“Can you tell us how to get to Lace?”
“The strip club?” the guy shouts. “Yeah, I’m heading there right now!”
I look at my friend Chase in the passenger seat and we both whisper, “Strip club?”
“Hey, Larry! These guys are going to the srip club! Come get a ride!”
And before we know it, he climbs in with 2 of his friends and off we are to Lace.
“So you guys are from Nyack College?” he asks. “A lot of pastors go to Lace too, you know. You’re gonna love it.”
Chase and I are squirming in our seats. This is bad.
You’re probably wondering how we got here. Let’s rewind…
I’m at home watching Una Pelicula de Huevos, which is a Mexican movie about eggs, when my phone rings and it’s my friend Chase.
“Hey, bro,” he says. “Can I ask you for a favor? It’ll only take about ten minutes.”
Note to future self. “It will only take…” is always how adventures begin.
“Sure,” I tell him. “What’s up?”
“I ran out of gas and I was wondering if I could use your gas canister to get some more.”
“Yeah, it should be in the basement. I’ll get it and come over.”
So I hang up and go in the basement looking for the gas canister, but can’t find it. So I text my housemate since he probably won’t answer a call at work, but he doesn’t answer. So I figure I should just drive Chase to the gas station and we can get a canister ourselves. I mean, how much could they cost?
I pick him up and we go to the gas station. But as I’m reaching for the door, my housemate texts me and tells me, “The canister’s outside by the grill. But there’s old gas in it so you’ll have to dump it. Go to a gas station with a garage and they should let you dump it there.”
Interesting. I had no idea you couldn’t just dump gasoline anywhere. Lucky for us. I might’ve ended up dumping it in the sewer and singlehandedly polluted all of Nyack’s water supply. Or not. But anyway…
I tell Chase and back we go to the house where we retrieve the canister, then head back to the same gas station to dump it.
“Do you have a place we can dump this gasoline?” I ask the attendant.
“Sorry, bro,” he says in a Spanish accent. I assume he’s Mexican, but resist the temptation to practice my Spanish with him. “We don’t do that here.”
“Do you know anywhere else that would let us dump it?” I try.
He looks around, but scrunches his face and shrugs. “Sorry, bro. But you know what? Lemme ask my boss for you. Wait right here.”
So here we wait. And a minute later an older man comes out.
“What’s wrong with the gasoline?” he asks.
“It’s old,” I say.
“I don’t know.”
And it occurs to me how little we know of this situation and how ignorant we both probably look. But luckily my housemate texts me at some point during all this and tells me there’s water in the gas. Whatever that means.
“There’s water in it,” I tell the man.
“Oh,” he says. “You can dump it at Rockland Dump. It’s on 303.”
“Ok, that works,” I say.
“I don’t know much about gasoline,” Chase suggests. “But would it be a problem if we just added more gasoiline to it?”
“No,” I tell him. “My housemate says the water will mess up your engine.”
“And I can’t add it to my gas,” the guy replies. “I don’t know what gas is already in there. I could cause an explosion somewhere.”
Cause a what?
I wait for him to say he’s joking, but he doesn’t. What the heck are we carrying here?
“But just dump it at Rockland Dump,” he goes on. “Make a right here, take 303 south, and you’ll see it.”
And I’m pretty sure he says, “You can’t miss it.” Because as you know, that’s another formula for a misadventure. And little did we know what adventurous things were waiting down that road…