I'm more outcast than outlaw but I've always had a disdain for the facade of our pretentious world order where we always claim to know "the way". There's a whole underbelly of reality out there you won't see any "proper" talking head on TV ever admit with all their "serious" talk of the economy and other garbage they pretend is real. And any of us who do speak the truth are immediately dismissed because, you know, our suits aren't as nice.
But as I've said before: the world is a criminal enterprise. You know how you can tell a place is crooked? The assholes live the best.
So I have a certain amoral response when all the "responsible" folks tell me money has to rule. I say, "Fine. Let's play by your rules - fuckers." Let me place money over you!
When I first moved out, I got a job as breakfast cook in my tiny hometown and I was living with a co-worker, a disturbed Vietnam vet who told me stories like when he's driving down the road he often fantasized about swerving into the oncoming traffic. He also had no running water in his house (I guess 'cause there was none in Nam) and the window in the room I slept in was broken.
So when my parents offered to send me to a vocational school just outside of Amarillo I said OK even though my interest in it was completely zero. But it had to be a step up. And it was there I met Robert - he really was an outlaw so we were sympatico instantly. Robert was a rock 'n' roller complete with - gasp! - a pair of drumsticks used in an actual concert. His dorm room had nets on the ceiling where he placed album covers and memorabilia to lord over its inhabitants. He also had the coolest poster ever of aliens rocking out on a stage in space.
I "stole" his bike once and when he came pounding on my door looking for it I told him I had no idea where it was but I had one just like it I could sell to him. I also called him "Lius Chama" (a character from "Joe Kidd") for no other reason than for its esoteric value. ("It's not funny! I don't know why you're laughing!") I remember I took something else of his - don't remember what - and he started chasing me down the hallway in his underwear. I smirked as I headed for the exit thinking he'd never follow me there. I was wrong. (Yes, people saw it and everyone wanted to know who the "underwear guy" was.)
Luis Chama!
Robert's roommate was Duane - who had no problem telling you how "fine" he was - and he owned an item of truly exotic worth: wheeled transportation. Duane wanted some new fancy wheels for his pickup and when he and Robert asked if I wanted to tag along I said sure. It was the first time I ever set out to intentionally steal something. We drove into Amarillo proper and found some fancy apartments where Duane might be able to "obtain" some new rims.
We split up, looking for unlocked cars - I remember sitting in a Corvette for the first time - and though the car wasn't stolen, the feeling sure was. It was great just sitting there outside the law. I think one of us finally set off an alarm and we scurried away to IHOP for some midnight stoner food. It was a giggle fest with me with making the syrup container "talk" by flipping the lid up with every word and I stuck an exploding cigarette into Duane's pack while he was in the bathroom and when it actually worked we thought that was the funniest thing ever!
Such was the genesis of my life of crime and by the time I was through, Amarillo would never be the same with the psychic scars I'd leave on her sad soul. Like Dillinger, Robert and I were tired of our meager existence and we demanded munchies for all! I was visiting him at his Mom's house in the city and we hatched our plans to grab edible goodies from a nearby 7-11 by making a mad dash out the door with our loot. Some old lady was behind the counter and we thought, eh, this'll be an easy knock off.
But after running out the door, Grandma Sneakers comes chasing after us yelling out, "I got your license plate number!" Robert looked at me with a pained face. "We gotta go back, man, this is my sister's car. She's going to KILL me!" So we trundled back and I actually bought some Doritos with the last of my cash as a way of apologizing with a genuine purchase. But like Pharaoh of old, God only hardened my heart and I failed to repent.
Stacy was a friend of "the gang". She lived in the city and she too was an actual owner of four wheeled transport. We made her the (reluctant) Bonnie to us two Clydes. The rampage would continue, but this time I had a plan. First, we put a cloth over Tracy's license plate. Then I came up with the idea of Robert and me going in separately. I was first, my job to grab as much beer and chips as possible and then stare at whatever items were by the exit. Then Robert - who was a rather athletic fellow - would come in and start to wander around. That was my cue to make my mad dash out the door with Robert assuring the clerk, "Wait! I'll go get him!"
Worked like a charm! Feeling rather heady, we knocked off a second joint, only this time a customer in the parking lot thought our covered license plate rather suspicious and when we scrambled to the car to make our getaway, this guy decided to play Smokey and the Bandit and follow us in a high speed pursuit! Bonnie, err Stacy, panicked and floored the car out onto I-40, hitting 100 miles per hour. We lost him, but a fuming Stacy wanted no more of our life of crime.
We only had the chance to pull it off one more time when some guy somebody knew showed up with his parent's brand new conversion van. We found an isolated 7-11 to hit but some black kid was on the pay phone out front exactly on the escape route Robert and I would need to take. So Robert took the liberty of telling him we were going to steal some shit and the kid was cool with that. We screeched away with no problems, on our way to sneak into the last song of a Ratt concert (I know, so not worth it).
Might wanna rethink that!
Our last act of terror was at a Denny's. Four of us were there but we were not about to let poverty stand in our way of a fine meal. My plan this time was for all of us to leave but Robert, who would then go up to the counter to "pay". He'd say, "Oops, I left my wallet in the car." Then join us in the waiting ride for a frantic escape to digest our ill gotten gains.
In a dog-eat-dog world, sometimes one must resort to the ways of the outlaw in the gritty struggle for survival. What's really scary, though, is when I see America pulling the same trick - only we use our military to steal what we want. But the times are still woeful for me, and Robert, if you're reading this, I can tell you where all the easy 7-11's are in Dallas.
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