2:45 Inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks. Instead of wishing everyone a happy safe weekend I tell everyone to fuck off and don't even think about calling me for anything less than free beer, IT'S PUSSY GET'N TIME!
2:46 click click click Goddam Jeep won't start. click click click FUCK!!!
2:47 What's the odds any of the people I just told to fuck off will give me a jump start? Eh, fuck those assholes, I'll call a tow truck.
Fast forward three and half hours, I'm at the dealer (where else are you going to go on a Friday night).
By this time I'm of course irate for a laundry list of reasons.
- It's past 6 on a beautiful Friday and I have neither the sweet taste of beer or pussy on my lips.
- Really? #1 seems like reason enough to be irate at this point.
The rednecks at the dealer take their sweet ass time coming to get my keys from me. When they finally get around to coming to get my keys I'm in no kind of mood for human contact. Now it's just a matter of getting home as quickly as possible and drinking till I forget.
This next decision was the first of a few poor decisions on that afternoon. I decide that I'm in fact not patient enough to wait for the courtesy shuttle. After all, it's only 105 degrees or so with the sun still high in the sky. I start hiking. I should mention that being the trusting soul I am that I took everything of any value out of the Jeep and am now carrying it like a hobo, on my journey. I only have about 3 miles to cover.
2nd poor decision for the afternoon: Maybe an eighth of a mile into my excursion I see one of my favorite bars. It's an oasis. There it sits all brightly colored, big giant patio, favorite tailgate games, misters, fans, and most importantly WHORES. For anyone who doesn't know, Friday is one the best nights for whores, especially Happy Hour Whores. I'm telling you from experience that casual Friday applies to not only dress, but morals. This fact is only intensified by drinking in the sun. To this day, I can't for the life of me tell you why I kept walking. My best guess is that I was that pissed off about everything leading up to this point.
Travel a bit further. Regret not stopping in heaven for just ONE drink. Start thinking if there's any chance of salvaging this night that I better call some stand by and line it up so that she'll be there after I get home and grab a quick shower. Well in true women fashion she won't just except my order and get off the phone, she wants to chat. Honestly I didn't mind. I wouldn't say that I was happy to have the company, but I would say that I was glad to have someone to pull me out of my own neurotic thoughts until I could wipe them away with alcohol.
3rd poor decision: Still on the phone crossing the freeway overpass I almost don't see the homeless person holding a piece of cardboard with Cliff's Notes version of his biography. Of course being the kind person I am, I promptly avoided eye contact and talked loud enough for him to hear that I was on the phone and did not wish to be disturbed. The reason for this poor decision I will blame on the phone call. Not 3 blocks from Mr. Panhandler and it dawns on me that I missed a golden opportunity to ask a homeless person a question that has bothered me since I could read: Where do homeless people get markers? Seriously. I get the cardboard. I'm fairly certain that I myself could put my hands on some pretty nice cardboard, but a MARKER. Do they get together at night and share a single marker? If so, where do they get together, they're homeless!
4th poor decision: I'm now half way between beggar and home. I stop and seriously ponder going back to ask my question. I didn't. Again, it was just one of those afternoons. Let me tell you though, this was even a tougher decision than walking past the bar. Really, this is the equivalent to learning the meaning of life in my mind.
The heat stroke may be setting in at this point. I can't think of any good reason that I would've made such a series of crappy decisions. No point in beating myself up though, I'm almost there.
5th & Final poor decision: The human body is a weird fucker. Here I am wedging myself between the security gates (designed for cars so there's no pedestrian gate) and the only reason I'm able to slide through is because I'm sweating like a whore in church. All of this sweating and the gate pushes on my bladder just right giving me an awesome urge to pee. Pee what? I've sweat out every ounce of water I've had that day, and I haven't cracked so much as A beer. Well I'm home, not out of the woods yet though. Still there's a matter of about 150 yards to my door. Do I go behind some bushes? NO. Those of you following me know that I have a healthy respect for not being labeled 'sex offender' for urinating in public (really, it happens). Not going behind the bushes proved to be the worst mistake of all. My best non medical school training leads me to believe that years of binge drinking has all but destroyed my bladder because the cramp in my stomach decides at my door (I'm fumbling with my keys) that I'm close enough. Ah the wonder that is the human body.
Finally I'm home. Wet from sweat and piss, but dammit I'm home! That was one of the most delicious beers I've ever tasted in my life.
Why are you still reading? Were you looking for a moral to this tale? Read some the others, you'll get over it.
No comments:
Post a Comment