THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #13
WARNING: TYPOS AHEAD... CUZ IT'S NEIL
Man. Who’s brilliant idea was it to put me on a motorcycle?
Hmmph. Me. That’s right. Me, myself and I. My oh my.
Back to the fun. Remember, gas station, sandwich stop, hoard of bikers bent on smushing me under their fat-back tires?
Here’s what happened.
Big Boy #1: “Pretty bike.”
Big Boy #1: “It wasn’t a compliment.”
Big Boy #2 <smirking>: “I’ll bet we can get a pretty penny for that thing.”
Big Boy #1: “What do you say, pretty boy? Wanna loan us your pretty little bike so we can make a pretty little penny?”
I had to give it to the guy. He had a way with words.
Me: “Look, guys, how about I buy you each a sandwich inside? I hear they’re the best in town.”
Big Boy 1 and 2 were now joined by 3, 4, 5 and 6. Crap.
Big Boy #2: “I don’t think you have enough money to buy me all the sandwiches I plan to eat.”
There were chuckles of agreement to this. Crap again. Think, Neil.
Me: “Beers are on me. What’s your brand?”
I know it sounds so stereotypical. It did coming out of my mouth. But they went for it. Pretty soon I had a shopping list as long as my arm and #1 through #19 were salivating.
Screw it. At least they didn’t look like they wanted to eat me alive anymore. Cash I had. Extra limbs I was short on.
They were kind enough to help with the groceries. A couple hundred dollars lighter, I was invited to join in the festivities. I could not say no. I thought about texting someone: Cal, Top, hell Daniel. But they had their eyes on me pretty good.
I took small bites of my sandwich and somehow swallowed them down with water. They chatted and I listened. Then the inevitable happened. When the sandwiches were gone and the beers properly dented, their attention turned to me.
The tale continues…
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