The Mustang Chronicles - Day Two

(For those of you that may have missed Day One, click here to get caught up to speed.)

Day Two:

If you have a blog and a sitemeter, you have no doubt seen Mustang on your site in the middle of the night, around 0300 or so. I had often wondered why that was; on day two of my visit to Chesty Acres, I found out.

Around 3:15 AM, I was awakened to the sound of a stick hitting a garbage can. "What the hell?", I exclaimed. Mustang said, "get of that damned bunk, Mrs. Mustang cannot sleep and when that happens, I have to do grass drills until she gets tired watching me." "But what does that have to do with me?", I inquired. "If I have to do them, YOU have to do them, scumbag!!", he barked. It wasn't much of a rationale, but having a Marine colonel banging a trash can until I complied was no way to get any rest, either. So out we went.

About an hour later, Mrs. Mustang was tired. It was then I learned that if he was successful in getting her sleepy enough to go back to bed, he was allowed some computer time, and this was why he can be seen online at the earliest of morning hours.

The next morning was PT, police call, area beautification, vehicle maintenance, and breakfast (in that order). I had noticed Mustang drank a lot of coffee the entire morning and well into the afternoon, on the first day. And this day was no different.

However, there was one significant difference I DID notice: About 0900, I heard what sounded like a semi pulling up to the front of the house. Thinking that Saturdays are usually not trash pick-up days anywhere I have ever lived, I was puzzled. As I looked out front, I saw a skid of coffee being drop-shipped directly to Mustang's house. As the day wore on, I realized just how much coffee this guy can put away.

After breakfast, Mustang informed me that I had earned some recreation time at the beach. At least that was the plan.

During the morning TI inspection of the vehicle, it was noted that one of the tires was low. So off to the dealership we went. Once there, we looked around the showroom at some new cars while we were waiting and fended off several salespeople trying to sell us cars, in the interim. It was during this time where Mustang managed to turn the entire sales staff against me based on my preference for NFL teams. Getting 10-15 Jacksonville Jaguar fans (and one transplanted New England Patriot fan) angry at a Colts fan is not hard to do, especially after they found out I was not shopping for a car.

One by one, they would shake our hands and introduce themselves. Mustang would then say, "This is my friend LA, he is from Indianapolis and is an avid Colts fan." One by one their faces would turn sour and they would then say things that would indicate my parents were never married, my mother was an extremely temperamental woman, or that I had an unusual affinity for matriarchs of the family. Or any combination thereof.

After the tire was fixed and it was revealed that it was a nail which caused the low air pressure in the tire, naturally I had to hear for the next three hours how it was my fault that he picked up the nail. Had he not had to pick me up at the airport, it never would have happened. Ergo, I should feel ashamed of myself and should forever be indebted to him.

On the way to the beach, Mustang finally stopped blaming me for the nail long enough to inform me that before we got to the beach, he was going to stop at the Base Exchange and Commissary, at one of the Air Force Bases along the way. I enjoyed it. I got to look at countless bargain priced items that I was not authorized to buy. One such item was a state-of-the-art HD TV set.

He tried to get me to buy it and said he would buy it for me, if I would give him the money. Naturally, I had to explain that I couldn't get it into my luggage to get it home. "No problem", he said. "I will keep it for you, until you can come and get it later". I had to explain to him that I wouldn't be able to drive down anytime soon, but he kept pressuring. Finally, he gave up after calling me an "ungrateful little puke" and "a cheap bastard".

Just outside the Air Force Base, we stopped at a quaint little beach. It was good to smell the salt water air. As I shot some pictures, I noticed Mustang talking to a girl in a bikini, standing next to her ten-foot tall boyfriend. Everything went fuzzy after that.

When I pieced the events together later, I discovered that he had told the girl I wanted to take a picture of her. Naturally, she was flattered. Naturally, the boyfriend was not.

The last thing I remembered was seeing the boyfriend charge at me like an angry rhino, with Mustang smirking in the distance. After I came to, we resumed our journey up the coast.

As we approached Cocoa Beach, he went into this speech about how classy of a community it was. "Rich bastards live here", he would often say. And all the time he would be saying it, the most envious look would come over his face. "LA", he said at one point, "someday maybe even you can attain such classy status and live here in a beachfront town like this." It was at that point in time when I noticed a guy relieving himself on the wall that surrounded a million dollar home.

I tried to take a picture of it, but Mustang wouldn't slow the car down long enough. He said we have already wasted enough time because of me, and he didn't need me taking photos that could get him sued later.

Our last destination was a steakhouse. After a nice dinner and trying to ruin a new shirt with A1 Steak Sauce, we headed back to Chesty Acres. Once there, Mustang started to feel guilty about irritating the boyfriend of that girl. "No grass drills tonight LA", he said. "Tonight is Saturday night and Mrs. Mustang lets me watch a movie if I have been a good Marine", he went on to say. So we watched a movie, taps was played, the Marine prayer was recited, and all lights were extinguished.

What a day.


Next Friday: Day Three