February 19, 2005
Good Night
This a story that I found while deleting a bunch of files. I thought you might get a chuckle out of this, and since I'm not going to be around much today, I figured to post it.
03:00 Sunday parking lot
The bar had been closed for half an hour. The last bikes had roared off and disappeared into the night, along with most of the cop cars that had lain in wait. Only one of the original squads that had been positioned outside of the bar remained in the area. Somewhere. The other two had quickly vanished after, in their haste to bust someone, they had pulled over one of the party goers that hadn't a drop to drink.
Night sounds were returning to normal, when the sound of quiet laughing and swearing filled the air. Four men, three of them with long goatees, came walking around the corner, heading for the parking lot. Maybe intimidating at first glance, (they were all over six ft. tall) after a second look, one would see that these guys were friendly. The insults about each other's lineage and intelligence were all in fun. Many were met with suggestions that the insulter do some type of activity that was physically impossible.
The tallest one kept saying over and over, "My mom sa, my, my, my mom said," referring to earlier in the evening. He had taken a pair of Harry Potter-ish glasses that made his eyes look HUGE, and started talking like a nervous nerd. Telling those that gathered around about how his mom said to stay away from dirty girls, but she wanted him to play with nice girls like the uncommonly hot bartender. The ladies would pull on his beard, and he would shriek some more about how he was supposed to stay away from them. The ladies loved it, and the guys had tears in their eyes from laughing so hard. Anyway, back to the parking lot.
Shorty kept up his stuttering while the other three walked over to their bikes. It was damn cold, and they were all a little nervous about the bikes getting started. They had been sitting there for almost 12 hours. Engine work tends to make bikes start a little rougher in the cold, and all of them had had work done.
The Slobb starts his bike first... no problem. His brother Clean Face starts his... a little rough, but she runs good. Alphabet fires his up with no problem at all. Now Shorty tries.... no go. Tries again ... no go. Slobb starts bitching about his friends having junky bikes and how he's always got to fix them. Shorty tries once more, and this time it's clear that his battery just isn't going to let him get it going. The others shut their bikes off, while they belittle Shorty and his bike, trying to decide what to do. They decide to pop start it; push it, and pop the clutch. Should work, they reason.
On the first attempt, Shorty's bike is in too low of a gear .... when he pops the clutch, Clean Face and Slobb go flying past the bike and hit the pavement. Cursing and laughing ensues. Shorty is called most anything but his real name at this point.
On the second attempt, it pops off. Shorty gives it a couple of good cracks on the throttle and then turns and yells, "My Mom says ..." just as the bike dies. He stops in mid sentence, staring at his bike, and then mumbles, "well f#*k." To which Alphabet asks, "Does she really say that?" before tearing into him about letting the bike die. Clean Face and Slobb just stand there, shaking their heads and smiling. They decide that the best thing to do is to try pushing it down the street.
After more friendly comments about the bike and it's rider, the other three begin pushing Shorty down the street. Each time they yell "pop 'er now!," the engine coughs and stops. This is done for almost three blocks before they decide that if they push any farther, they may as well just push Shorty all the way home. It's decided that instead of leaving the bike there on the street, they would try to start it some more while pushing it back to the parking lot.
It's a moonless night, and the streetlights are spaced far apart on this little street. Just a block away, all you can see is the shape of four men standing around something. Now there's just three men. Slobb is off on the side of the road, out of sight, talking to his girlfriend on his cellphone. Before she left the party, she tugged on his ponytail, and Slobb, being used to having it pulled all the time, just ignored it. Now she is asking why he's mad at her, and why didn't he turn around when she was leaving, and why .... we all get the picture. Of course, there is no right answer or safe explanation, even though he knows he's done nothing wrong.
Wait, now there are only two shadows standing around what looks to be a motorcycle. Clean Face has broken off to the other side of the street. Before leaving the bar, the uncommonly hot bartender set a bottle of beer on the bar and asked if someone would chug it. It had been opened for someone and iced, never to be claimed. Clean Face, not one to let such a beverage go to waste, slammed down the beer for her. Now he is threatening to lose it, if he has to push anymore.
With Slobb still trying to talk to his girl, the other three give it another try. Now Alphabet is riding... they've figured out that Shorty can push his own bike, even if one of the others has to help. As the clutch gets popped, Clean Face once again hits pavement, but this time he just lays there. Alphabet and Shorty voice their concern, although it's veiled. Turns out that Clean Face is alright, he's just fighting off the urge to blow chow. The other two are thoroughly disgusted by this, so Clean Face, who thinks losing lunch is funny even if it's you that's doing it, runs over to the side of the street again, and lets go, talking and making jokes between each wretch. Slobb is too far away to hear any of this, but the other two start talking about how nice the sky looks and "damn, are you done yet." Clean Face, feeling renewed, heads back to the bike, only to take a bunch of crap about how nasty that was. They give him a load about not holding his drink, but he explains that when he drinks, it's to relax, not to prepare to run wind sprints. More laughter.
Now Slobb reappears just in time for all of them to see the missing squad car coming down the street. No one moves anywhere. They are just resigned to their fates. And as they start joking to each other, what can they get in trouble for besides being intoxicated in public? Drunken pushing? The cop stops and just sits for almost a full thirty seconds, then turns away. Ah, the old motto proves true again; Safety In Numbers!
After the cop left, they hurriedly get the bike back to the bar parking lot where three of them sprawl on the cold pavement. Shorty stands over his bike cussing, while the others try to cool down. They are like this when the bar owner finds them. She pulls into the lot thinking that there are bodies in the lot, when they all sit up.
After getting over the initial shock, she calls her husband, who shows up with jumper cables. The bike is started, along with their good humor. "My mom said, my, my, my mom said...," is heard more than once. More cursing of ancestors and name calling.
After the bikes are warmed up, we they ride off, each thinking to themselves, "Damn, this was a good night!"
