Canyon Lake 2: Electric Boogaloo

I hate to keep harping on Lois but I really have a lot to thank her for. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have gotten my documents delivered today.

I drove out to That-Which-Should-Be-Cast-Out-Of-California (also known in obscure circles as Hemet) and after driving around for like thirty minutes, trying to find my target, I realized that the servees lived in those remnants of Stalin's Russia, the gated community. And not just any gated community, a Canyon Lake style gated community that puts medium security federal prisons to shame.

But this time I was cunning as a fox, quick as a cheetah, and as dexterous as a gigantic squid. When the charmingly eastern European security guard wouldn't let me in, I asked for his name, had him spell it out for me, and I drove away and parked. I filled out the form so that I could serve it to him and drove back. I gave him the "If you won't let me in I'm going to have to serve you" spiel, and he raised up his hands and said, "I'm not taking them!" I then proceeded to throw the documents at his feet, as if I were some rich dandy and he were some lowly Ukranian prostitute whom I had just savagely beaten and the documents were the cold comfort of cash.

But if I hadn't had my little kerfuffle with Lois then I wouldn't know what to do when the long arm of justice was stopped by power hungry rent-a-cops. And for that, I thank her.

I'm hoping to do a big post tomorrow about the events of Friday, in which I got up at 5:30 and drove around San Bernardino county, serving that process.