Friday, September 14, 2007

Cars, Restaurants, Bars, and Lies Part III

Fast forward a month and a half- Morgan and I are on our first official date. She is staying with a friend from college who lives about a half-hour from my apartment. I went to pick her up and I met the friend. Another friend, another hottie! She wasn’t in Morgan’s class, but her level of hotness was the same as the friend on the ski trip that Bobby hooked-up with it. The apartment looked like it was decorated by a ten-year old girl. Lots of pink and ruffles, and that’s just the living room. I imagined the bedroom contained many stuffed animals and New Kids on the Block Posters. “Hi I’m Candy” she said bubbly. “Candy? Isn’t that sweet” I said jokingly, which drew blank stares from both Morgan and Candy.

I walked to the passenger side of my Mercedes (for the night) and opened the door for Morgan. She said “Wow, this is really nice” I couldn’t tell if she meant the car itself or the fact that I opened he door for her. I was hoping for the latter since the car wasn’t mine in the first place. If she was truly impressed with the door opening gesture this time, surely see will be equally impressed for our next date too. If she was impressed solely by the car and not by the gesture, she is really going to disappointed when I pick her up for the next date….in my 1988 Hyundai Excel

On the drive to the restaurant Morgan talked how about close her and Candy were and how they were in the same sorority in college….. (Delta, Gamma , Swiiing-I thought to myself.) She said Candy is like her sister they are so close. Then she went on to properly list everything about Candy that she truly despised. It is comforting to know they are the best of friends, I could only imagine the verbal beat-down if they were just acquaintances. This in-depth chronologic critique took us right up to the front of the restaurant.

The place where all my problems began…

At this point I should drill deeper about the Mercedes not being mine and all. After all the shit I talked about my three houses, my hedge funds, and my movie project I had to enlist some wheels that would scream “success”. Nothing against Hyundai here, but it only screams “just getting by…barely”. The Mercedes E-class belongs to my brother-in-law; Derek. To say the E-class is the only class he has is no understatement, believe me. He’s a lawyer, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some people are proud to call themselves lawyers, not Derek. He prefers the term “ambulance chaser” to lawyer. That fact alone speaks volumes about the rest of his character or lack thereof. The personalized plate spells out the following: AMCHASE. I made sure to walk Morgan by the front of the car when I picked her up, just to avoid the possibility of having to explain the personalized plate. I was fully prepared to make something up about jogging with my dog in the early morning hours and how I chase him for the last ¼ mile or so. What’s one more lie on a house built entirely of lies? But, luckily I didn’t have to go there.

Since I wasn’t getting a straight answer from the valet parking attendant Morgan asked why I don’t call the police. This seems like a logical thing to do. If your car or your brother-in-laws car which you happen to be driving gets stolen, you should call the police. At this point I feel compelled to add another crucial piece of information…Besides being a ambulance chaser, Derek has another lucrative side business---drug dealer. I’m sure my sister knows but chooses to play ignorant for her own reasons. Derek has told me that my sister knows. I’ve never had the conversation with my sister but I know I should, I just never did yet. As I was driving away from Derek and my sister’s house he leaned into the window and said “Don’t get in any accidents, I have a drop-off in the trunk for tomorrow morning.” A normal person (not one constantly thinking about getting laid) would have come to his senses and gotten the hell out of the car. But, I didn’t and now the car is stolen and I can’t call the police to get it back without ruining the lives of countless people namely my sister, Derek and their two small children. You could throw me in the mix as well, and all the people Derek would undoubtedly rat-out to save his own ass. The body count will be high that’s for sure.

I’m now in the awkward position of praying to God the car is in a chop-shop somewhere far away, never to resurface. Or the valet just went out for an extended joy-ride and would pull-up any minute will everything in tact, including all trunk contents. But the latter of the two seemed to be impossibility. So confident of his employees the owner of the valet service now appeared and quickly apologized for not seeing the “intruder” enter his lot and make off with my car. He handed me his cell phone. On the other end was Sergeant Harris; who wanted to know all about the missing car….

Quick to cover my own ass, I slowly walked away from Morgan and told the officer the car isn’t mine and how I borrowed it from my brother-in-law for the night. This may have seemed an awkward answer to the officer’s question which was “Tell me the make, the model, color, and year”. “Let’s make a deal” he said. “I asked questions and you try to the best of your ability give me answers to the questions that I ask, okay chief?” he added. “Sure, sure, sorry about that, I’m just worried that my brother-in-law’s car has been stolen and how I’m going to tell him” I said. “I understand” Sergeant Harris sympathized. “Anything of personal value in the car? he asked. “Like what?” I countered. “You know money, jewelry, thing like that” he said. “Nothing of mine, I mean nothing in that car is mine, nothing” I nervously answered. “Remember our deal, answer what is asked?” he said. “I don’t know anything about dealing” I said with foot firmly lodged in mouth.

“Something just ain’t right here” he surmised as he grabbed at his chin. “Something just ain’t right”

In the following minutes I gained enough composure to not get myself locked-up for acting like a paranoid asshole. I mean I certainly had the right to act like a paranoid asshole with what was at stake. But since so much is at stake I should’ve done anything at all but act like a paranoid asshole. Paranoia is based on a fear that everyone is out to get you. These fears are mainly unfounded since nobody generally cares about you one way or another. The paranoia is really the minds way of granting self-importance. But in this case, I guess you could say I’m not paranoid at all. I’m more a clear-minded realist than I’ve ever been before in my entire life, and they all will indeed be out to get me before it’s over.

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