Friday, November 20, 2009

It is definitely NOT the Fourth of July.

So Krystle and I were driving in Ft. Worth, discussing the stars of the pre-teen-lust-fest, Twilight, and how the casting directors of the movie really need to find new leading actors because let's face it: one of them has no facial expressions other than "bored," and the other can't act his way out of a wet paper sack. I didn't realize where we were in Ft. Worth, exactly, since she was the one driving and we were merely taking her Significant Other, Nick, some lunch.

Then we pulled up to a light, and would you like to know what I heard going on outside Krystle's vehicle?


Okay, wait. Let me backtrack.

Rewind Time about an hour.

Krystle and I were sitting in Olive Garden as a late treat for my birthday. The salad and bread sticks and seasoned salmon and broccoli, and doughnut-like desserts we dipped in chocolate--all of it was delish. But with the food, I had some liquid to wash it down: two glasses of Reisling wine (my favorite white) and two very tall glasses of iced water. Aaaaand I didn't go to the bathroom before we left.

Okay, now fast forward back to the intersection light.

My bladder was trying to get my attention and nudge me to think along the lines of toilets, when all of a sudden, I heard:


And my first thought was, "Huh? What? It's not the fourth of July, is it? Who's shooting firecra--"


Krystle's door vibrated, and we looked at each other with wide eyes. Holy Pistol-Wielding Gangsters, Batman! Somebody was SHOOTING a friggin' GUN!

I looked around, actually seeing my surroundings. I hadn't been paying attention because I'd been too busy trying to recast Twilight. Well, we were NOT in the best of the best part of Ft. Worth, if you know what I mean. Nick works in a hospital down there. Otherwise I'm sure we never would've wound up in the area.

So Krystle, being the smarter, more survival-driven person of the two of us, slams on the gas pedal and takes a very fast right. A couple of cracked-out white guys were shaking hands in a gas station parking lot to our left, and then parting ways with something in their hands. I'm sure it was their Wednesday night Bible study agenda.

But forget the minor drug deal. I still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that someone was shooting a GUN within our personal space, so naturally, realizing that we could've possibly gotten shot and bled all over the car and maybe even lost an eye if the bullet had aimed just right--or maybe even DIED--naturally, I...uhm...I started laughing.

(I know, I make a lot of sense to myself, too.)

Anyway, talk about Bladder Control! Holy cow! So we took the food to Nick and waited outside this really Class A hospital. *ahem...* He came to the car to get his food and we told him what had happened. He had the audacity to say it was probably a car backfiring.


When he left, Krystle said:

"I've heard cars backfiring, and that sound's not what one sounds like."

"And I've been to a shooting range," I said. "And that's exactly what a gun sounds like."

Nick texted her a minute later to tell her that someone in the hospital was threatening to kill a random baby. What??? Don't ask me. I have no idea. Neither does Krystle. I'm sure he'll explain more when he gets home from work tonight... If he gets home...

Later I drove home, in the dark, on a Friday at rush-hour, *sigh*, in the drizzle of rain, on 820, with a sea of Christmas-like red tail-lights all around me. The joy-ride was not without its usual moments of near-death experiences.

Hi, I'm C and I live in the Metroplex.


  1. I got one thing to say... or um.. sing...
    "Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank God, I'm a country boy!"

    Gee whiz! Glad you're okay!

  2. LOL, I know, I'm still laughing about it; I'm in such disbelief.