Hola amigos. What’s goin’ down in your part of town? I know it’s been a long time, been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time since I rapped at ya, but I’ve had a whole heap of shit to deal with. First off, the brakes have started to go soft on my car, which really sucks. I gotta pump ’em about eight or ten times to come to a stop, and by then, I’m usually halfway through the intersection. I checked the brake pads, and they seem okay. I’m guessing it’s the master cylinder. That’s gotta be it… master cylinder. That’s gonna be a bitch to fix.
On top of that, I twisted my ankle real bad at work a few days ago, and it still hasn’t healed. See, I recently got a new job delivering pies for The Leaning Tower Of Pizza. You’d think that’d be an ideal job for a guy like me, what with a lot of driving around and cranking the tunes, but there’s a lot of bullshit that goes with it. Last Friday, my manager Dawn was riding my ass all night, telling me I had to get those pies out faster, faster, faster. I told her I was going as fast as I could, and that she shouldn’t get her undies in a bundle about it. I was so wound up from all of her hassling, by mid-shift I had to burn one in the car to keep my cool.
Well, this was some pretty powerful stuff. Must have been from Jamaica or Cuba or something like that, ’cause after pulling up to this one house to make a delivery, I got out of the car with my pie, and everything seemed to be going really slow. I walked up the porch steps and rang the bell. This dude, about 40 years old, opens the door and asks if it’s his pizza. Well, here I am holding a pizza, so who the hell else would I be? I started cracking up.
So I’m standing there, baked off my ass, and he asks me how much the pizza is. It took me about a minute to check through all my pockets and find the receipt, and all the while, he’s giving me the old fish-eye. I told him it was $15, and he gave me a $20 bill. I totally froze.
This was going to be a problem. I was so high I could barely count my arms, let alone count the change out of $20. I thought about it for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons of attempting to give him his change stoned. If I ran off, I’d get to keep the extra few bucks. But I’d get sacked. Or worse, this guy might call the cops on me. Those pigs already have it in for old Jim Anchower. I don’t wanna give ’em any other reason to bust my nuts. I hate pigs, man! Anyway, I figured I’d better try to make some change.
I pulled out a big wad of bills from my pocket, and my bag of weed fell out on the floor. I froze again. Fortunately, the dude didn’t seem to notice the bag. I started counting and tried to figure out what to do. I could probably hide the bag under my foot. Only problem was, it landed real close to him. I decided to go for it anyway. As I started counting out the change, I sort of edged my foot in toward him. He looked at me, like he knew what I was up to. Shit! This guy was gonna try to nab my weed for himself. Or as evidence for the cops! I stopped counting and had to think of another plan.
As I started counting his change for a third time, I noticed that about five feet from me was one of those Big Wheel things. Must have belonged to the dude’s kid. Acting fast, I kicked my bag under it. As I kicked, though, I brushed his leg and he looked down. Fortunately for my ass, it was a direct hit, and the bag slid right under the Big Wheel before he ever got the chance to notice.
My weed safe and sound under the Big Wheel, I finally relaxed enough to get his change right. He gave me a $2 tip and said thanks. I said, “You’re welcome.” But then he stared at me kinda funny and looked at the Big Wheel. Uh-oh. I figured he knew about the weed, and I was going to have to think of something fast.
I said, “Well, goodnight,” and went back to the car. He was still watching me as I got in. I figured the best thing I could do was to circle around the block a few times and then go back for the weed when the coast was clear, if he hadn’t already grabbed it and called the cops. This had to be like a commando mission where I sneaked up on the porch, grabbed my weed, and got away as quick as I could. After cruising around for about 15 minutes, I pulled back up to the house and made a break for it.
I got up to the porch and hit a squeaky floor board. I was in way too deep to turn back. I lifted the Big Wheel and snagged the weed. Just then, I heard someone get up inside the house. They must have heard me! I held on to that weed for dear life and vaulted over the side of the porch. Well, my right foot got caught in a bush as I landed, and that’s when I sprained my ankle. It hurt like a motherfucker. I limped over to my car as fast as I could and hauled ass back to The Leaning Tower Of Pizza.
Well, the long and short of it is, I didn’t have to work for the rest of the night. (I gave ’em some bullshit story about how I slipped off a curb.) Not only that, I got some days off on workman’s comp. So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful that I was able to successfully retrieve my weed. And I’m thankful that I’m getting paid without working. I’m also thankful to have buds like Wes and Ron who will drop by with beer and grub so I don’t have to stand up on my gimp leg for too long. And I’m thankful that I have tickets to the Dec. 22 Blue Öyster Cult show over at the Kane County Fairgrounds Pavilion. I ain’t too thankful about the fact that I can’t get out and do the town, though. Things are getting pretty soft without Jim Anchower to shake them up. But when I get back, I’ll be in rare form, ready to cut loose like nobody’s business.
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.
