So there I was today, sitting in my car in the Wawa parking lot. I was listening to XM Radio when a huge, hulking structure appeared next to me, blocking out the sun. Curious, I looked to my right and saw a giant, hulking Chevrolet Suburban.
Sure, all Suburbans are gigantic, but this one was even giganticer. Dark green, it had huge, super-duper monster truck wheels that hoisted the car so high I could see its entire wheel wells. (I’m pretty sure that, had I been sitting in my Laser, I would’ve been able to see the undercarriage, too.)
Emanating from this road beast was a bass-filled rumble that literally made my car shake. In fact, my lowly Taurus trembled so much that I checked my console to make sure my engine was turned off.
Eager to escape before a cloud of heat and exhaust wafted my way, I grabbed my keys and got out of my car. I walked slowly toward the store entrance, watching as the other driver dismounted from his SUV/truck/rig. He was a middle-aged white guy, scruffy, tattooed, bearded and, of course, clad in a black Hell’s Angels t-shirt and “dusty” jeans. Riding with him were three plausibly pretty yet trashy women who stayed behind.
Walking in my direction, the dude shot me one of those “Watchu lookin’ at, bowaayy” looks. (Or maybe he was more surprised than hostile: “Wut da fuk dere’s negroes ’round here, Martha!”) I took that as a sign that I should either step toward him and tell him he was a jive turkey, or otherwise go about my business.
So after I did my business and left the store, I saw the biker/felon drive off, taking his traveling harem with him. And me? I went on my way as well, content in the knowledge that I bring some sanity and balance to this world.