We arrived at rush hour and had to sit at the back of the dining room (Reza’s on Clark), but it was kind of cool because we had a chance to see all of the food coming out as we were trying to decide what to order. Heidi had been in Dallas for the last five days and was excited about telling me everything about her trip.
After dinner we headed up the street to Dairy Queen for some soft serve. We ordered and were standing there taking in the wonderful summer evening, and I had just commented on how crowded it seemed for a week night when I my inner voice (Isaac Hayes) voice screamed out “Charlie’s in the wire!”
I almost vomited when I saw it. A canary-yellow ’88 Impala was coming up the street, and I swear I saw the windows vibrating. I could literally see the bass beat plowing its way to the DQ and I knew we had only a few seconds to get to the car before the carnage began.
I instinctively grabbed Heidi’s hand and turned to warn her, but her eyes were pointing me in the direction of a handful of 20-somethings getting into a tricked out purple ’02 Escalade. Nooooooooooooooo! Everything was moving in slow motion, like the Matrix. I immediately recognized our killer tunes as Snoop’s Ghetto Symphony and T.I’s Top Back. It couldn’t be any more toxic for two Snow Flakes like us and we hadn’t a second to spare.
We threw our hands over our ears, started yelling/repeating gibberish (for me something like tater tots and windmills), ran through the parking lot, jumped in my car, turned on the A/C to full blast and cranked up Celine Dion’s Beauty And The Beast. Well, we could still feel the bass from Escalade because the guys were just sitting there staring at us and the Impala had parked in front of the DQ. So, we both kept our ears covered (Heidi with both hands and me with one hand covering one ear and pushing my shoulder up to cover my other while I used one hand to turn the key) and continued with the gibberish as I tried to start the car, but the piece of shit wouldn’t turn over (battery cable problems).
I could see that Heidi’s resistance was now paper thin, as she was bopping her head like a chicken and swaying back and forth. I had to get us out of here immediately, but I knew I had to get out of the car to wiggle the battery cable. So I grabbed a blanket from the back seat, wrapped it around Heidi’s head for more sound-proofing, and prepared myself for an onslaught of funk. Once outside I shoved her in the truck and covered her head with a couple of sleeping bags, but her threshold had been breached and she was trying to let loose. I gave her once last shove and slammed the trunk shut.
I had now been totally exposed for eleven seconds. I started with Michael Jackson Thriller moves as I raised the hood and jiggled the cables, and was switching off to some Beyonce, when a big white dude wearing a Utica College t-shirt and a motorcycle helmet came running up and shoved me into the car and sped off down a side street. I must have passed out, because I woke up with Heidi in the back seat and Pearl Jam on the speakers. Someone had left us in a parking lot in Chevarier Woods with some bottled water and power bars. Heidi doesn’t even remember being shoved into the trunk, but she does remember several small hands gently pulling her out of the trunk.