memories

so i was stoned at this gas station in peoria, quiktrip. yeah, the QT. a bit of history about the place, but someone actually set it on fire. yeah, i'm pretty sure it was my friend's brother. it was the spot for local hang outs of the under-agers that had no where else to go. in fact, they even employed a security guard to handle all their nefarious, anti-loitering plots. this consisted of walking around the perimeter of the store in a douchebaggy uniform and threatening to call the police if things got too "unruly".

of course everyone knew the tool was an old sun city fart who was too bored collecting his pension and decided to take a stab at the enforcement branch. only the mall knows he's too decrepit with poor eyesight, which would be bad in the wide open setting of the mall. so they don't hire him because the new coach store would get jacked faster than you can say "sherpes" and he's forced to get a job as a security guard for QT.

a security guard. for a gas station. that doesn't get robbed. unless it's by cory. for tobacco. because he's a fiend.

yeah, anyways, i locked my keys in my car one day. this was while i was getting gas, and not being a loser and hanging out in front of the QT (which is probably my favorite past time--no, i'm not a hypocrite).

so i'm by myself and it's after school and all i want to do is go home and watch some Heathcliff or something when--bam--i get locked in the heat. at this point in time every body in the planet had a cell-phone. i had the bad ass nokia that you could get millions of different face plates for at those shitty carts in the mall (my friend used to work at one of those). there were awesome games on it, like snake. actually, snake was the only thing on there but man did it blow people's fucking minds. that shit was amazing for its time. moved more units than Halo did, and it was a fucking cell phone. in fact, i think that's what did cell phones justice. before the nokia, all you had were those lame ass bricks and those star trek phones that police officers and firemen had. fuck those phones, those shits sucked.

the nokia was where it was at. in fact, if i could find my old one i'd go get it (i've got a different nokia, but it's like a fucking first gen video phone. thing is a brick. it has a fucking rotary dial or birth control or something). with the green screen and all. i'd bust out my old money faceplate, whipping Benjamins out all over your face, and i'd slap on one of those antennas that lights up when you get a phone call. i'd even bust out that one ringtone that EVERYBODY had. you remember, the one that went NEEE DEEEE DOOOO DEEEAAAA DOOOO DEEEEEE DOOOO NAAAAAAAY. i think.

this makes me realize that the nokia is the jesus christ of cell phones. more on that later.

oh yeah, keys locked in the car.

anyways, keys. they're in the car. whip out the nokia.

"mom, i locked my keys in my car."

"again?"

"will you please hurry? i'm going to miss Heathcliff on boomerang."

"did you leave the car on this time?"

"how long until you get here?"

(my family usually communicates by asking questions, but never answering)

"i don't know. i'm reading and i'm almost done with this chapter."

"this is why we should have tivo."

so, i'm all stuck in the heat and pissed because i'm going to miss Heathcliff and gay ass cox hasn't come out with their second rate tivo. my anger causes a surge in my body, kicking my metabolism in the ass and giving me sudden bowel movements.

out of nowhere, zombie outbreak style, i've got to use the bathroom. number 2. i don't like saying things of the "had to take a fatty shit" variety because that's just tasteless.

anyways, in the wake of needing to unload a massive poo, i head straight for the air-conditioned QT's facilities. when i get in there, i find i'm the only person there. so i dart for the handicapped stall because i like my wide pooing spaces. QT is all fancy, and they don't only have shoddy bathroom stall walls separating their toilets. oh no. they have CONCRETE WALLS. no one's going to try and pull the reach-under on me. not only is the wall a thick wall, but i usually have a bic lighter on my person and would burn each of that man's digits off if he tried such fagotry.

but on this day, i didn't have to worry about fagotry. instead, i had some crackhead with a master plan and a penchant for talking to himself.

imagine this: you're taking a shit (oops) in the back of the bathroom in the corner stall, and no one else is in there. the walls are long with no openings aside from the door, so no one can see you without prying. the doors burst open, and you don't even need to see it to know but the man that just walked in is fucking crazy. you can tell because of the things he's muttering slightly to himself are so insane that he wouldn't be muttering them slightly to himself had he known someone else was in the bathroom the entire time.

but he doesn't know. he's got to take a piss, so why check the stalls? and he hasn't heard anyone make a noise, so it's okay to assume that he's alone in the bathroom and safe to spill the beans on his nefarious plans to no one in particular in a classic james bond-villainesque rant.... right?

wrong, asshole. sometimes a guy takes breaks, okay? not everyone has to spend every moment with their ass on a toilet seat groaning like they're holding back a hernia.

but this guy doesn't know i'm here. so he goes on and on about his "psycho bitch" girlfriend. and how he needs to see a judge with the evidence he's acquired and "reverse" the court order she recently has placed on him.

no joke.

the guy is wearing flip-flops--i can hear them smacking against the bottom of his feet--and he begins to walk around, back and forth, across the bathroom floor. he finally stops at a urinal, hearing him shuffle with his pants, and then he starts groaning.

"uggggggghhhhhhhhhh" as if he has herpes and is draining the acid urine from his cursed member.

and then he starts talking to himself. he says some crazy shit, too. he's like "i gotta get her... gotta get her 'fore she gets me! i know she was at his house last night, i just know it! and the bitch wants to get me thrown in jail? no way. no fucking way. what i gotta do is... i gotta see the judge! yeah, that's it. i'll go see the judge.... and i'll show her what she showed me, and that'll be that! yeah! but i gotta be quick... she'll know i'm up to something... i can't go back there."

so then the dude washes his hands and he leaves, no big deal, right?

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?! i was fearing for my fucking life right there! i couldn't even see the guy, aside from his trackpants, sweat socks, and adidas sandals. that image alone is fucking scary. and here this crackhead is, in the bathroom, thinking he's all alone and spilling the beans on his evil planning. you think i'm going to squeeze my shit out here? sneeze/cough? flush the fucking toilet? fuck no, i wasn't even breathing loud in fear of that mother fucker busting in and being like "YOU HEARD EVERYTHING!" before he stabs me in the throat with his crack pipe.

no, fuck that, i'll keep my life, thanks.

so the guy leaves and i finish my shit, wondering what the hell i just experienced.

what the fuck?

i wash my hands and i'm thinking "oh man, that guy was bat shit insane. i've got to catch a glimpse of him." i remember his feet, so i know that alls i need to do is scan the QT floor for the insane mystery man and i'll get the full visual picture.

heading out the bathroom, who is standing right in front of me?

i look at the floor. sandals, socks, track-pants...

i follow it up, standing in front of the coffee station RIGHT OUTSIDE the bathroom, is the mother fucker.

staring at me.

realizing that he wasn't in the bathroom, alone, at all.

the look on his face told me he didn't like that realization at all.

i quickly glance away, and dart out the store. you would too, mother fucker, you would too. you didn't see this guy. first of all, he was black (and intimidating). he was wearing a shirt with multiple paint stains, acquired at different points in time i imagine. and, and this is the big and, the dude had DIRTY AS FUCK dreadlocks. seriously, i thought i saw gnats swarming him.

seriously, if this guy has some nefarious plan to off his girl and convince a judge that he's innocent, more power to him. usually, the conniving take more pride in their appearance and usually have a large sum of money at their disposal. but if this guy wants to take on the system, hell, i'll throw my weight behind him. despite being scared shitless (hah, get it?).

so i leave QT and wait outside for mumzy and who do i pass? a big, fat, trashy woman sitting in the passenger seat of a white pick-up truck. i think to myself "that better be the woman he was talking about..."

the black dude with scary dreads walks out, and i'm watching him from the safety of the bed of my truck, surrounded by patrons getting gas. where does he go?

to the drivers seat of the white pick-up. i was right. crazy fat bitch is gonna die.

i didn't watch the news for the following days to see if their mug shots would end up on the homicide report. probably because i missed Heathcliff and had some catching up to do.

oh well.

maybe Robert Stack will solve this mystery....

UPDATE: no. he didn't.

UPDATE: apparently nobody gives a shit.