I am talking on the phone with Marshall P of D Services and I refer to another guy. I can't remember his name. "Mitchell, is that it? No, Marshall, you know that guy at D. Service, I want to complement him." There is an ominous silence on the other end. I say, "Hello? Hello?" I wonder if I've misspoken and mentioned Marshall's name to Marshall, meaning I didn't know who I was talking to, but I was trying to compliment him. I keep saying, "Hello??" Then we are reconnected. He's not mad at me after all, but the receptionist is pissed. She cut us off deliberately because she is overworked and under-appreciated. Now I'm standing at her desk and she is grumpy and complaining. She shows me all the messages she has to deal with and no one appreciates. Then she goes back to work. She says to me something and I realize she wants to vent her feelings to me. I don't have time or patience to stay and listen. She says, "I'll call you." I say, "OK," feeling a bit put upon, but realizing it's OK since she deserves some help and concern, but why me?? Now I am driving a red pickup. I am parking it in a crowded spot. There are two or three men in the pickup with me, my friends. We are here to watch a great foot race. I have piles of things on the set with us and they slip and slide around, two jars of apple butter and so on. I save one jar from sliding out the door. I look out the windshield and see we are parked next to several TV crews vans. This will be a good vantage point. Now I wiggle around and am in the passenger side. The older man is saying, "What is all this stuff?? There's no room for us." He looks into a sack. I say, "You can put it back in the bed of the truck." He peeks in and it is a huge bag of pillow stuffing the receptionist gave to me. We can't put that back there, it'd get wet and ruined. Now the pickup is sliding forward. I say "Hey, hey, we're rolling." The other man complains and leans on the brakes. We stop just short of hitting the car parked in front of us. The older man backs us up and over a bump to keep us there. We are parked on mud. "We're rolling again," I say. The younger man complains and sluggishly steps on the brakes. Then someone notices it's very crowded around us and we'll only get to see the beginning and the end of the race. So the young man turns on the ignition and drives us out of there. "Hey," I say, "What are you doing? We'll lose our good spot (vantage point)." He says, "It's not worth it, I'll find another." I get angry and raise my voice and swear as I state quite clearly how unhappy I am. He made the decision without consulting us and it's not fair. The older man takes off his glasses, but one of the little nose foot things stays stuck on his face and he smiles and says, "Let's not say mean things that we'll regret." I say, "Don't patronize me." I am angry and am saying exactly what I'm feeling. I know these are my friends and afterward we'll still be friends. I'm not so stupid I'd throw it away on an argument. Now we are on the streets. There is no parking place to be had. I look ahead and see the parade coming right at us. We are forced to turn and park on the side. My friend tries to say this is the best spot, we're in the parade. Then a woman comes up and hands me a sticker and an ink pen. She waits. I realize this is a sticker for a booth owner and will cost us $40.00 dollars if I sign it. We confer. $40 is too much for a parking space. I explain this is the area where food booths and such are set up. I think about selling my books but it's not worth it. We sigh and prepare to go on. Here we thought we'd get to park for free but the establishment was waiting for us, and our money. You gotta pay for what you do.