Third Time's a Charm

My car stopped working the other day. If you haven't met my car, she's a 1996 Ford Escort, turquoise, damaged fender, no A/C. Her name's Squeaky, after Squeaky Fromme, and because she's a bit squeaky.

We have AAA because Squeaky is on her last legs. I have met three tow truck drivers in the past six months. But, like a B movie villain, Squeaky just keeps coming back to life.

The good news is, this time the tow truck showed up, I remembered to take notes. (The other two times, I livetweeted the racist comments of the drivers. This time, my phone was dead.) All of these things were said between West Hollywood and Glendale. It was, perhaps, the longest 15 miles of my life.

A Conversation With a Los Angeles Tow Truck Driver on a Friday Night in Hollywood

 Driver: You know there all the gays here, right? All in the west of Hollywood, so many gays! 

Me: Yeah, I know.

Driver: Keanu Reeves is a gay, you know that?

Me: Uh, what? I don't think so.

Driver: No, he is a gay! You know why I know? I tow his car one day, he have a Ford too, which is not good car because I always be towing, and I talk to him and I offer my cousin to him, but he say nooooo! Because he very gay!

Me: Uh, what?

Driver: You know what? You become actor!

Me: Wait, what?

Driver: You could become actor! You no have to be smart to be actor, only pretty!

Me: ...thank you. Driver: I meet pretty man here the other day. You know? I meet handsome guy from Fantastic Four. You know Fantastic Four?

Me: I've read the comic, but I haven't seen the movie.

Driver: What?

Me: Yeah, I know Fantastic Four.

Driver: This man, he has beautiful face. I tell him I want to be your face. (crazy laugh) Why is it pretty face always wasted on the gay? I could get so many women with his face! Me: (Oh my god I may not survive this.) Driver: It's so nice tonight, not cold like other days. You know, it's not global warming that is heating our planet, it's a thing in space getting closer and closer because of magnetic forces. I read it.

Me: A thing in space?

Driver: Yes, it is always getting closer and closer to us, making everything warm.

Me: I'm not very good at science. Driver: Science is the future! You know, someday, we have screens in front of us all the day, just like to float in the air for everything. Like you have iPad.

Me: Yeah, it's crazy how we're all addicted to technology.

Driver: (nods wisely) Technology screws a lot of job but we just need to find a new occupation.

Me: That's...true, actually.

Driver: (honks at TMZ tour bus) Those tour buses, you know how much they are? $40-$80. To sit in LA traffic and look at stars' homes that they probably don't even live in anymore because they already move. They moving all the time, I want bigger house, I need more mansions.

Me: Crazy celebrities, I tell you what.

Driver: I see celebrities that spend so much on a gym but how skinny you want to get? How many more inch you lose?

Me: Well, I suppose they could just be maintain- Driver: (interrupts) YOU SEE THAT MAN??? I see that man always banging that plastic bucket on Hollywood every day, I can make that noise too. (bangs steering wheel) You go to that place before?

Me: (shakes head)

Driver: It's good to go to that place to learn things; the Ripley's to believe or to not. Is good place to learn.

Me: Huh. Driver: You know, I'm not racist or judgmental but Keanu Reeves is probably gay. Me: (I've met some crazy tow truck drivers but holy fucking shit. The man will not stop yelling. He may have lived here for 27 years, but he's taking Sunset on a Friday night. Wtf, are you from Orange County?)

Driver: Next time you buy car buy Japanese.

Me: Yeah, I heard they're the way to go. Driver: I think my wife is calling me [answers phone]

Me: (dear god we're going to die) Driver: [hangs up] Toyota corolla, they are the best. I don't tow those. Always they are running. (honks at cars) Too many people, too many cars, it's all fucked up. We like ants just running around.

Me: Uh huh. If you take a right here, you can avoid the construction. Driver: That's what happen in this country. They already have a road and they still make another road. (takes the left) See now I'm giving you a tour. (Drives through beautiful downtown Burbank.) I been over here. Only good business over here is about eating food.

Me: (silence) Driver: Now that I'm talking about food I'm hungry.

Me: Yeah.

Driver: You know what?

Me: What?

Driver: I think they should not hire any more police. They cannot do anything anyway. I have idea. We don't need police; they never do anything, they never catch bad guy, only good guy, so let's get computer and file our own report because they don't matter anyway. (laughs maniacally) If you're the victim in this country they just victim you more. Me: (oh god, please don't victim me) Oh hey, that's me on the left. Thank you so much. I hope you get some food.

Driver: When AAA send you survey, you tell them I do good job, yes?

Me: Have a great night!

As the cab pulled up outside his childhood home, Guy felt a flutter of anticipation. It had been two years since he’d walked out that door. Two years of losing himself in a foreign land, avoiding the texts and calls and emails from home. Two years of trying to forget the feelings that made him run. No more running.

Before he could even reach for the bell, the door was flung open and Guy found himself staring into the face that haunted his sleepless nights. Sam looked different. Gone was the little girl he remembered, the one he’d taught to swim, and play Monopoly, and swear like a sailor. In her place stood a woman; a woman wearing his shirt. “I must have the wrong house,” he said with a smile. She pointed at herself, and said, “Sister?” reminding him of their old joke. They’d never quite felt like siblings. Guy and Sam had always been something more. His laugh covered the sudden surge of affection, something far beyond brotherly love. Sam leapt into his arms, and at that moment, he knew he was home.

Sam led the way into the kitchen, as the smell of Folgers filled the air. His time in the Peace Corps had been filled with many things; mediocre, mass-produced American coffee wasn’t one of them. The scent was heavenly, and as Sam hopped up to sit on the counter, Guy couldn’t help the thought that the view wasn’t half bad either. Damn, but she looked good in his clothes. He reached into his bag – his only bag, since his duffel had been stolen in the airport in Barcelona. Fortunately, the gift he had so carefully selected for her was in his backpack. He had pulled it out a dozen times on his journey home, imagining the look on her face when she opened it. “Brought you something from far away.”

He handed her the gift, unable to meet her eyes, suddenly nervous that she might not like it. “Aw,” Sam said. He continued to stare into his cup of coffee. Without warning, Sam slapped the bow from the gift onto his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Gazing into his eyes, she responded “You’re my present this year.” In that moment, Guy knew. He wasn’t alone, wasn’t the only one feeling this forbidden attraction. He was instantly transported back to that moment two years before, the Christmas Eve when everything had changed. The two of them, sharing drunken secrets in the tree house. Her hand on his face, the flash of recognition in her eyes. Then, their tangling tongues and wandering hands, oblivious to the countless reasons this shouldn’t be happening. As Guy returned Sam’s heated stare, he knew the waiting was over. She was no longer a child. By Christmas night, they would share more than just their father’s genes.

But first, they’d share a cup of kind of gross coffee.