Things haven’t always been so easy for a fence. Before the landmark case of Fence v. the State of California back in 1997 – most people forget about this because “Titanic” was in theaters causing a big distraction – we weren’t able to voice our opinion in the media. We could be put up anywhere, cut down, pissed on, whatever, and we just had to sit back and take it all in silence. We had no voice.
But today, I’m here to tell you my story, because you know what? It’s tough being a chain-link fence. Sure, I’m not one of them pansy picket fences that get painted on all the time. And boy I am glad that I’m not living the life of my barbed-wire brothers, who never get any sort of love. But being a chain-linker in Isla Vista is a rough act. As it happens, I’ve set up shop in the middle of Pardall Road, blocking proper access to half of Isla Vista’s bars and restaurants. And for some god-forsaken reason, this seems to piss off a lot of students here.
Just the other night I was enjoying the shine of Jupiter, when some tall, stiletto-clad blonde waltzed out of Dublin’s in a fit. Screaming at me in an abnormally manly voice, she took off one of her heels and started pounding it against my already fragile exterior.
“What the fuck is this fucking fence doing here!?” she cried out. “There’s a god damn $10 minimum on credit cards in the bar, and I have no cash on me. All I want to do is go the stupid ATM across the street to get more cash. But no… of course I can’t, ’cause this fucking fence is blocking my path. Ugh.”
You think I got beef with Wells Fargo? No. The fact that my money’s with Bank of America has nothing to do with their ATMs being so readily accessible from both Dublin’s and the Study Hall… I mean, I haven’t touched the sauce in years. Honest to God.
You think I’ve got some scheme brewing to force girls into maxing out their credit cards on Long Islands? The 10 percent commission I get from Dublin’s has nothing to do with anything. Really. All my blocking the ATM does is cause more crazed girls like the blonde I just mentioned to accost me. And as for all these business owners complaining that I am turning away potential customers, well, you’re clearly misguided.
First of all, I’m a glimmering work of art. I attract people to me. This is a truth. But business has been down 530 percent since you were put up. Blah, blah, blah. Where have statistics ever gotten anyone? It’s important to remember that 68 percent of all statistics are completely and utterly worthless.
Now listen: My location stinks, both in the figurative sense and the literal one. Seriously. Between the late-night flatulence that pours out of Freebirds and the drainage pipes the tractors keep uprooting, the air I breathe is about as good to my health as that one time I was forced to eat rotten eggs out of Sammy Sosa’s jockstrap.
“But you don’t breathe air — you’re a fence.” Yeah, I know that’s what you’re thinking. But I’ll tell you what. We fences breathe, cry and smile, just like the rest of you. If you’d ever stop bitching at me for being obstructive, and sat down to chat, I’d gladly share my stories, my emotions and my heart. If you’d ever stop crashing your bikes into me – yeah I’m looking at you, Mr. 6’2″ redhead with the stupid tattoos and a ride befitting a fourth-grader – at two in the morning, maybe we could come to live together in harmony.
If not, that’s fine too. I’ll be at Caliroll. Oh, wait. Shit. It’s gone out of business. Don’t kids love sushi these days? Where are the stats on that? Clearly, something is going on here that I don’t understand.