Sunday, June 17, 2007

Bad Ideas in Lust

Attention, good people of Montgomery County! For the benefit of all, let me share this small gem of advice: do not have sex in your car in well-lit fast food outlet parking lots.

Pretty please?

Last night, I was struck with really bad insomnia. I told my friend Lunesse that I was stressed about upcoming work deadlines, stressed about money (as usual), stressed about relationships (or a lack thereof), stressed about the book, and just generally having some sort of sticky existential crisis.

Around midnight I went out for a short drive to Wendy's. Why Wendy's, especially considering that their choice of advertising music kinda grosses me out right now? Well, because they serve diet Crack on tap. And, since I couldn't sleep, some diet Crack and a quick read of the new issue of Entertainment Weekly under the suburban stars sounded appealing to my ailing brain. Big, sweaty, icy cup in hand, I pulled into a well-lit spot in the Wendy's lot to read some Hollywood news. Windows down, the night wasn't too bad. I played some Split Enz on the Podlet and took sips of the caffeinated super drug, guaranteed to keep me up for a couple more hours (it did - got to bed at 4 this morning.) It was as pleasant as a lonely night at the drive-thru can be.

But then, my car started to vibrate.

I looked at my Coke Zero and watched the surface shimmy, like the early warning of a T-Rex approaching through the concrete jungle. But then, the tuba kicked in. And the cheesy trumpets. Crap. The parking lot had suddenly been turned into the Radio El Zol version of the Headbangers Ball. Oompa, oompa, oompa, oompa. My car doors thrummed with the sound. One song ended and the next began - the same rhythm, the same melody. I swear, I could not tell them apart. I refused to pay attention - after all I had important reading to do, by God!

Then, something odd happened. The rhythm of the music slowed. The oompa was still there, but... it seemed familiar. I turned off the Enz and listened hard.

Dear lord, it was a Spanish language oompa version of "I'll Sail This Ship Alone." The Beautiful South, as performed by some Mexican or Central American dance band?!? WTF? I couldn't help it, I had to go and check this out. As annoying as the loud music had been, I had to find out what group was torturing this lovely song.

I revved up the Crapmobile and motored over to pay a visit on the revelers a few spaces away.

Aaaaaand, they were having sex.

Directly under a bright street lamp, right by the front door of Wendy's, the pick-up truck-cum-danceclub was rocking and grooving and steaming. And, oh God, they had a window open through which a bare butt was rising and falling in a universally recognizable rhythm.

Aaaaaah, my eyes! Dios mio!

I pulled out of the lot, crying "Aww, ewwwww, eeewwwww!" over and over again.

Somehow, the Beautiful South will never be quite the same. {{shudder, shudder}}

Fast forward to this afternoon. After a fairly uncomfortable six hours of dreamless sleep, I got up to meet with a friend who runs a local craft shop. She needs help next weekend at a big trade show, and I am happy to help her out. I'm going to run her "make and take" table - showing folks how to use the craft items they sell. I get store freebies for my efforts and get to spend a day playing creative teacher. Not too shabby.

Leaving the shop, I decided to hit a local drive-thru for a cool drink. The weather here has gone from unseasonably cool to super hot overnight. I tend to fade in 90F temperatures. So, I drive up, get my lovely sugar free cup (of mostly ice) and stop in a shady spot for a moment. I'm not there thirty seconds before I hear a woman scream "HELP!" I look through the windows of a truck separating me from the next car and see a woman seemingly struggling with a man, who is all over her, changing positions, holding her face. I pull out my cell phone and swing the Crapmobile out of my space to see what's going on - I didn't do this on foot because, with the numb leg, I'm still slower than mud, and if someone's being violent, I'm not fast enough to get away to save myself.

I whip up next to the bouncing sedan only to see the woman giggling like an idiot, yelling, again, "HELP! HELP! Damn, Jimmy! We can't f*ck in the front seat! The brake is stuck up my ass!" I think this is the moment when Jimmy noticed someone (me, my jaw in my lap) had pulled up next to the car where he was trying very hard to perform acts better done in slightly larger spaces. "OH SHIT!" Jimmy bellowed and struggled to get his pants back on. The woman just laughed and laughed and laughed. "I'm okay, I'm okay!" She cackled and waved at me between her loud laughs, but never made an effort to sit back up in her seat. "Holy shit, I told you we shouldn't do this here!"

I finally blinked and said, "Uh, there's a Red Roof Inn next door, you know." As I drove away, I heard Jimmy mutter, "Dumbass - you can't yell 'help' - we're at a damn strip mall." I could still hear her laughing as I left.

Twice in a 24-hour period. Maybe it's wacky sex season. I dunno. At least Jimmy and Laughing Girl didn't taint any music for me. But next time you stop for a drink in the local drive-thru, beware. If you hear the Latin oompa version of a favorite song drifting through the still night air, run away - do not look - just leave. You'll thank me for it.


And for those planning a little lovin' in the family hatchback? There's a "Car Kama Sutra" online. Google it. It may save you some embarrassment, pain, and a brake up the butt.


Claire said...

Oh my.

"Car Kama Sutra," eh? You're just full of varied info.

Heather Meadows said...

The trick is to get the windows fogged up first.

Anonymous said...

Yes - this is why more men should buy trucks (or, in a pinch, a station wagon).

"There's somethin' women like about a pickup man..."

Sudiegirl said...

Could you imagine if they accidentally dialed OnStar?

Chuck said...

Hmmm, this kind of reminds me of the Rooftop Love day at my job. But twice in 24 hours! You should buy a lottery ticket.

Janet Kincaid said...

Ick. Just... ick. Oh sure, there's something titillating and highly arousing about 'getting it on' in really public places, but that doesn't make it a good idea, folks.

I had a similar experience a several weeks ago in Rehoboth Beach. Let's just say, I got an eyeful and wish I'd never looked where I did. Afterward, I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a fork...

Anonymous said...

Oh...yeah...I know that gouge my eyes out feeling. that's why i don't go to carnivals anymore...toothless carnies that weigh 500 pounds and wear t-shirts that say "no fat chicks" just offend my sensibilities.