He has sweet eyes that kind of say something like, ‘you’re cute, I’d love to fuck your butt sometime’. Well, it’s a little forward, but I’ll take it. My response to his “what can I get for you?” sounds positively cool, calm, and collected in my head, “Hi, could I have the steak florentine sandwich with a mixed green salad and a glass of Duvel? That bottle looks too good to pass up!” But, of course he makes me so nervous that it comes out something more like, “bloogablurb blah, blah, bugga boo, bleck.” Uhh…yeah. Ridiculous, I know, but he seems to understand. He gives me another smile as he cocks the glass just so, pulls the tap and finishes off the pour with a nice thick head. Yum. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.” Gross!

I sat down with Mark and teased him for eating a Caesar salad. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always thought of a Caesar salad as white trash food. It’s basically cheap lettuce, toasted white bread, mayonnaise and cheese. Now, if you go to a really fancy place, they’ll open up a can of fish and put one or two on top. Yeah, canned fish mayonnaise salad. If it was a sandwich Elvis would’ve eaten it. If I’m going the white trash route, I’ll just stick to my canned Frito-Lay bean dip and Ruffles chips. They have ridges.

We ate our food, talked about music and movies and how good Charlize Theron’s tits look in a dress. We wrapped things up a the café and headed over to the theater. Since it was a screening we had to show up early and queue up with the dregs of humanity, all roped off on a tacky carpet. Mark actually noticed that some of the dregs brought along their own folding chairs. Standing is just too much when your only ambition in life is to star in the next season of half-ton mom.

We were let into the theater, found our seats, and before the movie started I ate an entire box of Sour Patch Kids. They were just okay. Anyway, the theater was about half full, if that. We sat right behind the row of seats reserved for employees of the film distribution company. They laughed the hardest. The movie was lame. Justin Long played a played-out version of every sidekick queen best friend you’ve ever seen in a bad movie.

There were a few laughs here and there and it was pretty short, about 90 minutes I guess, so it wasn’t too bad. I just expect more from a rated R movie about phone sex operators. No real tits to be seen, but plenty of giant rubber dongs. But, I could just stay home for those. There was one rambunctious theater-goer that I quite enjoyed. He yelled out things like “oh yeah!” and “pull out!” This type of behavior is essential in a boring movie.

My hunch was right, I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know about jerking it with Ma Bell. It’s a topic I’m quite familiar with, thank you very much. Although I should confess that I’m a man of modernity. Lately the phone was been replaced with my laptop and things like Man Roulette and my window with the blinds open, but I won’t get into all that here. If you’d like the sordid, sticky details, just call me. It’s $5.99 a minute.