So this is the second instalment of my latest little jaunt into The Golden State. We left off last time with me sat in Barstow, just had a mighty fine breakfast courtesy of the Flying Hook and I had just come back from an unsuccessful shopping spree at the local Factory Outlet.
Well the delivery was pretty uneventful, a straight forward drive in through a "Wildfire" which only put me back about 20 minutes, getting there half an hour early and took about an hour to get unloaded. While I was there I macro'ed in and just reminded H&R that I had to be back in Lethbridge for Thursday evening so a quick back load would be the order of the day.
The reply was monkey pickles from the Port……………………..
That was ideal, the plan was to drive straight to the Port, park in Wal-Mart, do a bit of retail therapy in the big shopping mall there, get some Mexican food and chill with the chillis, pull the curtains then mosey on in first thing to be first in the queue.
I left the delivery customer and went round to the Blue Beacon to wash out then took a slightly different route up to the freeway so I could take a look-see at down town Los Angeles. Got on the freeway and spun round to the Port (about 60 miles) and pulled into the Wal-Mart,
As I pulled round the back (where I was told there would be truck parking) the security guard came to pay me a visit, he came flying round the car park with his lights (the ones on the roof) flashing. I think someone has got a little (I wanna be a cop) issue.
I almost said "Is there a problem officer", but thought better of it as he probably wouldn’t understand British sarcasm.
He said I had to move, I said I wanted to shop, he said I could stay and shop, but then I had to go.
I said I had to do paperwork, then, shop, he said I could do paperwork, then shop then I had to go..
Then he pointed out that they closed at 11:00, I told him there wasn’t much paperwork, he got bored and drove off.
I then met my latest new friend, George ………………………
George is a Swift driver who was parked next to me, I thought I would ask if he knew any decent parking in the area.
Now George is I big black guy, built like a brick out house, bald as a billiard ball and talks at Mach 10.
Here's how the opening conversation went:
George: Hey man, what did Deputy Dawg want?
Lyndon: He booted me
off the lot
George: Ha ha ha ha ha ha
Lyndon: What?
George:
Your cap, man, you ain't from no Ghetto
Lyndon: ??????
George:
Go on say something else
Lyndon: Im sorry ive no idea what you are
talking about
George: (Falls about in hysterics)
Okay to cut a long story short, it was my cap, George, who was bought up in Troy was telling me about the are and excactly what the Trojans are……………
Apparently it is quite a rough University Campus in Troy Southern California, it’s a really bad ass ghetto but an excellent University……………………..
I guess my Brummie accent and not too African complexion might stand out a little.
It gave me a great idea for an article though.
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