I’m a simple man. I like wrestling, strippers, wrestling strippers, the occasional textbook, and dinner at sunset in Huntington Beach. I’m excluding world domination because that could be considered judicial notice these days. However, anyone that knows me understands that I have a special relationship with sparkling cider. I’m convinced that cider is the nectar of the gods, or at the very least, the nectar of any reasonable despot or magistrate. Unfortunately, Martinelli’s, my brand of choice, doesn’t sell all of the flavors in stores in Southern California. Fortunately, Martinelli’s is headquartered in Northern California. That called for a road trip…a second road trip.
This trip would be different for a couple of reasons. First, both Brandon and Jordan were on the road, as Jordan was available this time. Also, I have a new toy called the Ford Mustang. Convertible, 2010, silver, silver flaming seatcovers…it truly is sexy. Anyone who denies my Mustang is sexy is a heretic and will be burned at the stake. However, both of these additions made this trip something different, something political.
Yes, I’m going to discuss racism here. Hooray!
Watsonville reminds me of El Segundo in the sense that it’s small and hard to describe to someone without dragging them there. Hence, the roadtrip was necessary because I do like the remote nature of the city. We traveled five hours north, driving through wide expanses of green and nothing, if that can be pictured. I liked it, we liked it, everyone liked it, except for the cops that pulled me over. Yes, the car tends to move quickly at a breakneck pace. I don’t mind it, because hell, a sportscar should go fast. However, I’m not a fan of condescension directed at me. Yes, I get that I do it to other people, but my commentary is always on-point. If it wasn’t…well, it is. Anyhow, the conversation with the cops went somewhat like this. And if you think my responses were sarcastic, you’re correct.
Do you know why we pulled you over? Nope, not a clue. You were going fast; where were you in a hurry? Watsonville to buy cider. Really? Yes. You do know they can deliver, right? No, I had no idea they could ship cider to me. If I had known that, perhaps I wouldn’t have driven here. Does it take three of you to buy cider, or did they come along for the ride? Yes. Yes to what? Yes, take my paperwork. How much cider do you intend to buy? You don’t have that much trunk space. Enough. How much is enough? Enough.
Hmmm, I get it that it’s odd for three black guys to drive up north for apple cider, but it was the truth. I also don’t understand why there was a call for backup; perhaps he thought we were going to be violent? Racial profiling is a necessary evil, but for fuck’s sake, if I wanted to lie, I’d have little reservation. Good job cops; you’ve successfully reaffirmed my disdain for uneducated people. If you’re going to condescend to me, please, work on your humor, lest I deadpan “I’m speeding so I can go visit your wife and commit murder along the way.”
After this little interlude, I decided to pause, take a vote, and drop the roof on the car before pulling away. I’m sure the cops didn’t appreciate my display of arrogance/indifference, but I didn’t appreciate being pulled over and grilled for being young, black, thirsty, and spiffy. I never got pulled over in the Malibu, that’s for damn sure.
We zoomed through the roads and made it to our destination, where if I’m correct, there were 114 bottles purchased (72 are mine), along with two cider tote bags. Surprisingly enough, the Mustang did have enough cargo room to accommodate the loot, and we took pictures marking the momentous quest. Apparently, the two times I’ve gone, I’ve set records for the largest individual purchase of cider for holiday and non-holiday visits. People usually buy smaller bottles, but I grab the larger, exotic bottles. Mango. Peach. Pear. Raspberry. Wild-Berry. I believe I could term my one vacation a cider victory. A flawless cider victory. In-N-Out and Tekken concluded the evening, where we finished off one of the complimentary bottles given to us, Sparkling Passion Lemonade. In four months, I’m renting a Hummer and going back; after all, racism needs to be fed with reasonable suspicion. And if that should happen, I’m sure the gang will join me in popping a bottle or ten as the justice system wastes my time. Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Finger Eleven “Living in a Dream”