No Head No Milk
Once in awhile, your car gets a deflated tyre and all you need to do is to drive to a gas station, turn on the machine, connect the loops and press "pump." The sound of air filling up your trusty ol' rubber is supposed to be quite relaxing.
Not if you don't know how to do any of those, of course.
So I drove around two gas stations hoping that an attendant would be around at 930pm on a weekday night so we can skip the steps, and go straight to the part where I go home with a fat tyre. Unfortunately there were no attendants anywhere and I decided I would seek help with bored drivers around the gas station. I picked an old, kind-looking cab driver and asked him if he could help me. He agreed, but requested that I stroke his bald head while he helped pump the gas. The correspondence of those two actions did not sound well together; as was his strange wide grin. But I was desperate, cold, hungry, and tired from reading Adorno for 3 hours. So I clasped my fingers and ran a very shaky hand over his bald head, as quickly as I could and with as little contact as I could manage.
"You don't like my bald head? I thought women love touching bald heads."
My tyre must have been very flat as it was still inhaling hard. I was also trying not to breathe, as I touched his head for a second time, all the time wanting to die yet relieved that I would soon get into my car, steam off, light up a cig, and go home to shower.
So because of the trauma, I did not quite pay full attention to how the whole procedure was done at all. Damn it, next time, I'll have to look for a good samaritan who is not bald. But damn it, that could mean something worse too. Ok, I'll just call AAA.
----
The next day, happily going home from school and stopping by the supermarket to get some prunes and tea, a car pulled up beside mine in the parking lot. A woman rolled down her windows and said, "Please help me, we are very poor. My husband beats me up and my children are very hungry." She rolled down the back-seat windows and three skinny faces looked back at me. "Please help us to buy some milk, just one carton of chocolate milk. They like chocolate milk." I was stunned. It was the first time that someone asked me to buy milk for them, and how can I refuse?
I went into Gelson's, quickly took the items off the shelves, paid and got out. Her car was not there where it was. I circled around the parking lot and still could not see it. For some reason I felt scared. Scared that she got into trouble with some security guards, etc... Scared that I'll drive home that day with my prunes, tea, and an carton of chocolate milk that I did not set out to buy. Somehow I felt like I was a milk thief that day.
But I guess I like chocolate milk too.
Not if you don't know how to do any of those, of course.
So I drove around two gas stations hoping that an attendant would be around at 930pm on a weekday night so we can skip the steps, and go straight to the part where I go home with a fat tyre. Unfortunately there were no attendants anywhere and I decided I would seek help with bored drivers around the gas station. I picked an old, kind-looking cab driver and asked him if he could help me. He agreed, but requested that I stroke his bald head while he helped pump the gas. The correspondence of those two actions did not sound well together; as was his strange wide grin. But I was desperate, cold, hungry, and tired from reading Adorno for 3 hours. So I clasped my fingers and ran a very shaky hand over his bald head, as quickly as I could and with as little contact as I could manage.
"You don't like my bald head? I thought women love touching bald heads."
My tyre must have been very flat as it was still inhaling hard. I was also trying not to breathe, as I touched his head for a second time, all the time wanting to die yet relieved that I would soon get into my car, steam off, light up a cig, and go home to shower.
So because of the trauma, I did not quite pay full attention to how the whole procedure was done at all. Damn it, next time, I'll have to look for a good samaritan who is not bald. But damn it, that could mean something worse too. Ok, I'll just call AAA.
----
The next day, happily going home from school and stopping by the supermarket to get some prunes and tea, a car pulled up beside mine in the parking lot. A woman rolled down her windows and said, "Please help me, we are very poor. My husband beats me up and my children are very hungry." She rolled down the back-seat windows and three skinny faces looked back at me. "Please help us to buy some milk, just one carton of chocolate milk. They like chocolate milk." I was stunned. It was the first time that someone asked me to buy milk for them, and how can I refuse?
I went into Gelson's, quickly took the items off the shelves, paid and got out. Her car was not there where it was. I circled around the parking lot and still could not see it. For some reason I felt scared. Scared that she got into trouble with some security guards, etc... Scared that I'll drive home that day with my prunes, tea, and an carton of chocolate milk that I did not set out to buy. Somehow I felt like I was a milk thief that day.
But I guess I like chocolate milk too.
posted by msl at 5:55 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home