Hola amigos. Que pasa with you? Me, I’ve been pretty damn good. It’s summer, my car is running, and the ladies are fine. Sometimes you can’t ask for anything more. Well, ya can, like maybe to get laid by Pamela Anderson, but asking ain’t a good idea, because you’ll only jinx what you’ve already got.
Oh, and for once I ain’t scraping the bowl for resin, to turn a phrase. I actually got some cash on me these days. I managed to scam my way into a sweet-ass one-week job that paid $20 an hour for hanging art at some art show at the convention center.
Before landing that gig, I was filling in at an oil-change place called Spee-Dee Lube. Now, people go to oil-change places for one of two reasons: They’re lazy or they’re ignorant. I mean, what would you rather do, pay someone 25 bucks to change your oil for you or spend $10 doing it yourself? The choice is obvious in my book, hombre, but there are a lot of chumps and pussies out there.
Anyway, one day, I’m changing the oil on a Volvo wagon, the kind of car that no self-respecting man would drive, and I have to take a leak. I go out to the bathroom, and there are these two guys waiting around for me to finish up. I duck into the john, and they’re talking about this job opening at a museum or gallery or something. I write down the name of the place and go out and finish their car.
The next day, I call the place and tell them I have experience and know all about art and shit. That seemed to be enough for them. They didn’t ask for references or anything. I suppose if they had, I coulda given them Wes’ number. He’s smart. He coulda faked it.
In truth, I didn’t have to worry too much. All I really had to do was haul a bunch of paintings and statues and crap off a truck and then load it all back on at the end of the show. That and drill holes. People were tipping me left and right, and I picked up some side cash hooking these rich museum people up with a little weed. They were paying stupid money for one or two joints. Ordinarily, I don’t deal, but this was just too sweet a scenario to pass up. Twenty bucks an hour for a tote monkey, 10 bucks for a single joint: It’s no wonder those paintings cost so much.
The whole week went real smooth, except for one little incident where I kind of poked a hole in one of the pictures. It was a huge son of a bitch that looked like it was painted by a five-year-old and had a 400-pound frame. No one seemed to notice, so I just split and moved on to another area.
Anyway, now that I’ve got this money, I can finally start seeing some first-run movies. The other day, Ron and I went and checked out this movie that should totally win an Oscar. It was called Gone In 60 Seconds, and it stars Nicolas Cage and that hot chick that married the redneck geezer. I mean, this movie was awesome! The whole thing was that this guy had to steal 50 cars to rescue his brother, and they were all, like, killer cars.
And, man, was there ever action. Pow! There was this car chase that had all sorts of stuff, like a wrecking ball that almost knocked the car over and a big tanker truck that exploded. I hadn’t been that stoked about a movie since Armageddon, and that wasn’t half the flick this was.
But as amazing as the movie was, it got me all worried that if it were that easy to steal all those hot cars, it’d be cake for somebody to swipe my customized wheels. I mean, ever since Ron fixed the dragon painting on the hood, it’s looked kick-ass. It’d be a perfect target for some car thieves who were looking to make a name for themselves. I mean, I’ve got no alarm, the locks are old, and there are wires hanging out of the steering column. It wouldn’t take much to get in and get it going. It’d be more like “Gone In 15 Seconds” to boost my car. (In the movie, they say “boost” instead of steal. They got their own code!)
To cut the odds of my wheels getting boosted, I’ve started taking a few precautions. When I go home, I try to sorta fuck up the route a little. Like, I’ll signal left and then go right at the last second. Or I’ll do it Supertramp-style and take the long way home. That way, if anyone has an eye on my car, it’s harder for them to know my patterns. I become a man of mystery to them.
Also, whenever I park my car, I pop the hood and loosen a few wires. Stuff like that. Hell, they can’t start the car if the battery’s in the trunk! It’s a real pain in the ass, going through all that extra trouble to protect my wheels, but that movie got me all paranoid.
Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t sorry I saw the movie. It was awesome. Plus, a good movie is supposed to make you think. The only thing that coulda made it better was if they’d had the hot chick take her top off. I bet she’s got some rack on her.
Jim Anchower joined The Onion’s editorial writing staff in 1993 after several distinguished years on The Come Back Inn dishwashing staff. He comments on community-affairs, automotive, and employment issues. He attended LaFollette High School in Madison, WI.
