FROM BORN FRUSTRATED:
Back in 1995, I was dating a girl, which I thought was the last girl I would ever date. And one day we started talking about buying a car together and eventually getting an apartment together.
It just so happened that my dad was selling a small black SUV. I asked him if we could buy it from him, and he was his usual direct self and said, “No, I don’t sell to people I know. It creates too many problems.” In all actuality, I don’t think that was the case. I think he saw cracks in the relationship before I did. Well, we weren’t deterred, we continued our car search. We went from one end of Van Nuys Blvd to the other. My credit was fair and hers was non-existent. So, the financing wasn’t happening, which later turned out to be a good thing.
Well, one day we were at a small dealership a block down from the Van Nuys police department. My, then, girlfriend was going to test drive this big SUV, the owner of the lot asks her for her license. She says she left it in the car, I give him mine.
She takes the SUV out, I sit in the passenger seat. We get five blocks out and the thing dies, just completely dead in the street.
We get out, walk back to the dealership, I get my license. The owner gets an attitude and says, “Where the fuck is my car?” I give him the address of where we left the SUV and we left. We get to the car we came in and we realize that my former girlfriend had thrown the keys under the seat of the now broke down/busted SUV. Fucking great.
So we head back to the office and I tell the guy that I need a ride back to the SUV, and he gets a crazy attitude, “This isn’t a fuckin’ taxi service!”
So as nicely as I can put it, I say, “Listen, you old fuck, it’s your fault we’re in this mess. If you weren’t trying to sell pieces of shit cars, the keys wouldn’t be six blocks away.”
He waves two big Hispanic guys over, and says in broken Spanish, “Go get the car.”
I follow them to a big white pick-up truck. I start to get inside, but one of the guys says, “There’s no room, get in the back.”
Needless to say, I was suspicious. I hop the in back and hold on, and just as I thought, the driver guns it. He peels out of the driveway at about 75 or 80 miles an hour. They took every corner at around 65 miles per hour. I was trying to act nonchalant while calling them goat-fuckers and anything else that popped into my head while holding on for dear life.
As soon as we pulled up to the stalled SUV I jumped out and charged the driver, but the passenger was already in front of me with a length of chain, approximately six feet long, in his left hand, and with his right, he was swinging the excess. I imagine two things here, one – they’ve done this before and two – the chain may or may not have been intended to be used to tow the SUV back. Either way, I stepped back from beating the crap out of the driver. But there is no way in hell it was over.
I opened the SUV and grabbed my senile girlfriend’s keys and proceeded to walk back to the lot. I wasn’t about to hop in the back of the truck again.
As I approached the lot I saw a construction site, I walked over and picked up two cinder blocks. Then met up with the girlfriend on the corner, next to the dealership.
My girlfriend gave me the look over and said, “What are you doing with those blocks?” At this point I was in no mood to talk, I just said, as I handed her the keys, “Let’s go.”
As we walked past the auto dealership I saw the owner hug and start whispering stuff into Damian Chapa’s ear. Remember Damian Chapa? The white guy from Blood In, Blood Out, the movie that was on Showtime every fifteen minutes during the 1990’s.
My first thought was, “What the fuck is the head of the Mexican Mafia doing here?”
We get in the car and as we round the corner, I lean out the window and fire off the first cinder block I nail the stalled SUV, the block bounces off the hood and it shatters the window. Then we drive six to ten feet, I fire the second cinder block into the group of people standing in front of the dealership, the owner, Chapa and the two assholes from the truck. Chapa and the two douche-bags, duck, the block flies past them and nails the owner right in the knee. He falls and everybody starts chasing the car. My girlfriend is screaming. “What the hell did you do?” I say, “Nothing, drive.” She peels out.
Needless to say, we never bought a car together and we split, I think, five to six months after that.
I still wonder what the hell was Chapa doing there?!