When we last left our hero, he was clad only in his trusty grocery bag mask and fruit of the looms, soaked head to toe from the freakish summer torrential downpour. He had violated the perimeter of the Pensupreme and stood in the door way, drops of water falling off his nearly naked body onto the floor. As I said, he had frozen. To this day I don't know why. Maybe something in his head shut down for second. Maybe some neural circuit in his pituitary gland switched from flight to fright. Either way, he had suddenly become a statue. It was one of those moments in your life that seemed to last forever. Bubba was stuck and I was stuck right there with him. I could hear my heart thundering in my head. I could hear Travis still chanting his mantra holyshitholyshitholyshit that sounded vaguely like an old Chevy stationwagon idling at the curb. But before I move on with this story we need to switch roles for second.
Imagine that you're that poor store clerk. Isn't it bad enough that you're stuck working in a mini market? Isn't it even worse that you're stuck on the night shift? You're just wanting to sit back and stock the cigarettes. Maybe he was busy holding the lottery scratch-offs up to the light to see if he could spot a winner. Who knows. But put yourself in his place. You hear the jingle-jingle of the doorbell and turn around to see a 6'3" naked, bag-headed person standing in the doorway. Not moving...Not saying anything. I'm sure for a instant he had one of those Friday the 13th moments. In this point of the movie the suspense-filled soundtrack would flare up in a flourish that signaled the imminent and gorish death of our friendly neighborhood cash register monkey.
But the action the clerk made next jarred all of us back into motion. We expected to startled the poor guy. We even expected a grumpy "get the hell outta my store!" But what he did next was so much more unexpected. There the two men stood, naked bubba and the dumbfounded clerk, staring at each other like two deer in headlights. And in a split second it happened.
I was outside the store so couldn't hear the vocal transactions but I saw enough to know what was going on. The clerks eyes grew as big as saucers and in a swift, cat-like movement, he threw his hands over his head. Both hands STRAIGHT up into the air. I saw him mouth three words and I'd bet my left lung on what those words were.
Don't rob me
"oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..." I droned, my head suddenly floating. The hairs on my arms standing up, "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu" now we just crossed the line into felony territory. We were going to jail, I just knew it. "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!"
The pleading of the clerk must've jarred bubba in some fashion I'd rather not think about but either way he was on the move. He flinched as if someone had slapped him and then was sprinting for the front door. Travis and Sonny popped their heads up from behind the seat like two pieces of bread in a toaster. As bubba burst through the doors I threw the car into drive, forcing myself to NOT hit the gas pedal until.
"RUUUUN, BUBBA" Sonny shouted, so out of character that both Travis and I craned to see what got into him.
Before either of us could comment, bubba was through the front door and out in the pouring rain. His huge feet splashed into a large puddle on the patio of the store. He was hauling ass, one hand plastered on his brownbag mask, the other pumping like a piston. I kept both feet on the brakes even though I wanted to push the gas pedal to the floor. I wanted to be gone from this place. Was that a police siren? Christ, I was hearing things. I looked past bubba into the store and the clerk was still standing there reaching for the sky.
Bubba reached the car still at full sprint. But the laws of physics apply to objects in motion and as much as bubba wanted to stop, science had other ideas. His feet suddenly became parking lot water skis. His flailing body crashed against the side of the car and proceeded to slide down the side and underneath it.
"GET IN THE GODDAMN CAR!!!" Travis exploded, his voice as shrill as a 8 year old girls.
Bubba groped for the door handle and slipped on the parking lot. After the second try he pulled himself up and hauled himself into the car. The vehicle was moving before the door was shut. I rocketed the car out of the parking lot, its springs squealing in protest, its tires spinning violently on the wet road. I suddenly realized I was screaming. We all were screaming, as if we could eject the fear inside out through our mouths. We were a chorus of screamers singing the Ohmyfuckinggod Chorus. As we barreled down the road, shooting over the old railroad tracks like the Dukes Of Hazzard, our screams reluctantly turned to nervous laughter. Then from nervous laughter to a sort of uproarious cacophony. We felt like we just robbed a bank and got away scot free.
"HOLY SHiT" Travis repeated, this time not with the mantra-like repetitiveness. "THAT was AWESOME!!!"
Bubba was laughing hysterically. His face was beet red, starved for oxygen, but still he laughed. Bubba had a knack for laughing himself to a near death. After about ten minutes of driving and laughing we found ourselves across town and pulled into the McDonalds. Bubba had discarded the mask and thankfully threw his clothing back on (his soggy underwear ended up stuffed under the front seat). We marched into the place, still laughing but trying to keep it to ourselves like some secret joke.
Once we got our food we resigned ourselves to a booth and began to replay the events that just happened. Now that we were clear from the threat of arrests we were feeling pretty cool. Bubba especially. Before we could finish our food, in walked Travis' uncle Kent. Kent was the sort of guy you avoided when you were a kid. He was the one who you knew would find enjoyment in giving you titty twisters and cowbites. Kent would be killed 17 years later. He had lost his license for some reason unknown to me and was on the way home from the bar on his bicycle when he was mysteriously struck by a car. The details are shady but rumor has it that his head took the brunt of the front end of the vehicle. Not pretty. I never liked the guy. He had a knack for grabbing me by my shirt and shaking me violently. But I promise I didn't do it. In comparison to the torture he put on Travis, he was nice to me.
Anyway, Travis' uncle, who was maybe 6 years older than we were, ambled up to our booth with the look like he had some interesting news.
"Hey, did you hear?" He said through squinty, red eyes. "Someone tried to rob the Pensupreme."
Suddenly our appetites were gone. I felt like someone reached in and throttled my stomach. We decided to park bubba's car behind my house and spend the rest of the night watching television.
Not a whole lot more to add to this story other than the fact that Bubba never got paid for his antics. I think he kinda knew he wouldn't but like I said, he loved to make people laugh. And he sure did a great job at it.
posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, February 12, 2004
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