Based on a true story.
My cellphone rings one evening recently, while working on a post.
LA: Hello.
Mustang: Hey buddy, how's it going?
LA: Hey, what's up?
M: I am glad you asked that, because I have been thinking and I wanna run something by you, something I have have really been thinking about. Now just hear me out, okay?
LA: Okay.
M: Now like I said, just hear me out because there's a lot to this and I want you to get the entire picture of what I want to try and sell, er....uh, I mean I want to persuade you to....well not really persuade either, but here's the thing......
LA: Alright, out with it.
M: I am glad you are showing some interest in this. Okay. You have a daughter right?
LA: Yes.
M: Well you see I have been thinking.....
LA: Okay Mustang, you have said this already. Let's have it. Out with it.
M: I was wondering.... since your daughter isn't married, and neither is my 38 year old son....What I mean to say is....How about we fix them up? What better way for us to become closer....in fact, we would be family. What do you say?
LA: What does you son say about all of this, have you even asked him?
M: No problem... he'll do what I say. I tell him what to do. He'll listen to me.
LA: Well.....okay...but there's this problem. You don't know my daughter very well. She has an independent streak just like her mother (the ex- Mrs Sunsett) and I doubt she would like it very well if she knew I trying to fix her up with someone. In fact....if there is someone I didn't want her to marry, the best way to put the kibosh on something like that would be to suggest that I think someone is a nice guy. She's guaranteed to run, if she thinks I think this is a good idea. You know?
M: But...but...
LA: Now wait a minute, before you start your stammering and stuttering tap dance, just listen to me a second. There is a great distance between them. Your son lives down in Florida with you and my daughter lives here in Indy, not with me but still...I mean there is no way for them get to know each other if they are so far apart.
M: I can have him there first thing in the morning. What time can you pick him up at the airport?
LA: Stop. Wait. Time out here....what the hell....?
M: Now I know what you are thinking, LA. But think of this....we will be family.
LA: I know. You said that already. Do you hear what you are saying right now?
M: Yes. Yes I do. Like I said I can have him on a plane to Indy within a few hours and if you want, I will even give him taxi money to your house, so you won't even have to go to the airport.
LA: (Big Sigh) You are not getting this, are you? I just can't....
M: (Moves head away from phone to speak to someone in the distance) Honey..... he's not buying any of this.
(Garbled Female Voice In Background)
M: Now you have done it. She's mad at me, because I promised her that you would be a stand up guy and help facilitate this. You came down here, ate our food, slept in our spare bedroom, used our electricity, and breathed our air. You little ungrateful bastard, I hope you get a rash.
(Click...Dial tone)
I look at the clock.
Yes. It's way past suppertime, when sundowners kicks in.
Next Morning.
Phone rings.
LA: Hello
Mustang (Like nothing ever happened): Hey buddy, did you see my post today?
LA: No. It just so happens I am at the computer right now, let me check it out.
I click into Social Sense. This was the post.
Showing posts with label The Mustang Chronicles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Mustang Chronicles. Show all posts
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Friday, December 12, 2008
The Mustang Chronicles - Day Four (The Final Day)
(If you missed them, you can read all of them here: Day One, Two, Three.)
Day Four-The Final Day
As you have probably surmised by now, I was awakened to the trash can and stick routine once again. Mustang said he couldn't sleep and sure enough there he stood, full ruck sack, steel pot helmet. In a tee-shirt, boxer shorts, and knee-high dress socks.
He said he wanted to tell me how much he enjoyed have someone to order around, just like it was in the days when he was a battalion commander in the U.S. Marine Corps. He said the "appreciated the loyalty and devotion" that I had showed him the day before, when he made his 25 or more scenes at Epcot. He further stated, "I could have never avoided arrest so many times in a such a public place, had you not been there to think of these schemes to hide from security" "You are brilliant, I tell you."
I tried to say that was okay, that's what friends are for, and all of the other things one would say to get him to shut up so I could get some more sleep. But it was to no avail. He just kept going over the same things over and over again. So, I performed a mini-mental status exam on him (name, date, location, President of the US). When I completed it, I came to the conclusion that he was sleep walking. Once I was able to make this determination free from any prejudicial bias, I realized the best way to handle this situation.
I pointed him toward the master quarters, informing him the alert had been canceled, and we could talk about the training schedule more in detail after morning formation. That seemed to do the trick for the moment.
Later in the morning, he came into my room and asked, "Why is my ruck sack packed, was there an alert you didn't tell me about?" I assured him that was not the case. His comeback to that one, was not totally unexpected. "That's biggest bunch of crap, I have ever heard, LA!!", he bellowed. "At the very least, you could try to be creative when you are trying to blow smoke at me; you could try to give me a BS excuse I have never heard, and you know, make a little interesting!!", he went on. "Is that too much to ask for someone who has gone to such lengths to entertain you, and show you a good time?"
At that point in time, the conversation shifted back to me and my disloyalty. "LA", he said, "you have dishonored yourself and the platoon." "For that", he further went on, "you are hear by ordered to cut the grass, before I take you back to the airport today." So I skipped breakfast and got started. I cut the lawn, trimmed the hedges, edged the grass, and planted flowers. And I did it, in two hours.
With some time left before we were due to start out for the airport, he allowed me one more pass into town to buy souvenirs. The shops were not very busy, but trying to find things for people who have everything isn't particularly easy, when you go to do it. You can think about what this person would like and so forth. But when it comes time to actually do it, it's a challenge. Put that with having to get whatever you buy into a suitcase, and you can see the dilemma I faced.
But not to worry, Mustang was going to take care of that.
He was in such a hurry. He pressed me at every turn. I tried to haggle with the clerks a little for some things, but he just kept telling them how loaded I was and what a cheap bastard I was. Naturally, the stories about my poor old grandmother needing a tee-shirt with a grandma on a jet ski for 30% off, were successfully subverted by him when he intervened. So I told him to take me to the airport and I would shop for souvenirs while waiting for my flight. Never mind that I would pay 75% more for what I could get in this little town, I just had to get out from the micromanaging thumb of a retired Marine officer that had no authority anymore.
It was at that point that I realized I was nothing more than someone he could boss around, because the Mrs. had stripped him of his rank after his retirement. I came to an additional conclusion: Some of his edginess was due his inability to separate appropriately.
Naturally, when I had this epiphany, I started to feel a little sorry for him. But just as I had come to this moment of catharsis, we pulled up to the terminal. and that sorry feeling I had, disappeared quickly.
Mustang was out of the vehicle first, with my luggage in his hands. And before I could get my seat belt off, he had my bags checked in. By the time I was completely out of the vehicle, he threw my baggage claim check and boarding pass at me and he re-entered his vehicle, in a flash of a second. He then, threw it into gear and peeled off with tires screeching. As drove off out of sight, I heard him yell out his window at me one last time, "LA, you are one selfish bastard and I hope you get a rash".
Hurt and disgusted, I bought some souvenirs, boarded the plane, and started my journey home. On the flight, I was so tired, I fell asleep. When I awakened, I found myself in my own bed, with the alarm going off. I hadn't been to Florida yet!!! I still had a plane to catch!!!
So, I threw the remaining things together, turned the house alarm on, and headed for the airport to catch a plane that was to take me to a visit with my friend. Off to Florida, was I.
And I have to say that after all of this silliness we have written the past four weeks, I could not have asked for two better hosts, the entire time. In fact, I count both Mr. and Mrs. Mustang as two of the finest people I have ever known in my life. Their hospitality was unmatched by anyone. The food was great and the company was even better. The sights of Florida were as I remembered them and the weather was outstanding.
So after all is said and done, I have to say the entire trip went way too fast. And as I left the truck for my return trip, I did tell Mustang I would not be back to visit next year. He looked confused and naturally he asked why? I told him that was because Mrs. Sunsett and I would be moving in with him, after the first of the year.
Day Four-The Final Day
As you have probably surmised by now, I was awakened to the trash can and stick routine once again. Mustang said he couldn't sleep and sure enough there he stood, full ruck sack, steel pot helmet. In a tee-shirt, boxer shorts, and knee-high dress socks.
He said he wanted to tell me how much he enjoyed have someone to order around, just like it was in the days when he was a battalion commander in the U.S. Marine Corps. He said the "appreciated the loyalty and devotion" that I had showed him the day before, when he made his 25 or more scenes at Epcot. He further stated, "I could have never avoided arrest so many times in a such a public place, had you not been there to think of these schemes to hide from security" "You are brilliant, I tell you."
I tried to say that was okay, that's what friends are for, and all of the other things one would say to get him to shut up so I could get some more sleep. But it was to no avail. He just kept going over the same things over and over again. So, I performed a mini-mental status exam on him (name, date, location, President of the US). When I completed it, I came to the conclusion that he was sleep walking. Once I was able to make this determination free from any prejudicial bias, I realized the best way to handle this situation.
I pointed him toward the master quarters, informing him the alert had been canceled, and we could talk about the training schedule more in detail after morning formation. That seemed to do the trick for the moment.
Later in the morning, he came into my room and asked, "Why is my ruck sack packed, was there an alert you didn't tell me about?" I assured him that was not the case. His comeback to that one, was not totally unexpected. "That's biggest bunch of crap, I have ever heard, LA!!", he bellowed. "At the very least, you could try to be creative when you are trying to blow smoke at me; you could try to give me a BS excuse I have never heard, and you know, make a little interesting!!", he went on. "Is that too much to ask for someone who has gone to such lengths to entertain you, and show you a good time?"
At that point in time, the conversation shifted back to me and my disloyalty. "LA", he said, "you have dishonored yourself and the platoon." "For that", he further went on, "you are hear by ordered to cut the grass, before I take you back to the airport today." So I skipped breakfast and got started. I cut the lawn, trimmed the hedges, edged the grass, and planted flowers. And I did it, in two hours.
With some time left before we were due to start out for the airport, he allowed me one more pass into town to buy souvenirs. The shops were not very busy, but trying to find things for people who have everything isn't particularly easy, when you go to do it. You can think about what this person would like and so forth. But when it comes time to actually do it, it's a challenge. Put that with having to get whatever you buy into a suitcase, and you can see the dilemma I faced.
But not to worry, Mustang was going to take care of that.
He was in such a hurry. He pressed me at every turn. I tried to haggle with the clerks a little for some things, but he just kept telling them how loaded I was and what a cheap bastard I was. Naturally, the stories about my poor old grandmother needing a tee-shirt with a grandma on a jet ski for 30% off, were successfully subverted by him when he intervened. So I told him to take me to the airport and I would shop for souvenirs while waiting for my flight. Never mind that I would pay 75% more for what I could get in this little town, I just had to get out from the micromanaging thumb of a retired Marine officer that had no authority anymore.
It was at that point that I realized I was nothing more than someone he could boss around, because the Mrs. had stripped him of his rank after his retirement. I came to an additional conclusion: Some of his edginess was due his inability to separate appropriately.
Naturally, when I had this epiphany, I started to feel a little sorry for him. But just as I had come to this moment of catharsis, we pulled up to the terminal. and that sorry feeling I had, disappeared quickly.
Mustang was out of the vehicle first, with my luggage in his hands. And before I could get my seat belt off, he had my bags checked in. By the time I was completely out of the vehicle, he threw my baggage claim check and boarding pass at me and he re-entered his vehicle, in a flash of a second. He then, threw it into gear and peeled off with tires screeching. As drove off out of sight, I heard him yell out his window at me one last time, "LA, you are one selfish bastard and I hope you get a rash".
Hurt and disgusted, I bought some souvenirs, boarded the plane, and started my journey home. On the flight, I was so tired, I fell asleep. When I awakened, I found myself in my own bed, with the alarm going off. I hadn't been to Florida yet!!! I still had a plane to catch!!!
So, I threw the remaining things together, turned the house alarm on, and headed for the airport to catch a plane that was to take me to a visit with my friend. Off to Florida, was I.
And I have to say that after all of this silliness we have written the past four weeks, I could not have asked for two better hosts, the entire time. In fact, I count both Mr. and Mrs. Mustang as two of the finest people I have ever known in my life. Their hospitality was unmatched by anyone. The food was great and the company was even better. The sights of Florida were as I remembered them and the weather was outstanding.
So after all is said and done, I have to say the entire trip went way too fast. And as I left the truck for my return trip, I did tell Mustang I would not be back to visit next year. He looked confused and naturally he asked why? I told him that was because Mrs. Sunsett and I would be moving in with him, after the first of the year.
Friday, December 05, 2008
The Mustang Chronicles - Day Three
(If you missed the first two installments of this series, you can read Day One and Day Two, to see how we got to this point.)
Day Three:
All night long of my second night in Chesty Acres, I would wake up thinking I would soon be hearing the sound of a stick hitting a trash can. Tossing and turning, thinking it would come at any moment, it was enough to set one's nerves on edge. But Mustang allowed me to sleep in on Sunday morning, for the "trash can version" of reveille did not come until 0530. "No PT this morning", he said in a authoritarian tone. "But it is my duty to inform you that formation is at 0800, now go back to sleep maggot", he further related.
Breakfast was stellar, as were all of the meals provided by Mrs. Mustang. Towards the end of the meal, Mustang began throwing food at one of the dogs. "Watch this", he would say. Then, he would flick a piece of bacon at the little pooch.
The first two throws were drops that evidently he thought she should have caught. I only say this, because after the second incomplete pass, he began to threaten the little dog with grass drills until she collapsed if she didn't get with the program. Never mind the throws were wide on his part, he had her thinking it was all her fault (which was pattern I had noticed long ago, by now). The third toss was every bit as wide to the right, but the little dog dove for it and caught it, keeping both feet in bounds. The poor thing limped the rest of the day after that, just to please her unreasonable master. How utterly devoted she must be.
But today was special. Today was the day, we would be traveling to Epcot and our plans were soon turned in that direction.
As we hit the road, Mustang had a map printed from Yahoo Maps, along with detailed instructions in English (his first language). At one point about 30 minutes into the drive on a pleasant sunny day, he requested that I look at the map to see how far we were from a certain exit. When all was said and done, he determined that I had caused us to miss that exit. I was then duly informed that I would pay for it later, under the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Mustang Justice).
Once at Epcot, the massive parking lots were nearly empty. This ensured we would get a parking space close to the entrance. In most instances, this would have been a plus and most people would have thought we were lucky. But not Mustang.
He thought we should have been closer. And in his mind, we would have been closer had I not gotten us lost in the state he lives in (and one I had not been in for 25 years). It was at that point, I was made to do ten laps around the massive parking lot and if that wasn't enough, I then had to run alongside the tram that took us up to the main entrance, while he rode in luxury, singing cadence not meant for children's ears.
As we were being admitted, there was a point where we had to place our finger on a sensor that allowed it to copy the image of out fingerprint (so no one can use our ticket if we lost it). It was at this point, Mustang began to object and he did it, to the level of making a scene. He began calling the poor saps that ran the entrance, "communist heathen" and ranting at such a high rate of speed like the first day of basic training, where there are no less than 15 DIs running around like madmen at any given moment. About the time I saw security dashing to our location, there was the sound of a car backfiring in the parking lot. Their attention was then diverted to the direction of the sound and we were able to walk right in, unnoticed.
Once in, the sounds of babies and toddlers screaming and throwing hissy fits filled the air. Mustang suddenly became happy. At this time, I mustered up enough courage to ask Mustang, "what part of a screaming kid makes you happy?" He then beamed, as he calmly gave me his answer. "LA", he said, "these parents and grandparents have just shelled out tons of money for these little ungrateful snerts and Mickey Mouse is not making them a damned bit happy. It serves them all right."
But his glee at the crying children soon turned to that of bitterness and resentment.
He just had to have his coffee, so he stood in line for 30 minutes for a cup of Epcot's best, and a pastry. I had always pegged Mustang as very pragmatic and frugal; but as he shelled out $50 for the request, he started a ruckus. I think the whole thing got started when he called them a bunch of over-priced pansies and telling them Dunkin' Donuts was a better value for the money. It was at that moment when I saw a another rag-tag group of security personnel running toward our location. and I have to say that the skinny one looked like Barney Fife, from a distance.
We took off for the International Village hoping to blend in.
Just across the bridge we turned left. Not long after that, we ran across a photographer from Spain that said he was waiting for Daffy Duck to arrive for a photo shoot with kids. Immediately, once this information was communicated to us, Mustang kicked into gear.
He began to interrogate him about some bombing in Madrid that happened in the 80s, one that was widely attributed to the ETA - a Basque Separatist terror organization. The questions were sharp, pointed, and in staccato (rapid-fire) form. "Where were you when this happened, you miserable little worm?", Mustang screamed. The poor guy, he just quivered and said, "Probably pooping in my diapers, sir. I was just a baby, when that happened!!", he said as he pleaded his case.
At this point, something was beginning to smell funny. And as our countenances began to take on sour looks, the poor guy further shared some more disturbing information with us. "See? I just did it again!!!", his timid voice revealed. By now, I knew this wasn't good; I could hear the footsteps of the crack Epcot Security Staff running toward us again. So, I grabbed Mustang and we made a beeline for the Mexican section. Luckily, it was a sanctuary area. We posed as Mexicans and pulled it off with sombreros on our head and sure enough, it worked. The Three Stooges and Barney Fife ran right past us.
Naturally, the entire scene that had just transpired was my fault and was told it was, ad nauseum. As we came upon the Norwegian part of the park, he spotted a viking ship. After forcing me to scrape about half of the barnacles off of the hull, the security forces were again summoned and spotted about about 200 meters away. So we sprinted toward the Chinese section.
Once inside, we noticed some very realistic replicas of ancient Chinese warriors in a military formation. This is the moment he flashed back to teacher mode, as he began to teach a lesson in Chinese art. "Look at them all, LA.", he said. "They were soldiers, the artists were talented and gifted. Look at their faces, there are no two alike. They are all different", he went on. "What about these two here on the corner?", I asked (pointing to two that looked exactly alike).
That's where he slipped back into Marine mode. "You dumbass!!!", his voice echoed throughout the temple replica. "Are you telling me you don't believe Chinese people can have twins?" After fifty push-ups with Mustang counting cadence slowly, I heard the "Keystone Cops" were on their way toward us, so it was time to scram again.
After we slipped out of a side entrance, undetected, we headed toward the German section. Having been stationed in Germany for two years, I was naturally drawn to the area. However, little did I know that I was soon to be embarrassed again.
In one of the German shops, Mustang picked up a teddy bear and noted that the tag was labeled with the words, "Made In China". He then began to show many of the customers that came near us. Many of them rounded their kids up and left immediately telling their kids, reminding them, about the time they had warned them about mean people. He got one old lady so worked up about how the the Chinese owned this shop, were disguising themselves as Germans, and that Black Forest Cuckoo Clock she had just purchased, was a fake. So once again, a familiar scene was about to occur. I heard one of the clerks in the shop place a call to security and that's all it took for me. Once again, it was time to go into escape and evasion status.
On the way out, I was able to strike up a little bit of a conversation with a young German girl who was working at a stand that was selling Spaten on tap. I said, "Eine Spaten bitte". It was then, when he accused me of saying bad things about him in German and flirting with someone half my age. He also wanted to know why I wouldn't buy him a $12 beer. So I reminded him of the 900,000 or so toasts he made when we drank the Chesty beer, and explained that Spaten has more alcohol in it. I further stated that I didn't want this to happen here in front of so many people. I saw his blood was beginning to boil, but by now, there was a photo of both of us being circulated and they were getting close to us.
So once again, it was life on the run with security hot on our tails. Off we went to the Moroccan section, where we lost them on the streets of Casablanca by wearing turbans and shouting "Death To America". They ran right past us like it was not unusual to see such a thing and it was off to the French section.
After ridiculing a short petit male French clerk in one of the shops (for being a disgrace to the spirit of Napoleon's empire), we found our way into a parfums shop. He was going to buy Mrs. Mustang a gift, in order to "make it up to her" for allowing me to visit them. But things got testy soon after we entered. After he narrowed his choices to two, he asked me which one I thought smelled better. I couldn't decide, so he banished me to outside the shop, while he purchased both.
Across the bridge was the British section. Following the sound of music I could hear in the distance, I was led to an area where a Beatles cover band was playing. I was amazed at how much they looked and sounded like those they were honoring. I guess I got caught up in the moment, because when I turned around, Mustang was nowhere to be found. I looked up and down the entire British section. Nothing. I went from shop to shop, eatery to eatery. Still nothing.
Finally, I decided I would try to find him elsewhere and began to leave little Britain. But before I could get out of it and into the Canadian section, I happened to see a crowd of people in line with lots of kids and cameras. As I scanned the long line, there he was about halfway through, drooling and ogling some lady that stood at the front of the line.
When I asked him what was going on, he said, "Look how classy that woman looks, LA. Look how she holds herself. I want my picture taken with her, but I want you to take it and send it to me secretly, so Mrs. Mustang doesn't make me do a 12-mile forced road march if she finds it." But when they told him he was too old to have his picture taken with Mary Poppins, another argument broke out and security was once again called.
By now, we were getting tired of the running and decided to head back to Chesty Acres, where Mrs. Mustang was preparing a pot roast. Once the muster formation was underway, a head count was performed, and we ate another delicious meal that was made by a woman - who I will be nominating for sainthood, after her days on this earth are through.
Since Mustang is not an NFL fan, there was no sense in suggesting we watch Sunday Night Football. So, we watched The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, which would not have been too bad of a way to spend a Sunday evening, except Mustang kept telling us how he would have handled every challenge that Sinbad faced, in almost every scene. He finally stopped when Mrs. Mustang threatened him with not getting any chocolate cake.
After the movie, taps was played, the Marine prayer recited, and all lights were extinguished. The end of another day was finally here.
What a day.
Next Friday: Day Four-The Final Day
Day Three:
All night long of my second night in Chesty Acres, I would wake up thinking I would soon be hearing the sound of a stick hitting a trash can. Tossing and turning, thinking it would come at any moment, it was enough to set one's nerves on edge. But Mustang allowed me to sleep in on Sunday morning, for the "trash can version" of reveille did not come until 0530. "No PT this morning", he said in a authoritarian tone. "But it is my duty to inform you that formation is at 0800, now go back to sleep maggot", he further related.
Breakfast was stellar, as were all of the meals provided by Mrs. Mustang. Towards the end of the meal, Mustang began throwing food at one of the dogs. "Watch this", he would say. Then, he would flick a piece of bacon at the little pooch.
The first two throws were drops that evidently he thought she should have caught. I only say this, because after the second incomplete pass, he began to threaten the little dog with grass drills until she collapsed if she didn't get with the program. Never mind the throws were wide on his part, he had her thinking it was all her fault (which was pattern I had noticed long ago, by now). The third toss was every bit as wide to the right, but the little dog dove for it and caught it, keeping both feet in bounds. The poor thing limped the rest of the day after that, just to please her unreasonable master. How utterly devoted she must be.
But today was special. Today was the day, we would be traveling to Epcot and our plans were soon turned in that direction.
As we hit the road, Mustang had a map printed from Yahoo Maps, along with detailed instructions in English (his first language). At one point about 30 minutes into the drive on a pleasant sunny day, he requested that I look at the map to see how far we were from a certain exit. When all was said and done, he determined that I had caused us to miss that exit. I was then duly informed that I would pay for it later, under the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Mustang Justice).
Once at Epcot, the massive parking lots were nearly empty. This ensured we would get a parking space close to the entrance. In most instances, this would have been a plus and most people would have thought we were lucky. But not Mustang.
He thought we should have been closer. And in his mind, we would have been closer had I not gotten us lost in the state he lives in (and one I had not been in for 25 years). It was at that point, I was made to do ten laps around the massive parking lot and if that wasn't enough, I then had to run alongside the tram that took us up to the main entrance, while he rode in luxury, singing cadence not meant for children's ears.
As we were being admitted, there was a point where we had to place our finger on a sensor that allowed it to copy the image of out fingerprint (so no one can use our ticket if we lost it). It was at this point, Mustang began to object and he did it, to the level of making a scene. He began calling the poor saps that ran the entrance, "communist heathen" and ranting at such a high rate of speed like the first day of basic training, where there are no less than 15 DIs running around like madmen at any given moment. About the time I saw security dashing to our location, there was the sound of a car backfiring in the parking lot. Their attention was then diverted to the direction of the sound and we were able to walk right in, unnoticed.
Once in, the sounds of babies and toddlers screaming and throwing hissy fits filled the air. Mustang suddenly became happy. At this time, I mustered up enough courage to ask Mustang, "what part of a screaming kid makes you happy?" He then beamed, as he calmly gave me his answer. "LA", he said, "these parents and grandparents have just shelled out tons of money for these little ungrateful snerts and Mickey Mouse is not making them a damned bit happy. It serves them all right."
But his glee at the crying children soon turned to that of bitterness and resentment.
He just had to have his coffee, so he stood in line for 30 minutes for a cup of Epcot's best, and a pastry. I had always pegged Mustang as very pragmatic and frugal; but as he shelled out $50 for the request, he started a ruckus. I think the whole thing got started when he called them a bunch of over-priced pansies and telling them Dunkin' Donuts was a better value for the money. It was at that moment when I saw a another rag-tag group of security personnel running toward our location. and I have to say that the skinny one looked like Barney Fife, from a distance.
We took off for the International Village hoping to blend in.
Just across the bridge we turned left. Not long after that, we ran across a photographer from Spain that said he was waiting for Daffy Duck to arrive for a photo shoot with kids. Immediately, once this information was communicated to us, Mustang kicked into gear.
He began to interrogate him about some bombing in Madrid that happened in the 80s, one that was widely attributed to the ETA - a Basque Separatist terror organization. The questions were sharp, pointed, and in staccato (rapid-fire) form. "Where were you when this happened, you miserable little worm?", Mustang screamed. The poor guy, he just quivered and said, "Probably pooping in my diapers, sir. I was just a baby, when that happened!!", he said as he pleaded his case.
At this point, something was beginning to smell funny. And as our countenances began to take on sour looks, the poor guy further shared some more disturbing information with us. "See? I just did it again!!!", his timid voice revealed. By now, I knew this wasn't good; I could hear the footsteps of the crack Epcot Security Staff running toward us again. So, I grabbed Mustang and we made a beeline for the Mexican section. Luckily, it was a sanctuary area. We posed as Mexicans and pulled it off with sombreros on our head and sure enough, it worked. The Three Stooges and Barney Fife ran right past us.
Naturally, the entire scene that had just transpired was my fault and was told it was, ad nauseum. As we came upon the Norwegian part of the park, he spotted a viking ship. After forcing me to scrape about half of the barnacles off of the hull, the security forces were again summoned and spotted about about 200 meters away. So we sprinted toward the Chinese section.
Once inside, we noticed some very realistic replicas of ancient Chinese warriors in a military formation. This is the moment he flashed back to teacher mode, as he began to teach a lesson in Chinese art. "Look at them all, LA.", he said. "They were soldiers, the artists were talented and gifted. Look at their faces, there are no two alike. They are all different", he went on. "What about these two here on the corner?", I asked (pointing to two that looked exactly alike).
That's where he slipped back into Marine mode. "You dumbass!!!", his voice echoed throughout the temple replica. "Are you telling me you don't believe Chinese people can have twins?" After fifty push-ups with Mustang counting cadence slowly, I heard the "Keystone Cops" were on their way toward us, so it was time to scram again.
After we slipped out of a side entrance, undetected, we headed toward the German section. Having been stationed in Germany for two years, I was naturally drawn to the area. However, little did I know that I was soon to be embarrassed again.
In one of the German shops, Mustang picked up a teddy bear and noted that the tag was labeled with the words, "Made In China". He then began to show many of the customers that came near us. Many of them rounded their kids up and left immediately telling their kids, reminding them, about the time they had warned them about mean people. He got one old lady so worked up about how the the Chinese owned this shop, were disguising themselves as Germans, and that Black Forest Cuckoo Clock she had just purchased, was a fake. So once again, a familiar scene was about to occur. I heard one of the clerks in the shop place a call to security and that's all it took for me. Once again, it was time to go into escape and evasion status.
On the way out, I was able to strike up a little bit of a conversation with a young German girl who was working at a stand that was selling Spaten on tap. I said, "Eine Spaten bitte". It was then, when he accused me of saying bad things about him in German and flirting with someone half my age. He also wanted to know why I wouldn't buy him a $12 beer. So I reminded him of the 900,000 or so toasts he made when we drank the Chesty beer, and explained that Spaten has more alcohol in it. I further stated that I didn't want this to happen here in front of so many people. I saw his blood was beginning to boil, but by now, there was a photo of both of us being circulated and they were getting close to us.
So once again, it was life on the run with security hot on our tails. Off we went to the Moroccan section, where we lost them on the streets of Casablanca by wearing turbans and shouting "Death To America". They ran right past us like it was not unusual to see such a thing and it was off to the French section.
After ridiculing a short petit male French clerk in one of the shops (for being a disgrace to the spirit of Napoleon's empire), we found our way into a parfums shop. He was going to buy Mrs. Mustang a gift, in order to "make it up to her" for allowing me to visit them. But things got testy soon after we entered. After he narrowed his choices to two, he asked me which one I thought smelled better. I couldn't decide, so he banished me to outside the shop, while he purchased both.
Across the bridge was the British section. Following the sound of music I could hear in the distance, I was led to an area where a Beatles cover band was playing. I was amazed at how much they looked and sounded like those they were honoring. I guess I got caught up in the moment, because when I turned around, Mustang was nowhere to be found. I looked up and down the entire British section. Nothing. I went from shop to shop, eatery to eatery. Still nothing.
Finally, I decided I would try to find him elsewhere and began to leave little Britain. But before I could get out of it and into the Canadian section, I happened to see a crowd of people in line with lots of kids and cameras. As I scanned the long line, there he was about halfway through, drooling and ogling some lady that stood at the front of the line.
When I asked him what was going on, he said, "Look how classy that woman looks, LA. Look how she holds herself. I want my picture taken with her, but I want you to take it and send it to me secretly, so Mrs. Mustang doesn't make me do a 12-mile forced road march if she finds it." But when they told him he was too old to have his picture taken with Mary Poppins, another argument broke out and security was once again called.
By now, we were getting tired of the running and decided to head back to Chesty Acres, where Mrs. Mustang was preparing a pot roast. Once the muster formation was underway, a head count was performed, and we ate another delicious meal that was made by a woman - who I will be nominating for sainthood, after her days on this earth are through.
Since Mustang is not an NFL fan, there was no sense in suggesting we watch Sunday Night Football. So, we watched The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, which would not have been too bad of a way to spend a Sunday evening, except Mustang kept telling us how he would have handled every challenge that Sinbad faced, in almost every scene. He finally stopped when Mrs. Mustang threatened him with not getting any chocolate cake.
After the movie, taps was played, the Marine prayer recited, and all lights were extinguished. The end of another day was finally here.
What a day.
Next Friday: Day Four-The Final Day
Friday, November 28, 2008
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
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
Friday, November 21, 2008
The Mustang Chronicles - Day One
When one flies to see a friend using a major airline carrier, under normal circumstances, you would likely expect the person to fly into the closest international airport. Seems like common sense, right? It becomes even more likely, when you e-mail the flight itinerary to the friend well in advance so they have the information at their immediate disposal. But such was not the case on my journey to meet the prolific blogger, also known as, Mustang.
After arrival at the airport, you can imagine my surprise at having no one to greet me. I searched and searched, but to no avail. After asking countless airport workers and TSA agents if they had seen a fierce looking retired Marine watching the gates for an arrival, I began to wonder if this was a set-up.
“Come on down anytime“, he would often say. For years, I didn’t have the opportunity. But now with airfares at a peak season low, how could I resist? So after my long and exasperating search, a certain reality was starting to set in: There was a good chance this was just another sick game the man we know as Mustang, was trying to play. I even wondered if he had been watching undercover, from a distance, to get some cheap kick out of watching an out-of-towner look frustrated.
After a few hours had passed and I had smoked about a half of a pack of cigarettes, I was sitting on a bench in front of this huge international airport, staring at my shoes and wondering just what the hell I was going to do. Slated for a four-day visit in a city where I only knew him, with no car, no hotel reservations, and no idea how I could have fallen for such a sadistic prank, I was beginning to feel pretty low. Little did I know that it was then, the nightmare was about to begin.
As I stared at my shoes feeling sorry for myself, a pair of spit shined sneakers came into my line of sight in front of me. I started to slowly look upward, but before I could lift my head very high, the theme song from The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly began to play in the distance. When I finally made eye contact with this tall menacing looking figure that was in front of me, he said, “Are you LA Sunset?” “Yes sir”, I replied. But before I could say anything else, he barked out in a commanding voice, “On your feet, scumbag!” He then proceeded to chew me out royally in front of hundreds of other poor saps, who were waiting for their rides to pick them up.
He went on to say, “I just spent hours waiting at the General Aviation Airport near my ranch, and your sorry ass wasn’t there!” I tried to ask him if he had received the itinerary via e-mail, but he went into this thing about how only sissies flew on luxury airliners, so I figured it was not a good time to try to reason with him and certainly not the time tell him how I upgraded to business class for only $69.
After the dress down in front of a now gathering crowd, he forced me to double-time with my luggage in my hands to his vehicle, while he sang risqué cadence not suitable for children. I was dropped twice for push-ups, because I wasn’t sounding off loud enough (but that’s not important, now).
Once we were on the road, he began to tell me how I was about to enter the world of a Marine and that I would not be permitted to do anything, without earning the privilege. He further stated that he didn’t want to hear any soft, Army stories. He reminded me that Army stood for “Ain’t Ready to be Marines, Yet". Once we got to the Mustang Grapefruit Farm and Alligator Ranch (Chesty Acres), I figured things would settle down some. But that was just wishful thinking on my part.
On arrival, he showed me to my quarters. Once I placed by luggage down, I turned around only to find Mustang with a toothbrush in his hand. I told him I had a toothbrush and thanked him anyway. But apparently, I had miscalculated the intended objective of this exercise. It was at that time, he gave me one of the famous Mustang glares and said, “It’s not for your mouth, scumbag. It’s for you to clean the latrine.” And then he went into another long speech about how that would be the last time, he would ever use the word, latrine. Henceforth, we would use Marine terms and the proper noun for it would be, “the head”.
Hours later after “the head” had finally passed inspection, he started to lay down more rules. “If you are tempted to try and flee the compound, it will be futile”, he exclaimed. “In addition to thousands of bears, there are many lakes around here that are home to millions of alligators, which eat Yankees for a living,” he forcefully warned. It was at that time he drove me around to view some of these lakes. Sure enough, the gators were there and salivating as we drove past. I didn’t see any bears, but Mustang simply observed, “They’re experts in camouflage, maggot.”
As the evening came, it was a welcome sight. I was totally spent and dead beat tired, so naturally I requested permission to prepare for "Taps". Initially, it was denied because Mustang said “We ain’t had our beer ration, yet.” So, for the next two hours, we drank a beer imported from the nearest Marine Corps PX called “Chesty Beer.” Mustang made a toast to every Marine who ever served in combat.
After six, or eight, or ten of these, Mrs. Mustang finally decided that enough was enough and signaled lights out. I was very grateful. "Taps" was played, the Marine prayer was recited, and all lights were extinguished.
What a day.
Next Friday: Day Two
After arrival at the airport, you can imagine my surprise at having no one to greet me. I searched and searched, but to no avail. After asking countless airport workers and TSA agents if they had seen a fierce looking retired Marine watching the gates for an arrival, I began to wonder if this was a set-up.
“Come on down anytime“, he would often say. For years, I didn’t have the opportunity. But now with airfares at a peak season low, how could I resist? So after my long and exasperating search, a certain reality was starting to set in: There was a good chance this was just another sick game the man we know as Mustang, was trying to play. I even wondered if he had been watching undercover, from a distance, to get some cheap kick out of watching an out-of-towner look frustrated.
After a few hours had passed and I had smoked about a half of a pack of cigarettes, I was sitting on a bench in front of this huge international airport, staring at my shoes and wondering just what the hell I was going to do. Slated for a four-day visit in a city where I only knew him, with no car, no hotel reservations, and no idea how I could have fallen for such a sadistic prank, I was beginning to feel pretty low. Little did I know that it was then, the nightmare was about to begin.
As I stared at my shoes feeling sorry for myself, a pair of spit shined sneakers came into my line of sight in front of me. I started to slowly look upward, but before I could lift my head very high, the theme song from The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly began to play in the distance. When I finally made eye contact with this tall menacing looking figure that was in front of me, he said, “Are you LA Sunset?” “Yes sir”, I replied. But before I could say anything else, he barked out in a commanding voice, “On your feet, scumbag!” He then proceeded to chew me out royally in front of hundreds of other poor saps, who were waiting for their rides to pick them up.
He went on to say, “I just spent hours waiting at the General Aviation Airport near my ranch, and your sorry ass wasn’t there!” I tried to ask him if he had received the itinerary via e-mail, but he went into this thing about how only sissies flew on luxury airliners, so I figured it was not a good time to try to reason with him and certainly not the time tell him how I upgraded to business class for only $69.
After the dress down in front of a now gathering crowd, he forced me to double-time with my luggage in my hands to his vehicle, while he sang risqué cadence not suitable for children. I was dropped twice for push-ups, because I wasn’t sounding off loud enough (but that’s not important, now).
Once we were on the road, he began to tell me how I was about to enter the world of a Marine and that I would not be permitted to do anything, without earning the privilege. He further stated that he didn’t want to hear any soft, Army stories. He reminded me that Army stood for “Ain’t Ready to be Marines, Yet". Once we got to the Mustang Grapefruit Farm and Alligator Ranch (Chesty Acres), I figured things would settle down some. But that was just wishful thinking on my part.
On arrival, he showed me to my quarters. Once I placed by luggage down, I turned around only to find Mustang with a toothbrush in his hand. I told him I had a toothbrush and thanked him anyway. But apparently, I had miscalculated the intended objective of this exercise. It was at that time, he gave me one of the famous Mustang glares and said, “It’s not for your mouth, scumbag. It’s for you to clean the latrine.” And then he went into another long speech about how that would be the last time, he would ever use the word, latrine. Henceforth, we would use Marine terms and the proper noun for it would be, “the head”.
Hours later after “the head” had finally passed inspection, he started to lay down more rules. “If you are tempted to try and flee the compound, it will be futile”, he exclaimed. “In addition to thousands of bears, there are many lakes around here that are home to millions of alligators, which eat Yankees for a living,” he forcefully warned. It was at that time he drove me around to view some of these lakes. Sure enough, the gators were there and salivating as we drove past. I didn’t see any bears, but Mustang simply observed, “They’re experts in camouflage, maggot.”
As the evening came, it was a welcome sight. I was totally spent and dead beat tired, so naturally I requested permission to prepare for "Taps". Initially, it was denied because Mustang said “We ain’t had our beer ration, yet.” So, for the next two hours, we drank a beer imported from the nearest Marine Corps PX called “Chesty Beer.” Mustang made a toast to every Marine who ever served in combat.
After six, or eight, or ten of these, Mrs. Mustang finally decided that enough was enough and signaled lights out. I was very grateful. "Taps" was played, the Marine prayer was recited, and all lights were extinguished.
What a day.
Next Friday: Day Two
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