 Northern Virginia. Sh************t. I’m still only in Northern VA. Another morning I wake up in the great undrained swamp that is the Washington, DC Metro. Every minute I sit in this motel room, I grow weaker. Every minute the government bureaucrats squat in their cubicles eating microwaved burritos, they grow stronger.
A lot of the folks back in Oklahoma were interested in why I am out here. Well, I’ll tell you. The Daughter is finally graduating from the George Mason School for Advanced Truck Driving. We’re all proud of her. Regular readers of this blog (all four of you), will likely recall me mentioning that The Daughter was involved in a scheme to truck green beans to Utah a few months ago…well, that and smuggling people who were trying to escape The Trump’s Great America by moving so far into the Rockies they’ll likely never be found. But, the Utah gig, it turns out, was only on the job training. She passed her final exam on reading tire pressure and checking oil this past Monday. Tomorrow, she’ll don her truck driving cap (with tassel) and an old baby blue terrycloth robe (it’s been in the family for years) and step across the stage. Of course, now she has to get a job. A real job. No more fake jobs driving green beans to Utah. Hopefully I’ll be able to make it tomorrow. Honestly, I’m afraid to leave the room. I woke at 2:30AM this morning to a light tapping at the door. A voice whispering through the gap, “Let us in. We just want to talk.” “Wrong room,” I called out! “We won’t leave. We have a message for you…from him.” Egads! What sort of nightmarish hell hole is this, I thought to myself? Fearing a trick I didn’t open the door, but peered out the window. There were three goons standing out there. All dressed in expensive suits and sunglasses (at 2:30 AM). One of them was saying something to me through the window, but I couldn’t really hear him over the god**n motel room air conditioner blasting away. I thought to myself, they don’t look so tough. Besides, what manner of thug would wear designer shades and an Armani suit? Always open to new adventures, I opened the door (first mistake). I had the motel room small coffee maker in hand and concealed behind my back. It was my only weapon in case one of these upscale punks tried something clever. No sooner did I have the door open when the three of them pushed their way in. I raised the coffee maker above my head ready to swing down on the one in front (second mistake). For my trouble, I had a lesson in the effectiveness of a Taser at close range. When I regained consciousness, I was on the floor. One of the goons was standing with his back to the door to ensure that I wouldn’t try to make a run for it. Another was standing over me with an empty plastic motel cup. Guess that explained my wet face. The third was seated on the recliner in the corner of the room. “Did you bring a suit,” he asked? “No, I’m here for The Daughter’s graduation, not a wedding,” I growled. “Have a tie?” “I wear ties for no man.” “Buy one…today. We’ll pick you up this afternoon. Be in a tie.” “Pick me up for what? I’m not going anywhere.” “Be ready or we’ll take you by force and tie a tie on you. You don’t want us to do that.” “Be ready for what? I’m not going anywhere with you freaks.” With that, the speaking goon got up out of the chair and dusted off his suit. “And, get someone to clean this room,” his final admonishment before all three departed. Since then I’ve been curled up like a formaldehyde-laden piglet on a biology lab table. Who were these people? What the hell do they want with me? Fortunately, there’s a Macy’s across the road from this no-tell motel. I suppose I can make an exception to my I-wear-ties-for-no-man rule. That is all! Comments are closed.
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