Grand Theft Auto: Port Chester

(Originally written June 2006)

Warning - This post is rated A for Adult. No persons under 21 authorized to read it without parental approval.

The night started off the same as pretty much all others - Everybody's Favorite DD rolls up to one of the hottest spots in town with a pair of beautiful girls in toe - except there was something off this time, a slight change in the usual pattern (and I'm not talking about the fact that I finally looked as good as the girls I walked in with) We arrived at the same time as a member of the Port Chester Police Department and I walked in with a cop at my back. There were no problems, no issues requiring police assistance at the time, his presence, simply foreshadowing. Had we known we would have asked him to stick around.

And so the night progressed without any thoughts of the Po-Po, or discussions on how municipal tax revenue should be spent to ensure a stronger police presence. After all, it was a birthday celebration and celebrate we must, and we did. I even indulged in my first beer since January, remarking after tasting the first bit of malted hops, "Once it hits your lips.... it's soo good". Clearly I had made the right decision in ordering a Samuel Adams (Samuel Jackson was not available) The beer was drank with all of the enthusiasm of a 17 year old, and it filled me with sadness when the bottle run empty. So I had another round... because no one should be sad at a birthday party.

As the night progressed the party thinned out, as would be expected. Eventually I was left solely in the company of quite possibly the two singularly most attractive women in a 20 mile radius. 1 with light brown hair, 1 darker brown, 1 with short hair, 1 with long; well you get the point, if you are a guy you wish you were me at this point. (But you're not so nah )

So we made our exit amidst the light rain which had begun to fall during our festivities. When we reached our intended destination, a covered parking garage where the black chariot awaited to transport us home we came upon a grocery store shopping cart. Now it being late/early depending on your preferred way of looking at the clock an abandoned shopping cart is like a veritable gold mine to a drunk person, much the same that an oversized cardboard box can provide endless hours of amusement to a small child.

We stopped and played around, taking silly pictures, pushing the shopping cart, harmless activities that would amuse those who are slightly intoxicated. It should be mentioned that the writer of this story was at no point during the night inebriated or above the legal limit for alcohol consumption by a midget and therefore can verify that all of events hence forth are indeed true regardless of their almost outlandish-ness.

It was after a good deal of innocent goofing off (about 20 minutes or so worth) that we encountered the two yutes.

Uh, Mr. Gambini - did you say "yutes" (My Cousin Vinny)

Sorry, the two YOUTHS who were no more than 15 years in age, entered the parking garage. Now parking garages are no place for 15 year olds to be hanging out, let alone after 2 in the morning but then again it's no place of mine to approach them and ask just what in the hell they're doing up so late. Anyway, the two seperate parties (us and them) remained happily segregated with no interaction save for the ability to overhear each other's conversations. Obviously they got the better end of the deal getting to listen in a 3-way discussion with 2 drunk girls while I had to settle for some pre-pubescent angst about how some guy was going to shoot them. Yeah, whatever kids get lost, can't you see I've got 2 hotties here with me on the curb? Shoo, shoo!

Unfortunately they seemed very comfortable in their surroundings and showed no signs of leaving and by now it was getting late (er) and so we decided that perhaps we should complete our 20 foot odyssey to the car. We opened the doors and got in, strapped in and began to turn the key when we heard something - something like a pop or a bang. The natural reaction, look in the direction of the sound.

Ok, located it. On the far side of the parking garage (about 250 feet in front on about a 45 degree angle from my driver's seat) I saw a man walking in to the parking garage. Well that doesn't make sense, I heard a sound like a pop and there's this man just standing there, walking, and carrying something.

Pop

A small star shaped burst of light from where the man's outstretched arm was.

Me thinking: Wait a second... is that what I ....(this thought was never actually finished because my brain quickly replaced it with the following) GET THE F' OUT OF THERE!!

"Put the keys to ignition

Step on the gas and be shiftin

Get the f*ck out of there,

or your ass will be wishin

Peeling out towards Route 1,

I'm so glad I'm not drunk

it's the freakin weekend baby

this ain't what I would call fun"

The first red light presented a conundrum - do I run it and risk having a cop pull me over, where I can explain to him what just happened, or do I abide by the rules and risk the situation that the guy with the gun (or any of the no less than 3 others we saw in the area at the time of the shooting) followed the only "witnesses". So i stopped at the red light and checked the rear view for the first time since we left the parking garage. 1 car coming up behind us, moving over to the left side Light changes green, no guns pulled, floor it - I'm not taking any chances

Make it to the Taconic parkway, ok i suppose that means we're safe. Unfortunately the whole ordeal definitely affected my driving, I had a temporary case of what I believe psychologist call a "Tupac Complex" where a driver fears other cars pulling up along side of them. At present the condition seems to have disappeared.

While driving the three of us made sure to cover all of the bases: 1) We reported "shots fired" to the local authorities, 2) we called or text messaged everyone in our phone books (sometimes twice) to let them know what happened and that we were alright 3) re-told the story to ourselves as if we hadn't just been there, at least half a dozen times 4) acknowledged that we all now have legitimate street cred as a result of this situation 5) created a series of 3-4 events that could be used against us in a game of "Never Have I Ever" including, but not limited to: "Never Have I Ever Been Shot at"6) added the additional title of "Everyone's Favorite Getaway Driver" to my list of titles/accomplishments and finally 7) decided that this type of traumatic event called for the dinner.

Once at the dinner we began to calm down and regain our composure, joking about the incident in a way that superficially covered the sheer uncomfortableness of the fact that we three now have a "hey, remember the time we were shot at?" story to tell. From there began the painstaking process of trying to explain to our waiter that yes, although it was around 4 in the morning at the diner our stories were much more legitimate than those drunken tales he had heard before.

"No really, I'm not kidding you. We were shot at!"

"You want the eggs scrambled?"

"Yes"

And from there the rest of the night played out the way you would expect. Everyone's Favorite DD/Getaway Driver successfully returned the hotties to their homes, sans gun shot wounds, and returned to his home,

Well, we all have our stories. (Swingers)

Current Music: "Crossfire" Stevie Ray Vaughn - not really