Hollywood Hayes – Pikeys

My uncle Frank told me a story about how one day his trailer was stolen from his house in Tipperary. Frank phoned the police. Made a report.

Few days later two guys showed up at his door asking him if he wants to buy a trailer – The very trailer that was stolen. Not sure if they knew or what but Frank phones the police as the bandits drive off in their van with his trailer attached.

Short while later the police phone Frank,

“We’re behind them on the M7, can you confirm the licence plate number?”

Frank confirms the number.

“That’s the one alright,” the guard says, “We won’t be able to do anything though.”

“Why not?’ Frank asked.

“They’re a dangerous gang. They’ll cause more trouble if we do anything.”

That was that. Gardai wouldn’t do anything. Nothing Frank could do. Pikeys win.

That’s what it’s like in LA all the time. Pikeys skiving you at every turn and nothing you can do about it.

Almost worse here though because they’re not dangerous gangs per say. It’s rich businesses that do the skiving. Good old capitalism.

Yesterday I was at the chemist. Ask the girl at the consultation counter if she could recommend medicine to cure my cold and cough. Tells me I need antibiotics. A doctor would have to write the prescription. He’s standing next to her. Must pay him $100 to write the note to give to her to get the antibiotics. Scam.

I leave. Find a clinic nearby. $80. Doctor tells me I don’t need any antibiotics. Chemist was lying to me just to buy more medicine at CVS. Thieves.

One time I DJed an opening night at a Hollywood bar owned by a group called SBE. If you’ve seen The Hills they own all the bars, nightclubs and restaurants shown. People’s drink tabs are $40,000 plus at times in these places. Company is worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Usually bars here pay DJs within a month. SBE took four months of me hounding to finally get paid. Apparently they do this all the time hoping people give up. Sound.

Parking ticket wardens are even worst. One time my car was towed from an area where you couldn’t park after 4PM. Arrived back at 3.55PM, car gone. A lady standing outside her house said she saw them tow it five minutes earlier.

Uber to the lot. Explain situation. Girl behind the counter doesn’t care. Tells me if I want to make a complaint I can write a letter. Meanwhile I’d have to pay every night my car was in the lot. Or I could just pay $200 now and be done with it.

Ambulances are the worst. Freelancers, like the tow trucks, who drive around looking for people to pick up.

One night I’m strolling home. On the phone to my buddy in Ireland who’s telling me how bad his financial situation is. We can’t stop laughing, it’s so dire it’s hilarious.

I’m at the bottom of my street but I’m in hysterics, tears flowing, sweating. Have to sit on the curb I’m laughing so much.

Two cops on bicycles appear (freelance security). Ask if I’m OK.

I am, I tell them, having a laugh.

“What are you on?”

Nothing. Few drinks.

“Tell us what drugs.”

Huh? None.

Start radioing someone,

“We have a guy on drugs.”

Huh? I go to stand up. They pin me to the path,

“We’re here to help.”

Just let me go home. I live right there, that’s my apartment!

Not listening.

Wailing ambulance appears. What? Am I being abducted? Is this the X-Files?

“Sir, stop resisting!”

I’m freaking out.

Stretcher’s wheeled out. They strap me in, shove me into the ambulance.

Guy in the back of the ambulance asks if I can understand him. I can, why can’t you understand me?

“What have you taken?”

NOTHING!

“Sir, do I have permission to inject you with this sedative to calm you down.”

Eh, no.

Next minute I’m being wheeled into a hospital. Nurse comes over. Ambulance guy tells her I’m on something while they take off my shoes and pants. I’m yelling. Nobody’s listening.

And then, I’m just left in a corridor.

After two hours I fall asleep. Wake up at 6AM. Nurse comes over. Asks if I’m OK.

I am, I tell her, just let me go home.

She hands me my wallet, pants and shoes.

Taxi. Home. Bed. Hide. Freaked.

Blanked it out, too weird.

Until two years later. Letter from a debt collection agency: You owe the ambulance company $400.

Are you joking me?

Phone them up.

“Sir, it’s OK to dispute the claim but if you don’t pay you’re going to have bad credit.

Ah yes, the two dirtiest words in America: Bad credit.

Pikeys. Everywhere.

Mark Hayes is a comedian and author of three books including RanDumb, which was #1 on Amazon Humour. He can be found on Twitter and Instagram @trickaduu and on markhayes.tv

Tags: Adventures Of An Irish Guy In LA, Article, Author, Brad Pitt, Comedian, Comedy, Drugs, Hollywood Hayes, Ireland, Irish, Irish Examiner, LA, Mark Hayes, Pikeys, Randumb, RanDumber, Stand-Up, The Examiner, Thieves, Weho, West Hollywood, Writer