My Great Grandmother, I might have mentioned her before; the one that could probably kick your ass even at the age of 93 because she still goes to the gym every Saturday. Yea, that one, well she just turned 93 today. This may go without mentioning on my blog but I feel this part of this experience might bring humor to you.
I drove down to Houston Tuesday afternoon, I would of left in the morning but my alarm that was set but didn’t wake me. I was requested to take my brother as he didn’t want to go to a funeral and also didn’t want to ride in the car with a four year old; those being his other two transportation options with the exception of his feet but when one considers his age (fourteen on the 31st) one realizes lifelong laziness has already set in. I arrived thrown together and my bag even more so at my mother’s new house to pick Andrew up. Upon arriving I was already greeted by my grandmother who asks: “Why didn’t I receive at least a phone call on my birthday?” My immediate thought was not what she wanted to hear so I responded with “Because I wanted to get beat with a cane instead.” I wasted no time getting the hell out of there, Andrew jumped in the car and we were off. We weren’t even out of slight of the house when I turned to Andrew and jokingly said: “So you want to drive?” Of course he wants to drive, he is fourteen that is like asking a eighteen year old virgin that has jacked off to pornography for the last five years if he wants sex with you and you are loaded with large melons and tight lips. Andrew looks at me dazed, with the look of confusion on his face asking himself if he is actually awake; he was stuck in this state long enough for me to get on the freeway, where the offer had expired.
A couple of hours go by and almost two hundred miles later the liter of water I consumed caught up with me. So I stopped at a gas station, while on the way to relieve myself Kyle calls. I answer it without taking in the consideration for my over-capacitated bladder, he wanted to know how to setup a TV application on Linux; I answered it as best I could given my situation. I abruptly got off the phone and charged toward the facilities, where I found myself looking at the latched deadbolt to the unisex restroom from the wrong side; eight minutes later the door opens and my pants are already down as I bump shoulder’s with the wretch that has the sense of time of a fruit nat. I quickly removed myself upon releiving myself, the toilet seat had something I can describe as being to creamy to be considered urine.
My brother was waiting by the bathroom door waiting to handing me what he wanted me to purchase for him, I take his items lacking enthusiasm as I am broke and have to pay with my credit card. We make our way to the counter. Behind it is a first generation Asian family; mother, father, and son. There is a hick there who seems to own the store, who is the only one that can speak English, or at least should I say can understand English, speaking it not so much. The father rings up the items I presented on the counter, as I take my credit card out he reluctantly removes it from my grasp. From my own experience from working at a gas station I could tell that look, it was the look of: “You stupid fucking customer, I hate you, the credit card machine is broke, and won’t be fixed for another hour or so, I can’t accept this but for the sake of management I will make it appear like I give a damn and swipe your fucking card, you bitch.” I should of left then, but my brother didn’t know what was about to happen so I let it play out and I really wanted the Twizlers I had selected. By this time there is now a line of four people behind me, the father/cashier is hating his life and the hick is calling up Earl to fix this ‘darn contraption.’ Due to my low priority from carrying plastic and not paper the alcoholic behind me decides its his turn. He clunks his six pack on the counter and says “$16.79” (the price of his vice after tax no less); the clerk knows this and tries to open the register and manually do the math give the correct change but fails; my attempted credit card transfer froze the system. The only solution was to reboot the computer system but they were stuck at the dilemma, “If we do that all the gas pumps will be inoperable for 10 minutes as the system reboots” and at the time there were about three cars in the middle of pumping gas. I took this as my que to leave after snatching the card from the clerk.
I drove a bit more but had became disoriented due to the gas fumes and/or lack of sugar rush from the expected purchase. So I pulled the car over on the highway and proceed to open the trunk where I kept my trusty 1998 United States Atlas. As I was checking it I noticed the car was bouncing around, I slouched down to see through the back window what in the hell my brother was doing, of course he stops when I do expend this energy, so I resume to looking at the map. When I felt that I had sufficiently rerouted our direction I made an attempt to open the driver door to find it locked and my brother in that seat with a grin on his face. I thought “Fuck it, I could use the rest.”I sit down in the passenger seat and instruct him to turn on the left blinker and accelerate up to forty mph. He does this after killing the car twice, we were on gravel and usually he can only get the car moving by peeling out the tires a little. I don’t mind this too much as I do it might self frequently. We get back on the road that soon reduced to one lane in each direction. I tell my brother to be especially weary of the speed limits as we pass through small towns, as cops are bored ass holes waiting to fuck. I also tell him how to use the cruise control and to set it at the speed limit; he complied without question, which struck me as odd because I would of gone a little faster than the speed limit. I believe he didn’t because seventy mph was the fastest he had ever drove before. Once the cruise control was set I wasn’t too worried, he observed the speed limit sign much better than I do, as I seem to have the ability to see through metal that contain the words “Limit”, “Speed”, and only contain two digits. There was one particular town we were driving through where I with my law enforcement detection on yell, “Cop on the left”, my brother says I know. The PT Cruiser in front of us has its blinker on to turn left right behind the cop. I told my brother to pass him but then though maybe that is illegal so don’t. So he starts depressing the brake pedal, while neglecting the clutch; well the PT driver insist on coming to a complete stop and my brother follows suit; well the car dies; at this point we are freaking out; the underage unlicensed driver of the car that I own just killed the car in front state trooper; you think it can’t get worst; well not only do I have Andrew start the car up immediately he feels this same pressure and panics, peeling the tires out in front of the cop as the PT clears way. I think, “FUCK, I don’t know how I am going to explain this one.” After my heart crawls back down my throat, my pulse returns to a more stable level, and the cop is no longer in sight I resume driving for the remainder of the trip.