How to Pull a Driver’s Side Door off a Ford Explorer in a Junkyard after You’ve Fucked Your Life up (Part 1)

How to Pull a Driver’s Side Door off a Ford Explorer in a Junkyard after You’ve Fucked Your Life up (Part 1)
by Matt Ronquillo
For this to work, you’ll need to have a good CD already loaded into the stereo of your 94 Ford Explorer before you and Jose drive over to the Goat Hill Tavern and get completely shitfaced. When it’s crunch time, and you and Jose stumble out the back of the bar, you’ll lack the tenacity to fit a disc into a slot which wasn’t built to accept anything thicker than a disc-shaped object.
You’ll have to interrupt Jose’s structured breakdown of why both of your ex-girlfriends are whores to indicate the CD player with a finger point and explain that his penis would fit as an insertable substitute if it played Lamb of God. Wheeze-laugh hardcore into his face to reinforce the tone of the evening, then turn the key to start your engine.
Hang on. You’re revving it in neutral.
Good man. Now you’re rolling.
Jose’s apartment is pretty close to the bar, so you’re probably going to make it into his neighborhood alive and just in time to hit the 711 across the street to acquire what a reinvigorated-by-the-drive Jose might call “A big fuckin’ bag a tall cans”.
You’ll know you’re on the right track when the “Arab” behind the counter who Jose was just talking with remains thoroughly, visibly offended even after Jose has left the shop and gotten back into the Explorer. It’s best to shoot the curb at this point and park way in the back of Jose’s complex quickly, as the authorities might already be hot on your trail.
Shut the engine off. Take a breather for a little while. Enjoy the guitar solo from Sweet Child O’ Mine as drunkenly hummed by Jose in between sobs, hiccups and the subtle clanging of beer cans knocking around both your feet. When the extended solo finishes, get his ass out of there. He’s drunk for Christ’s sake. And this was always going to be a one-man operation.
That’s some smooth, thrash metal-inspired driving there, friend. What’s this? Harbor and Wilson? What a general sounding name for an intersection in Costa Mesa, California. What a general-feeling left turn you’re making at 45mph here on just a generally misty night at 3am on Tuesday.
“Fish-tailing” is a cutesy sounding word but a little too lowbrow for your tastes. And you’re no layman. “Hydroplaning,” though. There’s a solid word for an aspiring technical writer with a forthcoming bachelor’s degree (online) to describe the situation as he’s careening hardcore onto the front lawn of a Jack in the Box restaurant.
They’ll later tell you that concrete light pole was meant to break off and fall with a loud whump onto some grass after jumping out in front of the driver’s side of your vehicle which had been travelling sideways for quite some time, but that’s probably some bullshit they use to try and suck pride out of your accomplishment. “Authorities.” Authorities on what, exactly? Real-life bumper cars? I don’t see anybody else playing.
You’re going to want to get out of the passenger side door now because the driver’s side door will be banged up pretty good and probably won’t open. The Latin girl behind the Jack in the Box counter with the ‘seen it all’ demeanor looks about ready to call the police. Maybe the super-cracked windshield is just hindering your vision, but it’s probably best to make your next move anyway to retain control of the situation.
There you go. Stretch those legs. Who’s totally sober? Better pace the sidewalk a little bit to show potential onlookers. Good. Now there’s just the small matter of the vehicle on the sidewalk behind you.
I see you’ve already got your cell phone out and are calling 911…on yourself! Bravo. That’s why you’re a Kaplan University man. It’s that ability to think critically in hard situations that sets you apart from others who can’t hack it in the virtual classroom.
Who, after one or two or sixteen beers, is going to have the gall to call the police and smoothly tell the operator he’s been in a minor traffic incident that doesn’t require police assistant? You’ve got the tow truck company’s number right here, as a matter of fact. You’re fine, and they’ll hear it from you first.
What those bonehead cops won’t realize is the term “uncooperative” is relative to the person using it. And hey, if they’ve got the gun and the badge, I guess they make the language laws too. Don’t take it from the Kaplan man handcuffed to the bench or anything.
When these advocators of the United Police State of America transfer you to Santa Ana County Jail, don’t think anything of it. Just wait for them to finish kicking the shit out of the guy who can’t follow their verbal directions because he doesn’t speak English, then have a nice sleep with a few other fellows in the reinforced concrete waiting area and be flexible about your departure time the next day. You’re going to need your rest, because it is officially on.