my ten year reunion was this past weekend, and as most of you know, such events generate queezy feelings of uncertainty and anticipation. but i can't dig straight into these happenings without starting from the beginning, and the beginning just so happens to involve a little package from my homeboy, corby. er...corbin.
***
it all starts with the following email:
jude,
expect a package in the mail on monday morning. don't ask any questions, just know it's not from me, it's from 'mike ellis'. and whatever you do, don't use it before you pick me up at the airport.
corbin
hmmmm...an anonymous package from california? that could only mean one thing; so i smile and type back:
uncle corb,
sweet...toke it up. can't wait. monday it is. and i won't use it till i see you.
jude
the week passes and suddenly it's the sunday before the reunion and the night before the delivery. i surrender to sleep after posting a note on my front door instructing the UPS dude to place my package on the side of the house. i venture off to dreamland and find myself waking up abruptly at 4:31 am to the sound of pounding at my front door.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
what the fuck, what the fuck, flashlights flashing in my windows. i am completely naked, because, well, why not? so i scramble to find some clothing and make my way to the door. i peek out. there are two cop cars sitting outside my house and they see me behind the glass.
the package, the package, fuck, fuck, fuck, i'm busted...racing thoughts are running through my head.
i hesitate; then i open the door.
"are you judith dumont?" a white man in a cop suit stares down my face.
"uh...yeah...that's me.." i hesistate and stammer.
"ma'am, we have some bad news for you," the cop looks toward the side of the house, and i know, just know, i am going to jail in pajamas that fail to match. (devastating for a leo...)
'okay. am i in some sort of trouble?' i face the demon head on.
'well, it depends on how you define trouble...'
great. an ambiguous arrest.
the other cop, a lady with a too-tight french braid, edges her shoulder in front of the other gentleman cop, "ma'am, basically it goes like this: your car was stolen this evening by three punk teenagers. and we found, well, i found them. and they're in custody. but your car is another story."
my eyes light up, "you mean my car was stolen? oh! well...that's not such a big deal, i mean, it is, but you have it? that's great. good work, officer." i do my best to contain the utter relief bursting out of my body.
they fill me in on all the details: pressing charges, the estimated damage, my rights, thier rights, blah, blah, blah...
i try to go to sleep, but i toss, turn, and a funny thing begins to happen as the dope diversion fades away. i get pissed. SOMEONE STOLE MY CAR!!!!
i jerk out of bed and make a phone call to my dad. (you know, the ex-con?) the conversation goes like this:
me: hey dad, it's jude.
dad: what's up, blue. i'm here hanging with j-bird.
me: well, isn't that fitting...
dad: what the hell crawled up your ass?
me: oh, i dunno, it's just that MY CAR WAS STOLEN!
dad: what?
me: yeah, that's right. my car was stolen. and it's all your fault.
dad: what the hell's wrong with you, you damn goose. i didn't do nothin'.
me: well, yeah you did.
dad: prove it.
me: it's pretty fucking simple if you ask me. you stole cars for a living and now my car's stolen. don't you get it?!?! IT'S MY TRIBAL KARMA!!!
dad: get off my line, blondie. i aint got time for this shit.
*click*
i bang my phone on the counter and call my friend and insurance agent, justin. i kiss the sky when i find out my insurance covers everything. a blessing, because the little jerks (aged 14, 15, and 17) vandelized and wrecked my car, causing $3,000 worth of damage.
punks.
i call into work, get everything covered, and begin figuring out the annoying amount of trouble this shindig is causing me. i have to get my car out of the pound. angela takes me, and upon seeing it, my mouth drops. it is smashed up on the driver's side door and everything inside it is gone: no stereo, no panel, no paperwork, no nothing.
i start my car with a flathead screwdriver and make my way home. i roll up to my house in my gangstafied automobile and see the UPS man driving away.
sweet.
just then, two of my homies show up and we start surveying the hunk of shit my car has become. i call the vandals 'hoodlums' and 'ghetto freaks' as i tear open the package from california and take a long whiff of mother's sweet illegal nature. hippocrit shmippocritt.
I get a rental the following day; there is no way i am rolling up to my reunion in a car that has to be started with a flathead screwdriver. (i was sooooo the poor girl hanging out with the rich kids in high school: think lea thompson's character in some kind of wonderful.) and there is no need to perpetuate that image even further.
so i take off on thursday morning and pull into the okc airport to pick up corby. i walk up to passenger pick-up with a newsboy cap pulled down real low over my eyes, all the while holding a big white peice of posterboard with bold black writing that reads:
MIKE ELLIS.
two things:
A) why do these things only happen too you?
2) I talked to you just the other day, this is something you tell me on the telephone!
See you soon!
Posted by: jake | October 05, 2005 at 05:46 PM
two things:
A) why do these things only happen too you?
2) I talked to you just the other day, this is something you tell me on the telephone!
See you soon!
Posted by: jake | October 05, 2005 at 05:47 PM
don't know why that posted twice - sorry.
Posted by: jake | October 06, 2005 at 02:44 AM