Hello, Brentwood

It's March. A new job, a new city, a new commute.

West of Beverly Hills is Brentwood. Some of you remember it as the home of Brian "Kato" Kaelin (that's all I'm going to say about that).

My first day of work, I left at 7am with the hopes of arriving before 9, without getting lost.

I succeeded on one count.

The route was Beverly Glen to Sunset to Beverly Glen to Wilshire to San Vincente, U-turn at Montana, San Vicente to the parking garage.

But, as Bugs Bunny might say, I should've taken a left at Albuquerque. Or rather, that second Beverly Glen. Unable to handle the funky intersection, I stayed on Sunset.

I'm driving past Bel Air on my left!

Oh, snap, I'm crossing the 405! I am so lost.

Barrington! I know that street! I think I know where I

Nope. I have no clue where I am. Pull over.

The streets in this part of down bisect each other in ways only a Geometry teacher would appreciate.

Within a block of each other are a Peet's, a Starbucks, and a Coffee Bean.

I'm not saying I'm homesick, but it warms the cockles of my heart when I see a Peet's. Bay Area!

The office is within walking distance of the three coffee pubs, across the street from a Whole Foods, and less than a block away from the Public Library. There's a Burger Lounge, where apparently so little meat is offered, a certain Wendy's commercial should be revived.

I returned to Sunset for my journey home,

I am driving past UCLA, aren't I?

Almost turned into Bel Air (a gated community like no other), in my effort to turn onto Beverly Glen,

Got tired of waiting to turn onto Beverly Glen, and continued on Sunset

Is that a little museum tucked away among these houses, what with the statues and lawn? Private Property. Wait, is that someone's house?

Into Beverly Hills, and up the familiar Coldwater Canyon.

I'll be making this commute from now on, until I move into a more permanent place. This is not a temp position; I filled out a W-2. I'm going to be here for a while. 

Saturday in a Southern California Deluge

When SoCal weather forecasters speak of a rain storm, they are referring to precipitation so mild, you need only a hoodie if you get caught in it. The ground becomes slightly wetter than a dewy morning.

The storm predicted for Friday was different. In certain areas, people were getting sandbags to protect their homes and businesses. Thursday night, I could hear the rain as it came down. Now, this is a proper rainstorm.

Indeed. These were the streets Friday morning,

 

Had to drive through the puddle to get to work - and home

Hard to see, but my tire's in a little puddle of water

and Saturday would bring no respite.

Still, laundry must be done, mail retrieved, food bought.

I arrived at the Laundromat as a light sprinkle began. An hour later, buckets.

In the ten minute drive to buy sundries, the rain alternated between blindingly heavy and non-existent. I broke down and bought a $15 umbrella to replace the too eager to collapse insurance swag I had in my car.

As I approached my car with my purchases, a woman passed by, annoyed. The man behind her looked bedraggled and tired.

He approached me as I opened my car door, mumbling a request I didn't understand, coming close enough to touch me.

I'm sorry I can't. Into the car, lock the door, deep breath. No, it's probably uncommon for a woman to be assaulted in front of Target. But I'm not accustomed to strangers getting so close to me in the parking lot.

I unwrapped my Luna bar, and watched him walk past my side mirror to another part of the lot. While eating, I watched him walk back, loiter, then approach another woman. Who was alone. Like me. Like the annoyed woman who had passed me.

Saturday is mail day. And paycheck day, since the temp agency I worked for did not have direct deposit. Post office, bank, lunch, groceries.

I went to a Vons so small, there wasn't a chips aisle. Nor did I see pita chips, despite the abundant availability of humus. Heavy sprinkle when I entered, downpour when I left. No change to the parking lot, though.