It's 10:47 in the morning, 6 minutes until my ride gets here. It's a sunny Wednesday morning...make that noon...After...Morning...I'm standing at a bus stop in Tijuana Mexico in my finest and most expensive suit, a white cashmere blazer and my favorite of my ties, a dark navy blue velvet. All I can think about is how nervous I am for this meeting, I haven't been nervous in a long time, seeing as I'd been in this business for a long time, 24 years, 37 months, 3 weeks and 28 days...But who's counting? I also can't help the feelings of observation that are glooming over my head...To the left. I get the feeling someone's listening to me, inside...As I look to the strange man dressed in black standing next to me, reading ever so monotone off a piece of paper, responding ever so sudden-LY to my bodily movements. I pay no attention to this hermit but cannot focus on anything but his tone of voice. It's so distinct it kind of reminds me of the Saturday Night Live skit where Will Ferrell plays a gentleman with voice immodulation syndrome and calls Tina Fey a prejudice bitch. I chuckle to myself momentarily before stopping dead with a straight face and look around to make sure no one saw me laughing to myself, almost as if people knew I was laughing at a man for his disabilities. I pay no attention to my own paranoia and look down to check my watch, I lift my shoulder up slightly, lift my elbow outwards in a horizontal direction, and bend my forearms in a 45 degree angle. 10:48, 5 minutes until my ride gets here.



I'm waiting for a company vehicle to pick me up to take me to the Horatio-Amigo meeting. I dig the taluses of my feet into the hot pavement, as my stomach about nothing more than how seemingly the biggest mistake of my life up to this point was not getting some food from the damn hotel when I had the chance. My growling stomach quickly turns to indigestion as I think about the appetite suppressants among all. A quick smoke. I reach my hand in my pocket and pull out a pack of Marlboros I bought at the airport, as I reach for a cigarette I curse myself for ever starting the habit again. I don't consider myself a casual smoker; I only feel the need to light up with the aid of other influences, one of the two being alcohol and the other being, in this case, stress. I place the cigarette ever so gently into the tip of my oral sphincter, as my Grandma used to say in her senile days, and reach for my lighter...Not in that pocket...Or that...Or that...I search all my pockets, sleeves, and finely knit orifices for the only thing that separates a lit cigarette, from a predisposed extinguished one...The flame to my torch, the sword to my sheath, the key to my pearly gates. I finally give up and toss the white pencil shaped herb stick out of my mouth. I put my hands on my head and put my head down frantically before stopping dead with a straight face and look around to make sure no one saw me melt down to myself; once again, I pay no attention to my own paranoia as I roll my shoulders and return to my stance.



3 minutes until my ride gets here, I look down the road with an impatient and unsatisfied look on my face, the kind of face I see every night that almost reminds me of my loving wife. I cross my arms as the car drives forward, rolls down the window, and tell me and the mysterious person reading the piece of paper to, as I quote "Get the F in". Me and the paper reader look almost flabbergasted at each other, shrug, and do what the man asks and "Get the F in." I open the door to the yellow and grapefruit Mazarati and take a seat. What felt like a sauna outside the car, felt like a fucking desert inside, which was ironic because the desert was on the outside? The sun was next to unbearable as I leaned forward to find my back stuck to my polyester dress shirt, a horrible feeling. I grab onto my hands and play with my thumbs, silently rehearsing my presentation; it's a presentation for two, but a presentation none the less. As I tilt my head up I realize that the man driving the car had been talking to me the entire time, I keyed in for a moment but shortly went back to my thumbs, they were breath taking, tremendous, stunning, overwhelming... I couldn't focus on anything else but my thumbs, as if they were more spectacular than anything else in this room, no...This entire world; as staggering and unpredictable and the two biggest secondary appendages that the man upstairs gave me. The car STOPS as in that instance I forget to realize that I didn't buckle my seat belt and hit my head against the back of the driver's seat. "We're here." the driver says. Flabbergasted, and slightly concussed, I open the door and stumble outside the low rider. It wasn't much of a fall, maybe a foot and some change, but it was enough to send a man packing.



I stand up and realize the size differences between me and our driver, he was massive. Not heavyset, but toned beyond all god damn recognition. He hands me a bag, I open and look inside. I drop the bag almost instantaneously as I view the contents inside. I take a few steps back... And a few steps forward to pick up the bag again. I look back up as the driver insults me and questions my powers of observation about "Never seeing one of those before." In a cocky backlash I whip my chin up, broaden my shoulders and pretend to be Brad Pitt in fight club. I take another look inside the bag, inside was a hand gun loaded to the teeth, bullets, matches, and, a roll of toilet paper. I look back up, ready to ask what the roll of toilet paper was for. But then quickly retort to myself that I knew exactly what it was for, just in case. I put the gun in my pocket and throw the rest over my shoulder into the abyss of the desert. Our driver points the way inside and gives me two masks to put on and tells us "good luck with the meeting." I follow his instructions and stick the mask on my persperating face. The man beside me ignores my gestures to put the mask on and continues to read off his paper. I don't really clue in on what he's reading, still pondering why this stranger only drove us a couple blocks to a warehouse which looks slightly less than what an established man of business would use as headquarters. I once again shrug, fasten my tie and make myself look nice, and begin walking, the man with the paper following close behind.




I approach the door; mask still equipped to face, sweating from all the roaring 110 degree weather Tijuana had to offer. I center myself and get ready to give the presentation of a lifetime to two of the wealthiest and well known men in my field, Pablo and Pedro Horatio, the founders of the fourth largest playground design corporations in American history, and I was confident I was going to seal the deal and sign a partnership with them. I pull out a cheat sheet from my breast pocket and quickly breeze through it, one note I had jotted down was that the Horatio brothers had been known for their sense of humor. I put the sheet back in my pocket, do a quick wrist exercise, and push the door open and strut in, sarcastically yelling "There's a new sheriff in*gasp* I gasped, as I noticed that I had walked into the wrong building. The doors slam behind me, making the most sneeringly inappropriate noise for the moment. I look around and see all of the cow manure eyes staring at me as the epiphany come upon me that I had obviously jumped in the wrong car.



I look down at my watch... 3 minutes until my ride gets here. I wave innocently to everyone and slowly turn around and walk back to the door. a screeching *HALT* Exits someone's mouth as I freeze in position, I turn to face the woman that had yelled this command and widen my eyes and conceal my smiling mouth as I realize it was a man who had yelled out. He struts towards me and asks, as I quote "What the F I was doing in his factory.". I take the mask our driver gave us off of my face, now covered in perspiration, and find a note inside which had slipped my mind when I put it on, I hold it close to my face as I had forgotten my reading glasses and realize it was written in Spanish. The short man grabbed the note from my hands and reads it over as I observe him. He was wearing a white fleece blazer with a salmon polyester dress shirt, which was obviously more expensive than mine, I give him a glare as I notice our differences drops the note and angrily yells something in Spanish, which I don't understand, but my face drops as I see about 25 people in the warehouse pull out a firearm and I hear a single gun shot, I duck for a second and regain myself and look around for any signs of wounds. There was nothing on me. I turn and look around and notice the man reading the piece of paper beside has been fatally shot as I run away in fear and get behind the nearest cover I can find and look at my watch. 2 minutes until my ride gets here. As the bullets fire down on....Us....I realize a box a few feet away from us, I crawl over, open it up and find a hand grenade inside. I take it, observe it for a few minutes, still hearing the gun fire being brought down upon us and blasting myself for not saving that roll of toilet paper. I remember that scene in Saving Private Ryan how they pulled the pin out of the grenade to use it, I do the same thing, stick my hand on the pin, and pull as if doing a bad dance move in a retro 90's dance club. "What now?" I ask myself as I realize my movie trivial skills only take me so far. I once again shrug, throw the grenade behind me and haul ass with the wounded man reading his paper follows behind me to the short distance to the door. I slam it open as the grenade goes off and sends a gust of air which I cover my face from shrapnel. We run over to the car we came in, open the doors and jump the hell in. I was delighted to find that our idiotic cab driver had left the keys in the ignition as I look to see that he is flirting with a woman at a taco stand.



The keys shift under the pressure of my fingers as the car starts, I place my foot on the gas pedal and turn in a 180 degree motion. I check my watch. 1 minute until my ride came. No way was some bizarre incident with a drug lord going to stop me from landing partner. I floor the gas pedal and slam on the brakes, seat belt luckily on, as we arrive where we started at the bus station, a mere block down from the warehouse. We open the doors and get out of the car, closing them behind us. I begin my walk over to my originally spot at the bus station as I feel a vibration in my pocket; I reach in and pull out my phone. It's my wife. I flip the screen open and reach for the talk button, but before my thumb gets there I realize the date it says on the screen. August third 2010....Tuesday...I put my head in my now dirty hair as I realize that I had shown up to the bus station a day early. I lie down for a therapeutic self therapy session....I don't need to check my watch. 1 day, 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 38 seconds until my ride gets here...But who’s counting?

Lefellow

March 13, 2011 at 3:18 PM PDT

Good writing and storyline. Would be easier to read if paragraphs were smaller.