Friday, July 04, 2003
OUT & ABOUT #2 ("There are problems in these times, but none of them are mine." - Lou Reed)
In line at Motor Vehicle Services
Dignified, Yet Obviously Cracked Older Gentleman: "I'm here to get a duplicate title.
Me: "Oh."
DYCOG: "I Know as soon as I get home, I'll find the original title."
Me: "Isn't that always the way."
DYCOG: "You know why I need this title? You know why I need it today?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "I'm junking this car. Got to have the title to sell a car for scrap metal. They don't take the tires you know, when you sell a car for scrap metal. You know what I'm going to do with the tires?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "Guess I'll put them in the basement. What else am I gonna do with them?"
Me: "I don't know."
DYCOG: "You know how many miles I got on this car?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "400,000. That's right. I got 400,000 miles on this car. 400,025 to be exact. Bought it with 75,000. You know what kind of car it is?"
Me: " No."
DYCOG: (getting a little loud) "A Buick Regal, that what. A 1981 Buick Regal. Started right up after four months. Just poured a cup of gasoline in the carburetor and it started right up. Know why it didn't run for four months?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: (and a little agitated) "Because I was in Florida for four months, that's why! I go down there every winter. Didn't you know that?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: (and a little defiant) "Every winter, that's right. I don't need these gamned winters around here, do I?"
Me: "I guess not."
DYCOG: (louder now, and angry) "Only thing is, the car smokes a little. Four nights, five nights in a row the troopers pull me over. One of them gave me a warning. Now I don't like to drive a car that smokes, but five nights in a row. Do I need that? Now I've got to junk the damned thing."
Me: Oh."
DYCOG: (quiet now, conspiratorial whisper) "Do you know what it is? It's profiling. Them troopers, that's all they think about. Every night."
Me: "You're up. She's calling you to the window."
DYCOG: (takes two steps to window, turns back to me, points, shouts) "You know what I'd like to do. I'd like to kick 'em. That's right. Kick 'em -- right where they fuck."
Me: "Oh."
In line at Motor Vehicle Services
Dignified, Yet Obviously Cracked Older Gentleman: "I'm here to get a duplicate title.
Me: "Oh."
DYCOG: "I Know as soon as I get home, I'll find the original title."
Me: "Isn't that always the way."
DYCOG: "You know why I need this title? You know why I need it today?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "I'm junking this car. Got to have the title to sell a car for scrap metal. They don't take the tires you know, when you sell a car for scrap metal. You know what I'm going to do with the tires?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "Guess I'll put them in the basement. What else am I gonna do with them?"
Me: "I don't know."
DYCOG: "You know how many miles I got on this car?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: "400,000. That's right. I got 400,000 miles on this car. 400,025 to be exact. Bought it with 75,000. You know what kind of car it is?"
Me: " No."
DYCOG: (getting a little loud) "A Buick Regal, that what. A 1981 Buick Regal. Started right up after four months. Just poured a cup of gasoline in the carburetor and it started right up. Know why it didn't run for four months?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: (and a little agitated) "Because I was in Florida for four months, that's why! I go down there every winter. Didn't you know that?"
Me: "No."
DYCOG: (and a little defiant) "Every winter, that's right. I don't need these gamned winters around here, do I?"
Me: "I guess not."
DYCOG: (louder now, and angry) "Only thing is, the car smokes a little. Four nights, five nights in a row the troopers pull me over. One of them gave me a warning. Now I don't like to drive a car that smokes, but five nights in a row. Do I need that? Now I've got to junk the damned thing."
Me: Oh."
DYCOG: (quiet now, conspiratorial whisper) "Do you know what it is? It's profiling. Them troopers, that's all they think about. Every night."
Me: "You're up. She's calling you to the window."
DYCOG: (takes two steps to window, turns back to me, points, shouts) "You know what I'd like to do. I'd like to kick 'em. That's right. Kick 'em -- right where they fuck."
Me: "Oh."
Comments:
Post a Comment
