The Violent Femmes

It’s not easy to fall asleep in a parking lot. Especially one lit by fluorescent lighting. We could have found a dark parking lot I’m sure, but then it would’ve been hard to sleep for reasons of fear rather than petty annoyance. This parking lot would have to do. We’d come to San Francisco, Ryan and I, with Bill and the girl currently spending his money, Cheryl.

Cheryl, and Bill’s pathetic nature when in Cheryl’s presence had us mighty anxious to ditch the two of them, so after the concert we left with the two cute girls we’d met assuming that they’d put us up for the night.

We were in line at Burger King when a homeless man wearing infinite layers of clothing creating the illusion of immense size pushed his way to the front of the line.

“Give me some water.” He demanded slamming his cup down on the counter. “I'm Mr. A. Don’t touch me. I’m dirty!” As evidence to his proclaimed dirtiness he used the corner of the counter to squeegee his palms, leaving a puddle of what looked like Crisco behind. I realized he was coated, every inch of him, clothing and all in this thick white grease.

After getting our burgers and fries we followed our dates onto the BART train towards Richmond. I scored some smooches as we sped through the night. Ryan didn’t do as well as he never stopped talking long enough to make a move or to be moved on. The train stopped and the girls said good night.

“Good Night? Aren’t we going with you?” I asked.

“No! We have to call my mom to come pick us up.”

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do?”

This was our problem. The two girls disappeared into a minivan leaving behind the lingering taste of fast food kisses and seven numbers scrambled on a BK napkin that would allow us to get in touch come morning.

We found a Denny’s figuring we’d spend the night there, but sitting at the bar drinking really bad coffee got old quick. Ryan applied for a job. In his flannel shirt, plaid trench coat with tears and patches, foot long Mohawk and combat boots, Ryan applied for a job at Denny’s in Richmond at two in the morning. Then we made our way to the parking lot.

My army jacket served as a pillow. I could have a pillow for my head or warmth for my body. I went back and fourth. Ryan tried resting his head on a parking curb but it left him as uncomfortable and sleepless as I. We were relieved when A man walked by and asked if we’d seen any cars parked in the lot.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s closed.” I answered, noticing the gas can and length of hose he carried. “We can help you find some cars though.” Ryan and I hopped up and we started walking along side this man who was sure to be more entertaining than trying to sleep in a parking lot.

“I just gotta siphon a bit of gas. I’m trying to get to Fresno and I got a damn hole in my gas tank. I siphon gas, it gets me a hundred miles and I stop and siphon more gas. Hell of a way to travel. Some asshole put a hole in my goddamn gas tank. Son of a bitch.” As he spoke he undid a gas cap on an old truck, slid the hose in, paused to suck up some gas, spit, coughed, and as his can filled up he continued where he’d left off. “Son of a bitch. I got a beautiful old Saab on the back of my truck. Gonna scrap it in Fresno. Then I’ll have some money. God damn, I’ve been doing this all night. If only I could drive the fuckin’ Sabb. But she aint safe on the road. Oh no.”

We reached his truck and his Saab. I’m not a car guy, at all. But I do admire a few vehicles. Old Volvo, VWs and Saabs. “Why the hell are you gonna scrap this awesome car?” I asked seeing a good looking vehicle hiked up on the back of this truck that looked like it had only recently met with some manner of violence that transformed it into a flat bed.

Our insane friend drove off toward Fresno and we went back to Denny's. We had enough money to split a side order of one pancake. We asked if we could have coffee refills since we'd bought coffee a few hours earlier and amazingly the waitress poured us a couple of mugs. She was really nice and we tried not to be pains in her ass which I think she appreciated. We decided it was late enough and we called the two girls who'd gotten us in this mess to begin with.

"Oh my god, do you know how early it is."

"I sure do. Nothing like sleeping in a parking lot to let you know just how early it is."

"Oh my god, you slept in a parking lot? I'm so sorry."

"Hey can we come over?"

"My parents will be gone in an hour, come over then."

We got directions and we slowly made our way towards a nice suburban neighborhood full of big cars and big houses. We found the right house and were greeted by two girls who looked much younger in daylight especially when surrounded by a mess of siblings and friends of siblings. I recognized this house. This was the house in every neighborhood with mostly absent parents and lots of girls hanging out all the time.

We were no longer interested in kisses but we needed money and food and some of them wine coolers, sure.

"Your parents won't notice all the wine coolers missing?" Ryan asked.

"No. My mom buys them for our school lunches. She doesn't realize that they have alcohol in them." They were anxious to give us anything we wanted if we'd just leave. While they looked younger by daylight and in this squeaky clean evironment, I'm sure we looked worse, dirtier, and much to our delight more punk rock.

Their father was a gynocologist, of course he was. It was too perfect. We left the house full of cute girls, realizing that if we came back in two years it would be heaven on earth but for now it was mostly annoying. Our bellies were full of bologne sandwiches made on french bread and real fruit popsicles. We had a few bucks now so we caught the bart toward Oakland where Ryan's brother hung out at a guy named Screamers house.

Ryan though he remembered where Screamer lived, but we ended up wandering around lost until we ran into Flem.

"Hey little whiney shit, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for my brother."

"He aint here dude."

"Is Screamer's place near here?"

"Yeah you stupid shit. It's one block up that way. See you little shits later, I'm going to work."

We found Screamers place which was a converted garage behind his mom's house. The place was filthy. One futon faced a TV that never went off. A filthy bathroom was the only other room. Screamers girlfriend worked, while Screamer and a rotating cast of punk hung out in front of the TV all day. Screamer was happy to see us.

"Hey fuckers! Dude you're brother's coming to town today!"

This was great news. Jason was coming into town, most likely to score some drugs, and we could then get a ride back to Sacramento with him. I used Screamer's phone to call my mom. I was 16 and still living at home. Mom thought I was a few blocks away at Billy's house and was pretty pissed to find out I was still in The Bay Area. I told her we'd be home the next day and that unless she wanted to come get us there was nothing I could do about it.

We passed the next few hours watching Black Entertainment Television while Screamer shouted all kind of racist shit at the screen.

"Ha ha. Another chicken commercial. God damn, how can you say them niggers don't love chicken when ever other fuckin' ad is for fried chicken."

Ryan and I found a corner to sit and talk amongst ourselves and we tried to stay out of Screamer and company's way. Then Flem showed back up.

"Oh fuck these little shits are here. You snivelling little cunts should go home. Who the fuck wants little brats around. This aint a fuckin' daycare." Flem was especially proud of the daycare line. It would be repeated incessently for the duration of our visit.

I ignored him but Ryan couldn't resist a fight. "Why are you talking in a British accent? You're not British."

"Fuck you!"

"And you look pretty pathetic picking on the two youngest guys in the room. It shows that you're on the bottom of the pecking order around here, just desperate to put someone beneath you."

"I'm going to kick your fucking ass."

As Flem walked toward Ryan I gave him a quick reminder. "Dude, you might want to remember that he's Jason't brother." and I followed by giving him a way out. "Hey, I thought you were goin to work."

"Oh yeah, fuck!" Flem became very excited now. "My boss cut off his fucking thumb. I couldn't fucking believe it. He cut it all the way off. I picked it up and handed it to him. He told me to take the day off and he drove off in his car with his fucking thumb in his lunch box. It was so crazy."

Flem forgot about Ryan and joined the other punks spewing racist hate at the BET. Just as the nigger comments were reaching a fever pitch the door opened and a huge black man in white Doc Martin boots with black laces and a Malcolm X t-shirt stood in the doorway. Screamer jumped to his feet and I prepared to run. Screamer and the big, bald, black man gave each other a bear hug. They went into the bathroom together to do some buying and selling and then the guy actually sat in front of the TV for a spell to join the rest in laughing at the "crazy niggers."

We'd found a strange world. Jason showed up soon after and Ryan and I begged him to take us to get something to eat. He said he'd take us on a run in an hour. I wasn't sure what a run was but it seemed to involve eating and that was a good thing.

We went out to the recycling place to empty Jason's car of many bags full of cans and bottles. He got a few bucks for this and then we went to a taco spot where I had the best food I'd ever eaten in my life. Then came the run. We rolled up to the recycling plant, now closed and parked in the alley. Jason instructed Ryan to wait with the car and had me follow him. A large sheet of cardboard over the barbed wire made clearing the fence a breeeze. We hurled full bags of cans over the fence and Ryan loaded them into the station wagon. Once The car was full we crowded in with the bags and sped off.

We stopped at a 7-11 on the way home to stockpile Homerun Pies, Twinkies, Cokes and other essentials to get us through the night. Back at Screamers I called my mom again and told her I would have to spend at least one more night in The Bay. She wasn't too happy but when I told her we were with Ryan's brother she felt better. If she'd really known Jason she would have jumped in her mini van right that second and come after me.

Back at Screamers it was time to smoke crack. Screamers girlfriend, that's the only name she was given as far as I knew, had come home from work and the punks circled up to smoke. Ryan and I retreated to our corner.

Just as the lighter flicked on and flame was touched to crack a small speaker next to the door crackled to life. "Craig, what are you doin' in there? Craig?"

It was Screamer's mom, or Craig's mom. Craig was such a pedestrian name for this legendary scum punk. Craig hollared back "Nothing mom. Leave me alone."

He took his hit and then stood up. The following dance was so well coreographed, Ryan and I could scarecly trust our eyes. Screamer's girlfriend took the pipe and turned her back to the front window just as an old lady's face appeared in it, "Craig!". She took her hit and Screamer slammed the blinds shut. The pipe was passed to Flem, whose back was to the side window, just in time to hide it from the old lady as she appeared in this window seconds before Screamer slammed more blinds shut. "Craig? What are you doing Craig?" The pipe made it's way to Jason, hiding it from a third window behind him and the whole routine repeated. "Crrrraaaiiiggg!" Ryan and I fell over laughing. Then we ate some twinkies and drank some Cokes and joined the circle, now that the crack had been put away.

We talked about the girls who had lured us out here. Screamer thought we should go back to their place in the morning in and shake them down for more money. Ryan and I actually started to find our place in this insane little scene and we enjoyed swapping jokes and stories, though we had to struggle to ignore Flem's constant references to daycare.

Screamer and his girl slept on the futon. Jason had the matress that was layinging in one corner. Ryan and I grabbed some floor. We both woke up early and anxious to get out of there. It tried our patience having to wait for Jason to wake up. Screamer would bitch if we talked at all and finally Jason got sick of Screamer bitching so he got up and we left for Sacramento at last. We spent the last of our money on Denny's. Jason was bitching that we neither bought him breakfast nor paid for gas, but we pointed out that we hadn't gotten a cut of the recycling money either. We both got punched in the arm.

It was great to get home, have a shower, brush my teeth, put on clean cloths and eat real food. Ryan and I worked on exagerating what a great time we'd had so that Bill would feel like an ass for choosing such a dumb girl over his friends.

Oh, and I guess I should mention, The Violent Femmes were great, quite a show.