Plug Boy

Beyonce Phone Charger

Never Going Back Again – Fleetwood Mac

Thanks to all my Apple products (and their horrendous battery life) I always feel so connected (to the wall). As a result, like my hopes and dreams, my phone almost always dies the minute I leave my house. iPhone. Battery. Bad.

Anyway, last night I managed to lock myself out of my abode. Handy. Door. Shut. Keys. No. Balls.

Thankfully my phone did what it likes to do and died when I needed it most. Looked at the battery left, 100%. Thought about using my phone, jumped to 65%. Moved a finger to unlock the phone, 50%. Took a breath, 1%. Blinked, it was dead. Handy. Can’t call anyone with spare keys. Funk it, I’m going out anyway. I’ll just leave and charge my phone somewhere along the way.

So off I went down the street. Saw a neighbour outside his house playing with a drone/helicopter kind of thing. Flying around over head. Saw he had a dock for it plugged into an outside plug on the wall. Might as well ask him for a quick plug,

Hi, I know this is weird but any chance I could plug my phone charger into your plug for a minute?

Looked at me and took his eye off the helicopter which hit the wall with a thud and fell to the ground.

“Sorry, I don’t have any plugs in my house.”

Hm. Odd response. I can see the plug next to his foot. I can see a TV, elliptical machine and a stereo system in his living room through the window. Unless they’re all just props. Look back at him to try and ask again. Only get to see the back of his head as he shuts his front door and disappears into his electrically powered man cave. Cheers, boss.

Check my phone for the time, oh yeah. Dose. Meant to be meeting a buddy at a bar on Fountain and Vine. Probably a 45-minute walk. Funk that, too long. Plus only psychos and homeless walk that far in LA. Uber on. Except. Oh yeah. Phone. Dead. Walk on.

Strolling down Fountain, looking at trees and into bushes just in case they’re hiding a plug somewhere. No joy. Pass an apartment building with a brightly lit foyer. Spot a plug through the window of the locked entrance. Balls. So close. Yet. So far. Girl with two big Pitbulls walks up the steps of the apartment building. Gives me a look like I’m a creep standing at the door of her building holding an iPhone and a phone charger trying to crack a smile that says, Hey it’s cool, I’m not a creep. Smile doesn’t seem to be working as she looks away and avoids eye contact.

I’ll ask her anyway,

Hi, sorry to be weird but you wouldn’t mind if I just went inside with you to the foyer to charge my phone for two seconds?

Looks at me like I just insulted her and her entire family.

“Sorry but no, I do mind. A stranger followed me into the building last week and now I don’t trust anyone. I’m going to have to ask you to leave and walk away before I open the door.”

Ah for funk’s sake. Alright. Let’s not make this creepier.

Cool, thanks anyway, no worries.

Bastards. If this was Ireland and you asked someone for this small tiny favour they’d probably invite you into their home, make you a cup of tea and a sandwich and try to marry you off to their daughter before the phone was even plugged into the wall. Not in West Hollywood though, oh no. Here I’m just a creep with ulterior motives.

Stroll on. Scouring everywhere. The road, the path, the birds, surely there’s a bloody plug somewhere along this street. Very few shops at all so nothing is open or has a light on. I’d probably have a better time looking for nuggets of gold than finding a plug here. Mighty. Been strolling about 30 minutes now. I know if I keep going there’s a gas station 7-11 kind of place on Fountain and Highland. They surely have a plug.

By now I’m skipping and running as much as I can. Meant to be meeting my buddy five minutes ago already and can’t text him to say I’m running late. I’m usually late as is but still, at least I usually continuously lie that I’m two seconds away. No can do without my phone.

Skip. Run. Sweat. Make it to the gas station. Lights on. Hallelujah. Stroll inside, about five people in a queue. Start looking around at the walls, high, low, middle, found one! Free plug, not being used. By the lottery desk. Handy handy. Plug in my phone and wait for green. Come on the green. Empty red battery symbol flashes up. We’re on the way. Another few minutes and done. Oh wait, hang on, the lady working behind the counter is screaming at me,

“You cannot use the plug! That is not your plug?!! Stop!”

Wait, what, who, me? Seriously?


Christ, calm down. I’ll just be a second.


Sweet Jesus, alright.


By now the people in the queue are annoyed because she won’t serve them while shouting at me. All giving me C’mon bro, dude just leave, that’s so rude mutterings. Counter lady is talking on the phone to the bloody police too by the sounds of it.

Jesus Christ OK I’ll leave, goodbye.

Back out into the night air. Stand confused. Is it me? Is asking to use a plug really this bad a crime? Am I Plug Boy? Why won’t anyone hook me up? Should I just wait for the police to show up and hand myself in? Am I a danger to society? Did I just get kicked out of the 7-11 for stealing electricity? Rebel Hayes they call me.

Back on the streets, take my time, take my chances. Phone didn’t have enough time, still dead. I’ll just walk to the bar, it’s about fifteen minutes away I think, maybe less if I run. No taxis pass by but I did see a police car whizz by with the sirens on. Jumped into a bush in case they were looking for me. Man on the run. Sweating and skipping along. On cue, a torrential thunderstorm kicks in. I mean I’ve never seen rain like it, it’s ridiculous. Bucketing, pouring, hail, the whole shebang. Try to take shelter under a tree but I might as well be standing in a shower with my clothes on. Fully drenched. Mighty. Funk it, stroll on. Can’t get wetter.

Slight miscalculation about how long this whole walk would take. According to my inner clock and the position of the moon I’ve been strolling for about an hour. Feel like Tom Hanks running across the country in Forrest Gump. Except he had people helping him. I’ve had my neighbour lie to me, a girl make me feel like a creep and a 7-11 nut call the police on me while also getting soaked to the bone. And I haven’t even had a phone to stare at and entertain me the entire time. Some walk.

Finally make it to the bar, 9 on vine. See my buddy outside. Make the usual apologies,

Late, sorry, hair, changed clothes, the rain, I napped, showered, but here I am. How come you’re not inside?

“It’s closed.”

It’s closed? Why is it closed?

“Apparently it’s too quiet around because of the rain and whatnot.”

Whatnot is funking right.

“I’m going home too. What are you going to do?”

Stroll on my friend, stroll the funk on.

Then I turned around, walked back home on the opposite side of the road, arrived back at my abode and remembered I had locked myself out. So that was nice. Plug Boy Hayes, plugging on.

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