2002-07-05 - 12:00 p.m.
"There's some serious pockets of humanity out there..."
So last night I went up the mountain (one of them) with my buddy...we'll call him Bob for the sake of protecting his identity.
We sat on a rock and watched people set off illegal fireworks in their backyards, then watched the cops drive up to those backyards and issue tickets and make arrests.
That's all we did. 20 minute hike up the mountain, sit on a rock, back down to the car. Halfway there, this happens...
Bob- Shit!
Me- What?
Bob- My keys aren't in my pocket.
Me- COuld you have left them in the car?
Bob- Maybe, but I don't think so. I think they're up on the rock.
Me- What do you wanna do?
Bob- Give me the flashlight, I'll go get them, and meet you back at the car.
Me- Cool.
Bob is a marine. I know he can run up the mountain, find his keys, and still probably beat me back to the car. No worries.
Ten minutes later-
Bob- i couldn't find the keys.
Me- How is that possible? All we did was sit on the rock. They should be right where you sat.
BOb- well, they're not there.
Me- Do you have a hole in your pocket?
Bob- No. I wonder where they went.
We get back to the car, and of course the keys aren't there. Somehow, in the course of sitting down, Bob's keys fell into a black hole and will never be seen again. Admittedly, it was dark, but how many FUCKING PLACES COULD THOSE KEYS HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN? We were sitting on a GIANT, FLAT ROCK? Where would they have gone? How can you not find them when you know exactly where they ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO BE? It's not like he didn't take his keys with him when we DROVE HIS CAR TO THE FOOTHILLS! And he sure as hell didn't ask me to hold them, possibly in the secure thigh pouch of my shorts where they couldn't possibly have fallen out without me noticing. Why are you SOB's so retarded?
So then we got to wait by the car while Bob's friend goes to Bob's mom's house (one of the few times I've ever seen a cel phone actually put to good use, and one that it was probably intended for, as opposed to some asshole driving like a retard while he's got one of those fucking things stuck on his ear, or the Fuckwit at Coors field last month who managed to stack seven HUNDRED people in line behind him when he paused on the stairs to talk to someone on his cel phone, not even noticing that NO ONE could move until he was forcibly shoved aside by someone with the good taste to curse him roundly as he stalked past (and no, the shover was not me, though I'm proud to say it would have been if I could reach the prick.) I'd get a cel phone if I wasn't worried I'd become one of those fucks. My theory is this. If I'm out, and you need to get ahold of me to tell me bad news, I'd rather wait until I get home, that way I can at least enjoy part of my day. If you're calling with good news, that can wait till I get home too, because how fun is it to come home to a happy message on your answering machine? And if you're calling me just to chat, well, too bad, cause if I wanted to chat, i'd be sitting at home waiting by the phone for you to call, or I'd be (try and follow this now) CALLING YOU MYSELF!!! If I'm not around, it can wait, and I'll call you back.)
That being said, yes I am carrying my mother's cel phone around in my backpack this summer, just in case something disastrous happens. (like I find out Drowning Pool has won a Grammy)
Anyway, Bob's friend (who wasn't with us on the mountain) is on his way to Bob's mom's house to fetch the spare keys, and we get accosted by some drunken SOB wondering if we're organizing a party there in the street (since we're just standing there like retards) and can he join us. He then, upon hearing our situation, offers to let us crash at his place for the night, or have all our friends come over and we can party there. Friendly guy, and by friendly I mean weird and creepy. I was glad to get the fuck out of there.
Bob is a Tool. That's the lesson to be learned from this. Also, that some of you are so full of shit it defies description. And by some of you, I mean all of you, including me.
Ken
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