Thursday, June 19, 2008

the ballad of the back seat bandit.

he stood six feet three inches tall. but he was no giant. he greeted us at the door with his crooked smile and matching demeanor, and i braced myself for its inevitable unpleasant impact.

a wasteland surrounded him, filled with shiny metal objects glistening from the flourescent lighting that hung above. metallic facades that masked unknown history, hidden universes of knowledge, uncovered only by those brave enough to journey down that road of previously charted, yet unknown, territory.

not knowing quite how i got there, i found myself in one of my least favorite places in the world, about to go on a ride with the back seat bandit.

"what can i do for you today? what car are you looking at today? what can we interest you in? what brought you in today?" starting to rethink our decision to even be there, we reluctantly pointed at the one that caught our eye. "what a great choice. great choice. built like a tank. fine choice in a used vehicle."

oh. there it is. the key word. USED.

"go ahead young lady, sit on in that thing. go on. open up that glove box - you could fit a miata in there!" his excitement was unecessarily overwhelming and overbearingly anti-climatic. i am most certainly basing a large decision involving lots of money on the suggestion that i can fit a car in the glove box.

we took a test drive. i have no idea why.

"the car is running really rough, do you know what that is?" the bandit replies from the back seat. "oh, that's nothing, it will go away in a few minutes." it never went away. we all just ignored it and sat in awkard, knowing silence. acknowledging it would be a losing battle anyway when you're up against the bandit.

we hadn't even pulled the car back into the lot when it happened. "so, what can i do to earn your business and sell you this car tonight?" there it was. no candy coat, no hidden messages. he just laid it out there for all to see, like an overweight woman flopping down on her pool chair at a nudist resort.

the bandit quoted us a price that was two thousand dollars more than we had been quoted previously. i was so excited to whip my checkbook out and buy that astronomically priced car that ran like a overused horse. i could hardly contain myself.

as if i had to tell you, we ran out of that place so fast, in hopes that the swiftness would leave behind all the grease and scarring memories.

the ballad of the backseat bandit. coming soon to a used car dealership near you.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

little cake-y goodness.

i was on my way to the office this morning, driving down interstate 65 in nashville, when i saw it. HOSTESS. it was plastered on the back of that delivery truck, and in an instant my body reacted and it was my mecca.

i imagined all the little hostess cakes inside, in all their cake-y goodness with creme fillings to tantalize my senses. all their little plastic wrappings that make my tastebuds tingle when i hear the sound. unwrapping that little cake and taking that first bite and not quite reaching the center creme. then taking another and being rewarded for my efforts.

i longed for the spongey artificial texture of a twinkie on my tongue.

then an idea flashed through my mind. i could hold up that truck. i could do it like jesse james, pull a bandana over my face, get up beside him and force him over with pure intimidation. or i could sword fight on top of my car while steering with my foot. i imagined myself straddling the road, one foot on my car and one foot on his truck, like in indiana jones. in the middle of the fight i'd stab my sword into a cake in the back and savor my forthcoming bounty of goodness.

once i was crowned victor, i would launch myself into that soft mountain of cakes i imagined were piled in the back of that truck. it would feel like falling into a soft mound of leaves on a breezy fall day. a reward to jump into them after toiling to rake them up in that cumbersome yard. i'd lay back and bask in the enjoyment of those wrappers crinkling all around me.

but then it hit me. why in the world would i go to all that effort for a bounty of twinkies? if i'm going to go to the trouble of holding up a truck, it should at least be for something more long-lasting, more worth the exhausting effort.

like an ikea truck.

now, if you'll excuse me, i'm pretty sure there's a cupcake around here somewhere with my name on it.