It was a fine, sunny day in Portland (for once) in late April, 2014. We had been in Portland for three days, that particular morning being that of the fourth. I realized then, as i still do, that was four days too much in that tweeker infested shit hole. Plus, i had never been to seattle before, so i decided it was time we were on our way. Shake agreed, so we decided to leave.
I had yet to hop a train, so hitch hiking was the way to go. Four of us set out, Shake, I, and two others, and dude and some girl. The dude found a sugar momma along the way, so he left. The girl got nervous and came up with some excuse involving leaving a trinket behind that was important to her so she dipped. Shake and I continued on to an adventure that could be descibed in many ways. I prefer the term "interesting".
We walked over burnside bridge (or whatever bridge it was, too lazy to inquire) and made our way up the on ramp to the I-5. It was rush hour so the cars were slow. We were famished, so i flew a food sign while Shake had a thumb out. A very kind lady gave us the rest of her subway sammich, some chips, and water. It did the trick. After the grub I put the sign away and held my thumb out and about ten minutes later a beige hunk-o-junk car comes rolling up the shoulder goin way to fuckin fast for that part of the road. The driver stops in front of us, rolls down the window . . .
"Get on in! Might have to move some of my shit around though."
His "shit" consisted of about fifteen gallon tubs of tide brand laundry detergent. The packs went in back, as well as Shake, I went up front. Three tide containers were in my leg room so I naturally put my feet upon them. We exchanged names (i forgot the driver's). Then, the natural question came to me . . .
"So, what the fuck are you doing with all this tide?" A Mitch Hedburg joke came to mind.
"Well, I'm a booster. I steal these from (wherever the fuck) and sell them to this lady in Vancouver (WA) for ten bucks a pop. They're twenty two at the store. I don't know what she does with them. She must really like laundry detergent. I stole some lighters, too. Y'all want a pack?"
The obvious answer was given. Shake and I were both the proud owners of five new bic lighter a piece. He lost his within a day, but that's another story that's not worth telling.
He starts smashing up the shoulder on the I-5. "Don't worry, i'm a good driver." he reassures us. He seemed to do ok, until a black pick up truck pulls his front end into the shoulder. He blocked us on purpose. Our driver got infuriated.
"that mother fucker! Man, he fucked up! He fucked up! When we get along side him, i'm gunna fuckin shoot him! Pass me my .45. It's in the glove compartment!"
At hearing this I go into panic mode. I ask him "why?" He replies . . .
"I'm fuckin crazy! I don't give a fuck! Plus, i've been up for three days smoking meth Now pass me the gun!"
To the prior Shake asks, "Ya got more speed? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?"
Our driver replies, "Ya know, ya caught me on the day i actually don't have any. I usually have some but i don't now." Shake can't take no for an answer and keeps asking for some.
I interject with a plea bargain. "Man, I don't want to be a witness or an accessory to . . ."
The driver stops me (Shake's still askin for speed) "Well then hand me that roll of electrical tape on the floor."
I hurry to find the roll as fast as possible. It takes me a second, but the tape is secured. I hand it to the driver. Shake stops askin for speed (thank god).
Traffic picks up on the bridge crossing the columbia river. Our driver spots the black pick-up in question and maneuvers into position. He rolls down his window. With a scream of "fuck you" and an unmistakeable middle finger, as hard as he can manage he tosses the roll of electrical tape towards the pick-up. It causes a dent in the door. Our driver laughs as he rolls up the window. I breath a sigh of relief. The pick-up slows down, out of sight.
The truck appears again! This time, the driver of the pick-up gets into position, rolls down his window, gives us the finger, and chucks a bottle of orange soda at the car we're in. It explodes across the side. Thank god he rolled his window up. Our driver gives out a satisfied laugh.
"What's so funny?" I inquire.
"The car's not mine! I stole this piece of shit!"
I look immediately toward the ignition and where a key would usually be was in place of that a screw driver jammed into the ignition and a wrench placed below. I face-palmed immediately.
We kept moving. "Now he's dead! He's fucking DEAD! Gimme the gun!"
I give him the same spiel about not wanting to be an accessory or a witness, at it works in such a way that it bought us time for our ride to get to his turn off to go east while the black pick-up keeps going north.
"Well, fuck it gotta make my turn off." he explains. Yeah, fine, sure, whatever got me the fuck outa his car.
Shake and I were dropped off, got a twenty kick while flying, proceeded to acquire beer and some Mickey D's. We had survived to bum another day.
I had yet to hop a train, so hitch hiking was the way to go. Four of us set out, Shake, I, and two others, and dude and some girl. The dude found a sugar momma along the way, so he left. The girl got nervous and came up with some excuse involving leaving a trinket behind that was important to her so she dipped. Shake and I continued on to an adventure that could be descibed in many ways. I prefer the term "interesting".
We walked over burnside bridge (or whatever bridge it was, too lazy to inquire) and made our way up the on ramp to the I-5. It was rush hour so the cars were slow. We were famished, so i flew a food sign while Shake had a thumb out. A very kind lady gave us the rest of her subway sammich, some chips, and water. It did the trick. After the grub I put the sign away and held my thumb out and about ten minutes later a beige hunk-o-junk car comes rolling up the shoulder goin way to fuckin fast for that part of the road. The driver stops in front of us, rolls down the window . . .
"Get on in! Might have to move some of my shit around though."
His "shit" consisted of about fifteen gallon tubs of tide brand laundry detergent. The packs went in back, as well as Shake, I went up front. Three tide containers were in my leg room so I naturally put my feet upon them. We exchanged names (i forgot the driver's). Then, the natural question came to me . . .
"So, what the fuck are you doing with all this tide?" A Mitch Hedburg joke came to mind.
"Well, I'm a booster. I steal these from (wherever the fuck) and sell them to this lady in Vancouver (WA) for ten bucks a pop. They're twenty two at the store. I don't know what she does with them. She must really like laundry detergent. I stole some lighters, too. Y'all want a pack?"
The obvious answer was given. Shake and I were both the proud owners of five new bic lighter a piece. He lost his within a day, but that's another story that's not worth telling.
He starts smashing up the shoulder on the I-5. "Don't worry, i'm a good driver." he reassures us. He seemed to do ok, until a black pick up truck pulls his front end into the shoulder. He blocked us on purpose. Our driver got infuriated.
"that mother fucker! Man, he fucked up! He fucked up! When we get along side him, i'm gunna fuckin shoot him! Pass me my .45. It's in the glove compartment!"
At hearing this I go into panic mode. I ask him "why?" He replies . . .
"I'm fuckin crazy! I don't give a fuck! Plus, i've been up for three days smoking meth Now pass me the gun!"
To the prior Shake asks, "Ya got more speed? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?"
Our driver replies, "Ya know, ya caught me on the day i actually don't have any. I usually have some but i don't now." Shake can't take no for an answer and keeps asking for some.
I interject with a plea bargain. "Man, I don't want to be a witness or an accessory to . . ."
The driver stops me (Shake's still askin for speed) "Well then hand me that roll of electrical tape on the floor."
I hurry to find the roll as fast as possible. It takes me a second, but the tape is secured. I hand it to the driver. Shake stops askin for speed (thank god).
Traffic picks up on the bridge crossing the columbia river. Our driver spots the black pick-up in question and maneuvers into position. He rolls down his window. With a scream of "fuck you" and an unmistakeable middle finger, as hard as he can manage he tosses the roll of electrical tape towards the pick-up. It causes a dent in the door. Our driver laughs as he rolls up the window. I breath a sigh of relief. The pick-up slows down, out of sight.
The truck appears again! This time, the driver of the pick-up gets into position, rolls down his window, gives us the finger, and chucks a bottle of orange soda at the car we're in. It explodes across the side. Thank god he rolled his window up. Our driver gives out a satisfied laugh.
"What's so funny?" I inquire.
"The car's not mine! I stole this piece of shit!"
I look immediately toward the ignition and where a key would usually be was in place of that a screw driver jammed into the ignition and a wrench placed below. I face-palmed immediately.
We kept moving. "Now he's dead! He's fucking DEAD! Gimme the gun!"
I give him the same spiel about not wanting to be an accessory or a witness, at it works in such a way that it bought us time for our ride to get to his turn off to go east while the black pick-up keeps going north.
"Well, fuck it gotta make my turn off." he explains. Yeah, fine, sure, whatever got me the fuck outa his car.
Shake and I were dropped off, got a twenty kick while flying, proceeded to acquire beer and some Mickey D's. We had survived to bum another day.
