Laid Bare: Essays and Observations by Judson, Tom (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

“You ain’t lyin’ ‘bout that! And then you let out that low whistle like you do and said we oughta go over there and see that sweet old thing.”

“So, Burt and me goes over to the car and I see it has New York plates on it.”

“That was our first clue.”

“Well, sir, there’s this feller sittin’ in the driver’s seat lookin’ through a whaddayacallit, a knapsack…”

“Lookin’ hard for somethin’…”

“And so I says to him, ‘That’s quite a sweet car you’re drivin’ there, mister. That’s a ’63, ain’t it?’ and he looks up at us and says, ‘Actually, it’s a ’61. You can tell by the turn signals in the grille.’ Kinda snooty, if you want my opinion.”

“He said that like he was used to answerin’ that question, somehow. Said he was drivin’ all the way to California. Got all this way without any kind of car trouble.”

“Burt and me started askin’ him about his car. That fool New Yorker didn’t even know what kinda engine was in it. You thought that was odd, didn’t you, Burt?”

“I think he mighta been one of them ‘funny fellas’, y’know? You think so, Stewy?”

“All I know is he was bent on finding something and he was looking everywhere. We followed him around the back of his car when he went lookin’ in the trunk and, well, that’s when we saw ‘em. Sittin’ right on top there like he was, well, like he was proud to show ‘em off or somethin’. Disgusting, if you ask me.”

“You ain’t lyin’ about that! A bag full of drugs.”

“Big ol’ bag full of drugs. Huh? No, sir, I couldn’t tell you what kind, but I guess I know drugs when I see ‘em.”

“Sittin’ right there on top of his suitcase. Pills like you ain’t never seen. Buncha different colors and everythin’.

“Damn liberal New Yorkers think they can just come out here and push their drugs. Yeah, well, when that damn liberal New Yorker said somethin’ about having to call his sister…”

“Bet that damn liberal don’t even have no sister…”

“…well, that’s when Burt and me called the Highway Patrol. Yessiree, just called right on over there to Guymon and reported that damn Jew druggie.”

“Stewy’s a good American that way.”

“Bob Young’s boy picked him up later on. Woulda got clean away if I hadn’t called it in.”

“Yup, a good American.”

“Nope, never did hear what happened to him. Yeah, well, Burt and me gotta get goin’. There’s some kind of meeting down at the V.F.W. we gotta get to.”

“You ain’t lyin’ ‘bout that, Stewy. No sir.”

Bud Grimsby, greeter:

“hello welcome to Wal-Mart do you need a cart”

Meghan O’Flynn-Steinman, attorney (non-practicing):

“Well, yeah, I did think it was odd when I spotted him in that field. Especially in the Oklahoma panhandle. Although, after this trip I’m redefining my standard for ‘odd’. Leonard--Leonard Steinman, my husband—thought it would be this great idea for the whole family to drive cross-country to visit his mother. ‘Cross-country?’ You do that on skis, I said, not in a minivan with three kids and a dog! Sure, he goes into the city to the firm every day in his nice, cushy Lexus and thinks this is some kind of a treat or something. Well, let’s just say Leonard may be redefining ‘treat’ after this trip. I mean, up to St. Louis you could at least eat half-way decently, but just try to find something on the menus here that’s not fried or smothered in cheese. They even have fried cheese! And, can someone please explain to me when marshmallows became a salad ingredient? We ate at some dump where the hostess had, like, green teeth and this hideous bouffant. Don’t even get me started about the clothes. Jesus God! Here it was Mother’s day and the kids wanted to get me something. ‘There’s Wal-Mart’, they screamed. ‘And here’s the Nieman-Marcus catalog’, I said and threw it into the back seat. ‘Circle something and give it back to your father.’ Yeah, so, we’re driving on this boring, flat road through this boring, flat state on this boring, hot day in this smelly car on the way to California to see Letty Steinman (absolutely my most favorite person in the entire frigging world) and Sean—the oldest—says, ‘What’s that guy doing?’ ‘What guy? There’s no guy, Sean.’ And, then all the kids start screaming like they’re on fire or something (which, let me tell you, is a distinct possibility at this point if they’re not careful) and pointing into the field. Well, there’s this guy walking around some kind of junkyard. But, it’s not cars in the junkyard, it’s, uh, trailers or something. Y’know, like in a trailer park. Old, rusty things. Crap, if you ask me. But, he’s taking pictures of all this stuff, and his car—which looks like a piece of junk itself--is parked by the side of the road. It all seemed damned suspicious to me. ‘Maybe we should tell somebody,’ Leonard says. Very calmly I said, ‘Leonard, what does the fuel gauge say?… That’s right, full. Now, let me make myself clear--you’re not taking your goddam foot off that goddam gas pedal until we cross the state line and get out of thisfucking state!’ Yes, Sean, Mommy said the f-word. Just deal with it. God dammit, would you all stop screaming! Oh, my god, I need another… Sean, hand me my purse. Now!”

Mike Young, Oklahoma Highway Patrol:

“I got word from dispatch at approximately 1:20 PM that a white male, apparently early thirties, was suspected of transporting drugs in his vehicle. Suspect was headed west on Route 64 and was driving a black 1961 Ford Falcon, New York tags. Apparently the call came in to headquarters from old Stewy