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funny story
2001-09-11-7:48 a.m.
For some reason, yesterday I was talking to someone about when I used to DJ for a local rock station. Talk about a cool job. Anyway this made me think of a funny story associated with that radio station, so heres my excuse for an entry today: Everybody who knows me knows that I'm into vw's. Now that I'm a high-roller, I have a brand new bug, but back in my college days I was still driving an old (bug very nice) 69 bug. As great as these cars are, they're all older than me, so it's useful to have a spare one around that you picked up for cheap, in case you need a part or two. Well, the guy who worked right after my shift was a sorta new guy, and not that swift. He was probably in his early 30's, yet he still had this wide-eyed, everything-amazes-me stare. Seriously, I mean he'd actually stare at things and say "That's amazing!" or "What will they think of next?" on the order of 2 or 3 times a day. He had blue eyes and a mullet and you woulda thought he was younger except for his wrinkles. What this guy did have going for him was a very deep, very announcer voice. He sounded sorta like the excited guy on the car commercials talking about the financing, or the guy who tells you that the new meat in a tortilla at taco bell is the greatest new invention ever. And in radio, I'm sorry to say, a good voice will get you farther than a great personality and sense of humor any day. So as I'm packing up my cd's after my shift, he asks me if I saw that blue bug in the parking lot outside. I say "yeah" that's my bug why? He says "It sure is nice. You know I have one at my house, I picked it up for cheap and I never have done anything to it, I wouldn't mind getting rid of it if you're interested." I said sure, but I had to get going, so I got his number and told him I'd call him that afternoon. So it turns out he lives like 3 towns away waaaaaay out. But I get directions and they seem fine, because if theres one thing men can do it's give clear directions. Ever try to get directions from a woman? "You go down, like a long way but not a real long way, and you turn by the donut place, then you go until you see the big truck sign, and its a yellow house almost on the end of the road, you can't miss it, you may see either my white car or my husbands ford truck." Guys will say, "Right on elm, take the first left on 4th, 4 blocks down, it's 5607 4th, 3rd house on the right" And mercifully this guy did just that. He neglected to mention however that all these streets were DIRT, and that they were so amazingly deteriorated that I'd find driving in the ditch to be much smoother and easier for the better part of the trip. So I eventually crawl my lowered, chrome rimmed bug down the road, worried that my air cooled hot rodded expenisive motor will overheat down to this guys SHACK. Yeah it's no house little boy, and its not even a trailer, it's a trailer that he's added onto with plywood, thats partially sinking in the ground. Grass is growing up, theres an old icecream truck that's been sitting in his front yard so long that trees are growing out of it, and oddly enough, both the trailers on this mile long street seemed to look the same off in the distance, so I guess the neighbors didn't mind. Of course as soon as I got there, this goob comes running out, flip flops and no shirt, white hairy man tits all flopping around, mullet blowing in the wind, and that same, somehow endearing wide-blue-eyed stare. Like it was the most AMAZING thing that somebody came to his house. So he asks if I had any trouble finding the place and I said no, it was just hard traveling on the road with all the holes and all. He apoligizes and said he doesn't even notice it anymore, asks if I want to see the bug. All the while with that same 4 year old look on his face, and if I didn't know better, I'd think I had a blinking light on my forehead or an extra nose or something because of the way he looks at me when I talk. But nevertheless, we head to his garage/barn/shack and it's beautiful black dirt floor. And inside is one of the most sad desecrations of the vw bug I have ever seen. I try hard not to laugh or snicker, but I do smile and bite my lip, which this guy interprets at my being oh-so-delighted at the sight of this monstrosity. Let me explain it to you. Flat black paint job, over so much bumpy, wavy bondo work I doubted there was any of the metal that rolled off the assembly line in germany some 30 years ago. The fenders are bondoed to the body, the car has been lowered, probably by cutting rather than adjusting, it has those ridiculous 12 inch gold bicycle spoke rims and tiny tires that stick out half a foot on either side of the car. The interior is actually worse, as I see hastily stitched red velvet sagging off the doors and seats, and what looks like red carpet from a house. There is a skull with an 8 ball etched into the glass where the rear view mirror should be, and perhaps the kicker to the whole bit, a beautiful hand drawn magic marker rendition of the virgin mary right on the white vinyl headliner. Takes up the whole ceiling. The most amazing bit of work I've ever seen. Here someone has managed to combine their appreciation of the blessed virgin mary, mother of our personal lord and savior jesus christ, and their appreciation of cars and car culture, brought all together by the timeless clarity and precision of the Marks-A-Lot marker. Truly truly magnificent. I think, well maybe the engine is salvagable, but no, it's all chrome (worthless on an air cooled motor because it reflects the heat back at it), and worse than having chrome tin is the missing tin at the front of the engine, the non existant air cleaner, and the nice bud light can wrapped around the coil. Perfect. So I've wasted almost 2 hours of my day if I head straight home now, but NO, this guy wants to talk my ear off. And I do feel sorry for him because he is a goob and probably has no friends, so I tell him it's the wrong engine type for my car or something and I cant use it, but it sure is a nice bug or something. So then this guy invites me in for a beer, and I was a heavy drinker/drug user at the time, so I figure what the hey, I can salvage something from this trip, so why not. He says his wife is cooking too. I think "Wife? This guy has a wife, this I have to see, she must be the queen of all rednecks or just stoned ugly or something." So I climb in up the creaky deteriorated steps, and inside the packed leaning house, and I see about 50 million pieces of religious paraphenalia. Now this guy might be a little off, but I don't think he's religious. Then I see a little mexican kid, cute but dirty, wearing only a diaper and looking up at me. Then I look into the living room and see 3 more, all about a year apart. And I round the corner into the kitchen and he says (I can't remember this guys name in case you haven't noticed) "Ronnie, I want you to meet my wife, Consuela." And this probably 19 year old girl turns to meet me, stirring a pot of refried beans with one hand, and holding a 6 month old with the other. He says "Honey why dont' you get our guest a beer here" and she says something to him in spanish, didn't sound good, she nods towards the baby in her hand and points the spoon at the pot of beans, probably saying "Im' busy asshole,get it yourself" and he says something to her with an apolegetic face So he grabs me a beer and says "Her english is still rusty and my spanish isn't good either, but we seem to get along ok." So he hands me my bud light (cause thats what americans drink god-dammit) and we sit down in his cramped living room with an old tv with a coathanger antenna and no dials as I sweat profusely and think of a way to get the hell out of this. I ask him how he met his wife and he says he met her in the service, pointing to some pictures of him on the wall in what looks like a navy uniform. I can't belive this guy was in the service, but he says he did 4 years and met his wife in mexico. The oldest kid isn't his, Consuela had her when she was 15, she's 21 now and I guess she'd been popping one out every year since then. She probably had no where to go, was pregnant out of wedlock, and saw an American with a job and a house (technically) and they were married and she moved to the states with him. She was a pretty girl I guess, definetly out of this guys league in the states. So initially I had felt bad about this guy being poor, but that was really shattered by the fact that he chose to retire from the military, keeps getting his (21 year old I found out) wife pregnant, and he is content with a minimum wage job and his lot in life, and I guess his wife isn't any worse off than she would have been in her village or whatever. So after a few more minutes and another beer I chugged, I made up another excuse about having homework and I headed out, thanking him for his time. He asks if I have to go and I say yes, I'd love to stay and eat but I have so much to do. I headed out and on the way through the kitchen one of the older kids smacks me in the shin, full on with a little baseball bat. I hear the guy yell out to the kid and it runs off, and the wife half ass yells at it and the guy apoligizes and asks if I'm ok, and it hurth like a son of a bitch but I say "no, no problem, spunky little kid you got there." He says "Spunkys not it they're bad, but I don't know anything about raising kids" again with the same vacant, deer in the headlights look. And we say our good byes and I head out, sorta feeling sad for the guy, knowing that he's probably been that clueless all his life, probably always will be, not knowing or having the resources to raise his children, but still making them, and knowing the cycle will continue with his kids. He liked his beer and his "rock and roll" and his trucks, and life was gonna be ok by him cause his wife was cooking and he was getting drunk and had his own place at 35 and everything. I don't know the point of this story, other than to say that as bad as you think you are, you could be much worse, you could be this guy, so don't beat up on yourself too much. And that the entertaiment business if FUCKED-UP man. ;-) -- Ronnie
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