Out of My Disposition or The Interstate Mac Daddy

Out of My Disposition

1/08/03 @ 7:52 PM

Have you ever done something out of character? Something so completely unlike anything you've done before that even you can't believe you did it? 10 years later?

Those who know me, I think, would attest that I'm pretty low key around people I don't know. I tend to hang with those I know and like, because I'm pretty awful, really, at doing the small talk thing.

So anyway, it's '93 and I'm in Nashville (yes, that Nashville) and a friend and I are leaving the mall after our weekly trip to Taco Bell. My friend is just about to turn out of the parking lot when we spot four chicks in a red Beemer convertible that would make Genelle Frenoy take a job for the city cleaning out sewer pipes.


"Yeah!" We've not a chance in hell.

My buddy slides (screeches) through the oncoming traffic in order to pull up beside them, but the light turns green and they hit the entrance ramp to I-24 west, which, just happens to be our way home.


"Yeah."   What the hell are we gonna do, follow them all the way to who knows where?

Being the most excellent driver he is (remind me to tell you about blindly crossing five lanes of traffic at an some insane speed sometime) he mashes the gas 60, 65, 70 . . . 75 . . . 80 . . . And then, were cruising beside them.  What to do, what to do. My 1001 Pick-up Line encyclopedia suddenly seemed remarkably abridged. I couldn't remember this particular situation being mentioned. What to do, what to do.

I glance over, four blonde manes blowing seductively in the wind, tanned appendages draped across the white leather interior. Good God, this is absurd.  What do I sa . . . ahhh, yes, of course.

I start rolling down the window.

"What in the hell are you going to do?"

If ever, anyone wore a shit-eating grin, it was I at that time.

"What the hell are you doing!!?"

I can barely hear him over the 80 mph wind ripping through the car. The window hits its stop. One last glance at my buddy and I start to crawl up onto the edge of the door. By this time I have the girls' complete and undivided attention (well, except for the one driving who is about to give herself whiplash from the frantic double, triple, and quadruple takes). Four very rich, very pretty women are staring at me like I'm some kind of crazy person trying to hand them a cootie. (Well, OK. Point taken, but I do/did not have cooties!)

"Hey!" Their faces are starting to match the white leather interior, and one, I swear, is curling up into a fetal position in the backseat.

"Do you come here often?" I yell, literally collapsing back into the car laughing. The BMW roars off, and I'm certain they broke triple digits in the process.

"I can't believe you just did that!" My laughter subsides enough to allow me to see my buddy all slouched down in his seat, peering through the arc of the steering wheel and the dash, which induces another fit of laughter that lasted all the way home.

Its a wonder the poor guy ever let me ride with him again.


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