Nope. Not finishing that one. Every time I have a naughty word in my title, I get a fuck ton more disturbing search terms. There are some sick motherfuckers out there. And I use that word literally in this case.
Anyway, Randy and I went to the grocery early Sunday morning, as we do.
I haven’t slept in on a Sunday for 21 years. Randy is a twisted person who gets up early on the weekends even though he doesn’t have to. He’s content to be alone in the morning for a little while, but he always wakes me up. Always.
Randy’s preferred grocery store is a twenty minute drive from our house, all winding back roads.
Randy does most of the driving, but I probably should. I don’t freak out the way he does.
Whenever he drives, Randy freaks out when he sees a cop. He checks seat belts, the speedometer, and then starts making vague little noises about the stripey hole. So, we are driving along this morning and the ride goes from smooth as ice to this weird little herky jerky motion. I’m thinking “What the fuck is he doing?” So I look in the review mirror and see a white SUV behind us. “Oh, he sees that and thinks it’s a cop behind us.”
Me: You just make it worse, you know.
Randy: What are you talking about?
Me: First you tell me why you are obsessively checking the rear view mirror and why the car is jerking all over the place.
Randy: I can’t tell if that is a cop behind us.
Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought. I could tell a cop was around by how the ride just changed.
Randy: It changed because I moved my hand lower on the steering wheel. That’s it.
Randy: See? My hand is moved and the ride is smooth again.
Me: That isn’t a cop by the way.
Randy: I know.
Me: Yes. And that is why the ride is smooth now.
Randy: It was the way I had my hands positioned.
Me: We can do this all day, but I knew without looking that a cop was nearby. It’s not like I haven’t been riding in a car with you for 21 goddamn years.
Randy: In a row?
We did our shopping and as we were walking through the parking lot, a car passed by and the dude was rocking out. I don’t know what band he was listening to. Something metal like Slayer or Metallica or something. He had to have been pushing 80. He parked in a handicap spot, waited for his song to finish, got out of his car with a cane, and hobbled through the parking lot. He is my hero.
Randy: That’s it right there.
Randy: That’s what the nursing homes are going to sound like when we are old.
We got in the car and Randy opened a bag of peach and habanero tortilla chips.
Me: Dude. Those smell so bad.
Randy: They’re pretty good.
Me: Seriously, your breath could choke a dinosaur.
Randy: I should have gotten something to drink. Like a beer.
Me: Hahahahahaha. Yeah. If you had an open beer in the car and saw a cop or even thought you saw a cop, the car would just flip over on the roof.
Randy: It was the way my hand was positioned.
He never did admit that he spazzes out whenever he sees a cop. But I did get the tiniest ghost of the smile he gives me when he knows he is busted.
We listened to a show on Sirius/XM called 1st Wave. We listened to the Talking Heads, Joy Division, and Peter Gabriel and I thought Randy was right. When we’re in the nursing home, the music will be all Elvis Costello, the Clash, and Tom Petty. Well, it will if I have control of the dial. I probably won’t, though because Randy is a music hog.
He’d say he isn’t and would probably blame it on his hand positioning.