I slipped into the Popemobile and eased it into the East L.A. traffic,
coasting downhill in silence through the genuflecting crowds whilst fumbling
in the glove compartment for my Gideon Roadmap.
It had been a long day at the fish refinery and I was looking forward to
slipping into something more comfortable, like Jethro Tull's "Thick as a
Brick" at 78 speed. I edged into the fast lane and flicked on the radio,
trolling the dial for a soft rock n roll station. That done, I pushed the
rearview mirror onto a 35 degree angle and hunched up over the wheel.
Tranformation complete, I slowed down to 28 mph and started weaving in and
out of my lane.
Shortly thereafter I was pulled over to the side by a cop.
"Hey, I thought you were an old guy!" he says and I nod.
"Have you got the gazoos?" I ask, ignoring his statement completely
He looks around to make sure he isn't being watched and hands me a brown
paper bag containing, if I'm not mistaken, 3 gazoos - two red and one purple
with green rings. Without looking I slip them onto the passenger seat
beside the map and nod once more to the cop.
"Page 47, Contact section, third column, middle of the page, Petite Blond,
Blue Eyes, 36" I say. He nods and I drive off.
I have no idea what it meant. Sure enough the gazoos are all there and
the right colour so I veer off to the next off-ramp and leave the popemobile
at the next convenience store I get to and make my way on foot to the
backstage entrance of a large suburban laundromat.
Scanning the hoardings I notice the showbills for next week's band "Fat Guys
on Harleys", (an LA band), is due to play (terribly) in a couple of hours.
I slap my washing in the machine and take a seat near the stage. It's
starting to look like this will be a scorcher of an event so I chin the
coke machine and collect a couple of cans that fall from it.
I'm joined almost immediately by someone who could only be a band groupie.
She'd obviously seen my work on the coke machine and knew action when she
saw it.
"I saw what you did to the coke machine" she says (see, I told you) "I like
a man who can take a coin slot in the face without wimpering! Wanna come
back to my place?"
"What for?" I ask coyly
"The wild thing" she smirks.
"Sorry, I've got two cans of the *real* thing(tm) here already" I say, and
look away. She gets the hint and climbs into a dryer set to high.
Strategic limitation needs no justification.
I crack a coke and see how my washing is coming along. Not well. That's
the trouble with poodles, you have to be real careful with the detergent
mix.
Just then the band comes on (Riding Harleys) and strike up a cover of one
of Metallica's greats, only they accompany it with music.
Not bad.
While this is going on, a Levi's dude wanders in, strips off his jeans
and puts them on a full cycle. Pretentious Prick. I lay him one in the
balls with a size twelve boot.
You know what the say - Big Feet.... Big Shoes.
He goes down.
While he's down I top up his fabric softener with a whole packet of sugar
and some chillpowder.
It's time I left now, so I collect my poodles, but they're ruined, so I
dump them in a bin. To show Levis guy there's no hard feelings, I pass
him a gazoo.
Unspoken bond time.
He nods, I leave.
I jump on Levis Guy's Harley and hot step it to the next episode...
Temperature Normal.