The Big One II

Cells – The Servant

It was a dark and stormy night. Cue lightning. Or snow. Wait does snow make a sound? This is off to a bad start.

It was icy as shit on Friday. Better. Two young boys were on their way to their usual game of Friday night basketball, not knowing that they would soon have their lives…changed…for…ever…

A red light. A vehicle ahead. A sharp turn. An island. A sign. A flashback.

The day started off…well, it didn’t really start so much as continue. You see, I had forced myself into a second straight Thursday-Friday all nighter so that I could finish another essay. Honestly, I don’t even remember what Friday looks like anymore. I only have long Thursdays. No essays for a couple of weeks though, so good times there.

I only had one class that day, a tutorial. Since I was semi-delirious and I knew my friend Leanna wasn’t showing up, I decided that I would try and talk to the tutorial’s resident hottie, Faye. I made some witty remarks, asked her about work, pretty basic approach. Results were meh. Further study is required.

After that I hung out with Jess and Will again, which is becoming more common these days. I know, I know, who else do I hang out with, right? But for a while there I was trying too hard to branch out and meet new people. I mean, new people are fine, but when it comes to being comfortable and happy, I’d much rather sit in Jess’ room watching bad soap operas (“Shut up! Shut up before I kill you!”) while eating Burger King off her floor than go to some party with my U-mates.

Oh, I ended up giving my essay to Wendy Shen (an MDHS survivor) to hand in for me. Just thought I’d give her a shout out.

I got home late because, again, the roads were awful. The bus driver wasn’t taking any chances and had to be driving no faster than 8 mph, no exaggerations. When I got there, Max was already waiting. We played video games, watched the Raptors lose to the Hawks(!) in OT (!!) at home (!!!) and left around 10:00. Standard stuff. We had meant to leave earlier to make up for the weather but note the aforementioned video games.

A flashforward.

We were around Warden and Steeles, west of Warden (I think) and we got to this traffic light. We were in the middle of our ritual listening of Drop It Like It’s Hot when Max, noticing the car beginning to slide, says, “Here we go.” He hits the breaks, but the vehicle is NOT STOPPING. He has to think fast. The driver ahead of us is either unaware of us about to ram into him or he’s getting ready to call his lawyer. Max turns the wheel left. Before we know it, we’re sliding along the meridian. “Oh shit!” says Max. I utter a sound not unlike a woman screaming. We smash into the sign warning people that there’s an upcoming meridian (irony?). We stop and get out. Externally, everything looks fine. The only damage appears to be to the license plate. After a brief discussion, we decide it’ll be best to get off the road before we do anything else. We get in and the car, but it won’t move. The wheels aren’t turning and the engine is making inappropriate noises. We get worried, but find comfort in each other’s arms. Caught up in the moment, passions run wild. Steam clings to the windows…

Huh? What? Oh, sorry. That’s another story/fantasy I’m working on. Where was I?

So the car is not starting and Max realizes that there could be some serious damage to the undercarriage of the car. I ask him if he’s rattled from the collision or the prospect of telling his parents about this. Suffice to say, it’s a while before we call his parents. We call my dad instead, because it’ll be easier for him to get here. We wait and wait. A bunch of tow trucks come by offering to help us out, but we wave them off. A seemingly endless array of cars pass by, all of them either laughing or carrying a disdainful look in their eyes. That one that says, “typical chinks”. This one tow truck guy stops to talk to us and we ask him all sorts of questions. He says that the police are on their way according to his transistor radio or some such gadget. I’m actually relieved as I’d love to have someone tell us what we’re supposed to do at this point. My dad comes along and essentially tells the guy to fuck off. After about two hours of deciding how to handle the situation and waiting for the GOT’ DAMN PO-LICE who never show up (fuck tha police!), we finally trust Nissan’s roadside assistance deal to get us out of there. The guy pulls the car a couple of feet, revealing that Max’s car was actually partially impaled on the stump of the sign we took out.

By the way, it should be noted that the sign got TAKEN…OUT. It didn’t stand a chance. It got it’s revenge by scraping up the bottom of Max’s car, but trust me, that is one accident that that sign won’t forget. You think Max’s car looks bad? You should see the other guy. Not to mention that kid we hit that was waiting on the meridian to cross the street. We got out and sure enough, he was dead. Two hours later, we wrote Sweet Caroline.

What really happened is that apparently the stump was blocking the wheel turning dealy (excuse the tech jargon) and that’s why we couldn’t move. So, seeing the police coming around the corner, we hopped in the car and drove to Tijuana. The end.

What really really happened is that we went back to my house, Max ended up taking the car to my uncle’s garage the next morning and Max got home safely and took his fatal beating like a man. The end. Max, if I left anything out, post it yo’ DAMN self.

To sum up the experience in two words: Fuck Jay-Z.

I got sick this weekend. It may have had something to do with sitting out in the cold for over two hours on Friday night. Probably not, though. I decided to call in sick on Sunday. It may have had something to do with there being five basketball games on (2 college, 3 NBA) and that it was Selection Sunday, where they decide which teams are going to participate in the NCAA College Basketball tournament. Probably not, though.

I want to thank anyone who has had to deal with me over this last heavy school work cycle, as I haven’t been pleasant to be around and I’ve been moping even more than usual if you can believe that. Now that all that stuff is out of the way, I think I’ll be returning to my more fun-loving, happy-go-lucky manner. Oh wait, I’ve never been like that.

I’m probably going to make another post about Blind Justice this Tuesday, so consider yourself warned. I’m also working on my own show, Blind Cashier, featuring a blind grocery store employee named Lee Alexander. Here’s a preview:

Boss: Damn it, Lee! You can’t even walk across the street without help, what makes you think you can still work here?
Lee: (intense) JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE!!!

Gripping.

PQ:
Cut that a bit fine, didn’t you? Christ–Give me a hand up and let’s get out of here. You can bandage my wound on the flight out.
…Herr Starr…Herr Starr, I’ve just shot a man dead. I’ve never done it before. I don’t like it, or how it makes me feel. But I did it in order to save your life. So just for once I would like some FUCKING APPRECIATION FROM YOU!!

Thank you very much, Featherstone. Now: Help me up, and if we’re lucky we can get safely away before the Saint of Killers and the entire valley along with him are utterly vaporized.