Nit picking and downtown money.

I guess you know that you are all grown up when you can admit things about yourself. Like, I'm willing to admit that I am a ...nit picker... a term that grosses me out because I'm sure it has something to do with picking lice out of peoples' hair.

I have always been a nit picker, a sure sign of "Princess and the Pea " syndrome. I mostly cut the tags out of all my clothes except my "LIfe is Good " T-shirts, because they prewash and soften them and the tags are cotton and soft...but I once again digress.

As a nit picker, I reserve the supreme right to rant about meaningless sh*t that perhaps you never even considered and may now find that this meaningless sh*t now bothers YOU and therefore my burden of annoyance has been properly transferred to you hence my neurotic mission accomplished. Isn't sharing fun?

SO let's get to the infectious point: I live and work in the 'burbs, mostly. I do TV and media work, the media work takes me just about everywhere for shoots...my voice over work takes me downtown or into my basement where we have a studio and editing suite....we have the ability to record digitally and send it, put it on the internet and never have to leave the house.

This makes me ecstatic because it means I deal less and less with "downtown money" and "parking lot dollars"...you know what I mean ? The dollars that the parking lot attendant keeps on the top of his filthy pile of broken,washed in the Mon,wadded up, taped up cash, some of which still has some unsnorted crystal meth lines on it, and then hands it to you as change...I always give it right back and say, give me some money that's not going to fall apart three blocks from now.

THe worst downtown money exists on the South Side...this is where all the college students hang and drink on the weekends and mingle with the Bohemian (ie: almost homeless if not for girlfriends) population of the burgh. There are more bars per block than in all of Mt Lebanon, a throw back from the mill days. Public urination on a Saturday night is an elevated art form.

I used to love to take my mother there during the day (the only safe time for nit pickers) and wheel her around in her chair as she marvelled at the mowhawk haircuts and crowded tattoo laden arms of would-be graphic artists. She got a kick out of it and loved the candy store next to the Bead Mine. My diabetic mom would sip a milk shake and her 70 year old commentary of the street scene would evoke musings like "Who's going to marry THAT ?"

Once I saw a rat as big as Jupiter walk right towards me in broad daylight on Carson Street, I jumped and screamed, it jumped and screamed and ran down an alley, the homeless guy on the stoop laughed at me...I said to him "Hey, what's so funny?".... he kept laughing.

But I DIGRESS....... last week, I was on the South Side for business, and stopped to have lunch when my husband at a new pizza place (I hate pizza, but was being cooperative that day) , when the (I think it was a she) malcontent girl at the counter, whose hair was falling in my food and had JUST wiped her nose, handed me the pizza and my change..... I stop in a nit pick stupor and gaze at my change, the ultimate "downtown money"...it was a dollar bill completely ripped in half and scotch-taped back together, kind of.

Can you feel my challenge here?

Do I point out the fact that she just wiped her nose and then touched my food, or mention the fact that she gave me a piece of useless currency?

What do I do?I'll wait while you think about this ....mind you now, my husband is sitting at the table looking at me and wondering what fresh hell I was about to rain down ... I think he might even be shaking a little....but like I said,earlier, I'm feeling cooperative...no sense spoiling our "lunch".

So, I put the ripped dollar in her I-can't-believe-she-has-the-gall-to-have tip jar, wrap up the pizza and and leave it on the stoop of the homeless guy down the block.

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