Calamity Cove

Now it’s time for something funny.

On December 18, 2009, Seamus and I drove down to visit my Grandma Moonie in Everett. Some of my Spokane family had driven there as well. We hung out for a few hours (with Shai, who by then was forbidden from long, fun walks but was still allowed long, fun car rides). At about 11:00 p.m., Seamus, Shai, and I left.

We stopped at Albertson’s, and as we were walking toward the building, we saw one of these:

I don't actually remember if it was an A8, just that it was totally bitchin'.

It came around the corner without headlights on, so I waved at the bespectacled driver, who looked a lot like this guy:

The guy in the car had slightly better hair. SLIGHTLY.

He was busy talking to the lady in his passenger seat, and though he was driving very slowly, he wasn’t looking up.

When he finally did, I guess he thought we looked like this:

BAM! POW! OOF!

because he totally panicked, stomped on the gas, and shot across the parking lot. I started laughing. For those who haven’t met me, allow me to explain: You expect me to be taller. Being afraid of me only makes sense if you have a pants-pissing fear of leprechauns with glittery faux-diamond facial piercings.

For some reason, he circled back around a row of cars, still with no headlights, and drove past us again. Keep in mind that Everett is not a bad neighborhood. It might be a little skeezy, but this guy clearly thought he was about to get carjacked by a gay couple with their dog. His windows were all still up, and when he stopped the car, it was a good twenty-five or thirty feet away from us.

Now the young woman collecting grocery carts started laughing about it too, and she also gestured and yelled. We’re all hollering, “Turn on your lights!” He rolled down the driver’s side back window, presumably to hear us–and then threw money onto the ground and zipped away again.

…DIED. LAUGHING.

I fell down on the ground because I was spasming so hard it was easier not to hold my own weight. I was gasping for air. Even though the store clerk had been yelling with us, and I’d been pointing at his car, not rubbing my fingers together, he apparently thought we were begging. Or that he could pay us off with this:

I guess it's useful if I purchase blow in Mexico, but I want to buy it here!

BUT THE WEIRDEST PART IS YET TO COME. After throwing out what only barely qualified as money, he drove another fifty feet and then slammed on the brakes. Then the passenger side door opened, and guess who got out?

I'm glad it's fashionable in 2009 for everyone to look like ladies of the evening! Now the real ones don't have to feel like Goodwill mannequins.

Well, not her exactly, but you get the picture. Captain Nerdboy of Bellevue Or Some Other Clueless Over-Privileged Suburb decided we were so threatening that he didn’t want his hooker anymore.

In the end, I feel he deserved his azure testicular condition, and I feel like we saved the prostitute from her worst client of the night. After all, if he thought a dollar would stop us from jacking his sweet Audi, I don’t think he was a generous tipper.