Mr. Toad's Not So Wild Ride

Just another quick snapshot of the weird, random shit that is my life…

After I’d finished working tonight, I was walking over to my car when I noticed what appeared to be a homeless person walking nearby. Wearing a puffy coat, fuzzy slippers and a knit cap, she was carrying a sleeping bag and some other shit. I don’t know what kind of other shit, because I was trying extra hard not to pay attention to her and I knew that if she saw me, I was dead. Once she had me in her sights, she’d zero in on me like a hungry zombie and I’d be hit up for money that I didn’t have and certainly wasn’t about to give away to some random fucking homeless person, so that they could spend my hard-earned money on alcohol and drugs. Hell, no. I needed that money so that I could spend it on alcohol and drugs. And hookers. Can’t forget the hookers. It’s all about priorities, ducks in a row, that sort of shit. I just wanted to decompress a little, after a long day; light up a smoke, chill for a minute or two and then head home. Is that too much to ask? Maybe it sounds cold, but I just didn’t fucking care. I did not want to be bothered by some random homeless person, or any person, for that matter. I just wanted to smoke a stogie and head the fuck home. I needed to change my clothes and head over to my girlfriend’s house where I had planned to spend the night. I had some things to take care of in the morning and being the responsible motherfucker that I am, I was ready to be pretty much adult-like and shit and get on my way. I knew that the moment homeless girl saw me spark up, it would be like a moth drawn to a flame and there was just no fucking way that I was going to let that happen. I cut off at an angle that brought me closer to my car and I picked up my pace.

I made it to my car without her seeing me. At least that’s what I thought as I opened the door.

I was shoving some shit into my car when there was a loud knock on the passenger window that just about scared the living shit out of me. Just about. There was no squishy, which was good. It always makes me happy when I don’t shit my pants.

Surfuckingprise, motherfucker!

I looked up and there she was, face pressed up against the glass like something out of The Walking Fucking Dead. Holy fucking shit balls! I begged my heart to slow the fuck down. She darted away from the window and materialized at my side, like Scotty had beamed her the fuck up or something and suddenly, she was right the fuck in front of me. I noticed that she was young, around eighteen or nineteen, seemed nervous and jumpy and looked like she’d been crying her eyes out. I figured I was about to get some sob story and a plea for money, but she took me by surprise.

“Could you please give me a ride somewhere?” the girl asked me.

Caught off guard, I answered with a very reluctant, “Sure,” because that’s what I always fucking say when I’m about to do something that I really don’t want to do and I really didn’t want to do this, but I felt sort of bad for her and in my fucked up and simple mind, I imagined that maybe she’d been kicked out by her parents or boyfriend and maybe that explained why she looked like she’d been crying and maybe I’m just a big fucking idiot, but I’ve been trying out this whole humanity thing and I’ve been practicing having human emotions for the past few weeks and empathy just happened to be her lucky fucking day.

Fuck you, empathy.

New rule: no more empathy days.

And fuuuuck. I was going to stop at the store and get smokes and a Coke, but there was no way that I was going to leave this chick unsupervised in my car, so scratch that idea. Oddly enough, trusting strangers just isn’t my forte. I’m silly like that.

I asked the girl where she was going and she told me just down the street. Solid fucking answer.

I hopped in the car and grabbed my backpack and jacket and threw them into the back seat. She opened the passenger door and sat down. I asked her once again where she was going.

“Down the street,” she said again and pointed. Well, that answer was really, really, extra fucking helpful. Bravo! I wrote it off as her being upset, or freaked out, or a fucking idiot, or whatthefuckever. I noticed that she had a lighter clutched in her hand and I told her that I’d noticed it and that I smoked and that if she wanted to smoke, she could go ahead and light one up if she wanted to. Totally fucking magnanimous, right? I’m such a fucking stand-up guy.

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asked.

Fuck me. I fucking knew it. Me and my big fucking mouth.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t have any cigarettes; I only have cigars.”

“Can I have a cigar?”

Fuck me twice. Without lube.

I reluctantly handed her a cigar and we both lit up.

As I was about to pull out of the parking lot, I asked her nicely, once the fuck again, to please give me some kind of fucking clue as to where the fuck we might be going.

“Just down the street,” she said again.

I wanted to slap a motherfucker. I’d say bitch slap, but some pussy is bound to get their panties in a wad and get all fucking Social Justice Warrior on me and call me a misogynist and shit, which totally isn’t true, because I fucking love bitches, so I won’t say that.

But maybe this twit could do more than point and grunt. For fuck’s sake, she’d managed to utter a fucking complete sentence. Several times. Granted, it was the same fucking sentence, but it was a start.

Exasperated, I asked, “Straight down Barkeley, or turn on Orleans?”

“Turn on Orleans,” she replied.

Oh, an actual fucking answer. Great job! You get a fucking trophy! Thanks, for participating.

“Where to from there?” I asked.

No! Don’t even say it! Fuck! I was ready to kill a motherfucker and hide the body. I took a deep breath. This was all my fault; I’d asked for it.

“Just down the street.”

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.

Just down the street. Just down the street. Just down the motherfucking street. That’s where I planned on kicking her ass out of the fucking car, if she didn’t start coming up with some real answers.

“Look.” I said in my calmest and nicest you’d better answer me or get the fuck out of my car voice. “I don’t plan on driving around all night. I’ve got places to go and things to do, so if you want a ride, you need to tell me where we’re going, because that would be really helpful.”

Hell, I had even started to wonder if I was being set up to get jacked. If that was the case and things went south, I’d snap her neck before she could get out of the car. Fuck that shit.  If the choice is on my feet or on my knees, the choice is always going to be on my feet.

And then a sense of déjà vu came over me and I wondered if she was going to try to solicit me for money for sex and I make it a cardinal rule to never accept money for sex, because it makes me feel like a whore and I am totally not a whore. So, if she was a prostitute, she was failing miserably and totally barking up the wrong tree. Besides, I’d already done this scene before (and you can read about it here – The Hitcher).

“Do you know where Sixth Street is?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, “So you’ll have to tell me.”

“Do you know where I-5 is?” she asked.

Two fucking sentences in a row. You go, girl!

“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s just down the street.”

“It’s over by there,” she said.

Seriously?

“So is a lot of other shit,” I said. “Could you be a little more specific?”

By this time, the street we were on came to a “T” intersection and I had to turn right or left. She had said I-5 and the highway was only two blocks away. I was done with the bullshit and she needed to get the fuck out of my car. I turned right and kept going until I noticed that the street dead-ended at the highway and there was only one cross street before I would be committed to the unlit dead-end area and there was no fucking way that I was driving back there. My spidey sense was tingling.

“Right up there is good,” she said

.

No, right here is fine,” I said and I pulled over to the curb.

As she grabbed up her stuff, I still felt kind of bad for her, so I offered her my last cigar. She snatched that fucking thing from my hand so quick, I’m glad it wasn’t a fresh turd, because shit would have splattered everywhere.

I watched her exit the car and she left the front door open, turned around and reached for the back door.

What the fuck? I hadn’t seen her put anything in the back seat. What kind of fuckery was this?

She opened the back door and grabbed my backpack, which had my laptop, Kindle, wallet, money and weed inside.

Oh, fuck no. Help a motherfucker out and they try to steal your shit. No fucking way.

My hand shot out and grabbed her arm, hard enough to bruise.

“No! That’s mine!” I shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Hey, I thought I sounded pretty fucking butch at the time.

I shoved her out of my car and she slammed into the back door and fell on her ass. The door swung shut, she jumped up and ran like hell; a blur in the dark.

What the fucking fuck?

Seriously? What the fuck had just happened?

I reached over and pulled the passenger door shut, turned the car around and headed for home. I gave my girlfriend a call and told her what had happened, and what a bizarre explanation that poor woman had to hear.

She’s still not sure what happened.

Hell, I’m still not sure what happened…

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