From the Files of Things Renee Says Can Only Happen to Me

First of all, my apologies to Fucking Marlyn; apparently, it’s MarlOn rather than MarlYn. There will be more about Fucking Marlon later because I’ve been sick with the flu and haven’t been to the gym since Tuesday. However, I just want to mention the fact that in a near inhuman feat of discipline that I was in the gym, actually working out at FIVE IN THE GODDAMN MORNING on Tuesday. I am amazing. You will all worship me. Or call me an idiot….you know….whichever works better for you.

Completely changing the topic now:

On my way home yesterday it I realized that I needed to stop and buy groceries if I was going to eat dinner because there was pretty much nothing but some very questionable cream cheese and some Rolling Rock in my fridge, and while I am a particularly big fan of both cream cheese and Rolling Rock, Fucking Marlon would probably kill me or make me run 287 miles on the treadmill if I told him that’s what I had for dinner.

So, I figured rather than running 287 miles on the treadmill, I’d stop and pick up some chicken breasts and veggies. You know healthy stuff that Fucking Marlon would approve of and not make me do 3 and a half hours on the elliptical machine because I ate nothing but crap.

Yeah….I totally would have rather had the Rolling Rock and almost expired cream cheese too.

Anyway. I pulled into the parking lot at the Wal-Mart SuperCenter in Humble and spent the requisite 15 minutes looking for a parking space. The entire time I’m on the quest for parking, I’m stuck behind a purple low-rider truck that contained what appeared to be no less than 15 Mexican construction workers. Now, this in and of itself is not all that unusual in Houston and the surrounding areas.

What was unusual was the particularly violent rage displayed by one of the construction workers occupying a space in the bed of the truck. Apparently he was greatly displeased by the driving abilities of his friend and figured the best way to show it was to stand up in the bed of the truck and start waving his arms about and screaming something in Spanish. Now, I don’t speak Spanish very well at all, but I gathered that he was pretty upset by the seemingly constant use of the word “Pendejo”.

After a good 3 solid minutes of screaming and waving his arms about, the man finally sat down and shut the hell up. This lasted for a total of 26.8 seconds because as soon as the tuck made a fairly quick left turn the man stood back up and started waving his arms about and screaming. More use of the word “Pendejo” and what I’m sure were some particularly insulting comments regarding the driver’s “Madre” and a “Burro” followed.

Now…I could have turned right and gone up a different aisle in the parking lot, but what fun would that be? It was far more interesting to follow the truckload of Mexicans around the Wal-Mart parking lot to see if they would kill each other once they found a parking spot. Alas, they did not kill each other; however their method of resolving this conflict was far more hilarious to me than if they had actually resulted to homicide.

The Screaming Guy decided that simply waving his arms about and screaming at the driver was not nearly an efficient enough method to show his wrath, so he decided to try and beat his friend about the head through the little window that separates the cab of the truck from the bed. This did not make the driver of the purple low-rider happy. No..not even a little bit.

Now rather than doing what any reasonable person would do and stop the truck to beat the shit out of his friend, the driver sped up. Yes, he sped up to a rather alarming rate of speed considering he was in a jam-packed Wal-Mart parking lot.

And then he slammed on his breaks.

And then the screaming guy went flying out of the bed of the truck.

And then I had to slam on my breaks to avoid hitting the screaming dude who was now curled up on the pavement in front of my car.

And then I laughed for probably 10 solid minutes because this was the funniest thing I have ever freaking seen before calling my friend Renee and telling her what had just happened.

Her answer? “Why do these things only happen to you?”

I have no idea.