Friday, May 11, 2007


I was doing a little drive around town the other night because it felt good outside, and I wasn't quite ready to go home for the evening. There's one street I love to drive down because it borders the bayou and it's beautiful. Since I've been able to drive (nearly 16 years now...GROSS!), I've loved driving down Island Drive (I equally enjoy riding my bike and walking down this street since I live close to it).

When I was in high school, kids would tell stories of the old man who lives in *that* house on Island Drive. These stories included shining a supernova at any passing car, running out into the middle of the road to scare drivers, being really cranky to little girls diligently selling their cookies or other fundraising items, being OLD.

TANGENT. I generally like old people. They're usually nice, they keep candy in the house, and they make delicious chicken salad sandwiches. However, when they have nothing to occupy themselves with, they do crazy things, like memorize your school schedule so they can wake you up or ask you why you aren't at school, or obsess over the spare tire that you put in their backyard because your trunk leaks, or obsess over the piece of litter in the front yard, or obsess over the small limb laying in the backyard, or obsess over the fact that there is a glass missing out of the cupboard, or obsess over that cheese you bought that you haven't finished eating, or obsess over that bread you bought that's still in the freezer, or obsess over the shoes...MY GOODNESS THE SHOES!...on the floor of your room. OBSESSING! THEY OBSESS!

So to bring that tangent into my story, apparently, this old man OBSESSED over DAMN TEENAGERS cruising down his street. (He lived in a HUGE house that was WAY BACK THE HELL OFF of the road.) One night, a friend and I were going to see if there was any credence to these stories of the crazy old man, and we cruised down the road. Nothing happened, so we turned around and went back down. Nothing. We went somewhere else, and later decided to take another trip down Island Drive, and SUDDENLY I SAW A PILLAR OF LIGHT! A beam of light, I mean, shown across the road, and I felt giddy. I slowed down, and deliberately looked toward the source of the light. My friend and I laughed, and I remembered, "HEY! I'm in my dad's truck with my dad's keys and my dad's toolbox of stuff. I KNOW he has a spotlight in there." So we got out my dad's spotlight and plugged it in. A few moments later, we were heading back down the street, and when we were approaching his house, the same beam of light appeared, and this time, we fired back with our own. IT WAS THE MOST HILARIOUS THING EVER AT THAT TIME! We got to the end of the street, and we stopped to laugh hysterically.

Our laughing was cut short when we perceived flashing lights that didn't come from old man's spotlight. A cop had pulled up behind us. He came to the window and asked us what we were doing, and I, being a cheeky person, said, "Laughing." He asked what I was specifically doing on that street. "Do you have any business on this street?" And I being a cheeky person responded, "No. This street is not zoned for business." The cop could have been a total ass, but I suspect he was remembering when he was young and also understanding how ridiculous old man was and said, "Look. Please just leave and stop bothering the old man. He has nothing better to do than call us and tell us he's being harassed by every passer-by, and we have to follow up on those calls. So please help me by leaving him alone." He was so nice and practically begging that my heart sunk for him and I called off my attack on the old man.

At least then I KNEW these stories weren't fabrications. I still wanted to press him, wanted him to run out into the street. Maybe that part was made up.

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At 11:11, Blogger c jane said...

That, was a good story. I hereby laughted outloud. It's one to pass onto to Chup.

At 11:55, Blogger AzĂșcar said...

ARGH with the obsessing. It's ok, abuelita, our guests WILL ask for more if they want more food you do not have to ask them every five minutes to eat more.

At 13:20, Blogger Kiki said...


That reminds me of another story. When I was a senior in high school, I brought some friends over on Christmas Eve, I think. My g-ma was snacking from a HUGE can of cashews, and so she offered my friends some. "Go on and get you some cashews." Honestly, what teen likes cashews, right? They declined. We were there for about an hour, and I swear she offered them cashews ("Go on and get you some cashews.") once every 6 minutes. That was a running joke with us for a long time (until we never saw each other again because who knows where those psychos went?).

Thanks, c jane. I hope Chup enjoyed.

At 19:21, Blogger sarah k. said...

Not zoned for business. Awesome. As in, I am in awe. I'm one of those retards who cries upon getting pulled over, except not on purpose. I can't help it. Oh what I wouldn't give to be able to say up something cheeky instead.

At 16:16, Blogger ~j. said...

So glad that cop wasn't a tool. (I have my own tool-y cop stories from my teen years that, only by thinking about them, have the ability to send me into shaking fits of giggles.)


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