Hi High Center

Some stories are so good they just bear repeating. And I have told this one so many times over the years I imagine everyone that knows me has heard it but it still cracks me up. It hearkens back to those halcyon days of yore when gas prices hovered around a buck a gallon, jobs were something we did for fun money, and hanging out doing nothing was a good time. And that is where our story finds us.
Alan was back in town. He was driving a Dodge Stealth, a very sporty card. I had my significantly less sporty but still new (at the time) and, for me, very nice Toyota Tercel. And Billy had his 1978 Monty Carlo with the T-Tops off and replete with an 8-Track stereo, although that was later replaced. For some inexplicable reason we decided to return to our roots and go "cuising". Now, at the time, I think 1990 or maybe 1991, Cruising was an accepted means for people to meet each other. For some reason.
What made this great was the status of the town. The "cruising strip" consisted of about a 2 mile circuit...almost all on 1 way streets. Most folks would turn on like...18th street or so, drive to the turnaround by the theatre and keep doing this circuit. Now, the real irony here is that if the point of Cuising was to see and be seen...60% of the route was 1 way streets...which meant you NEVER ENCOUNTERED ANYONE since they were doing the same circuit. Of course, even if you met someone...they would be the same...exact...people...that you saw every day at school. Small town, 1 high school...if you did not meet them there...well, then you weren't going to meet them on the cruising strip.
Still, it was an important part for many people, so to ensure the opportunity to see and be seen at any given time a certain number of people would, instead of driving the circuit, park at either A) the grocery store, B) the old closed down gas station, or C) between the funeral home and donut shop.
Yes, you read that correctly. Some genius thought the best location in town for his donut shop was across from the carwash and next door to the funeral home. I suppose it could have been quite convenient...wash your car, grab a gut bomb, walk next door and get embalmed. Maybe it was like advertisement: get a fresh donut today and a fresh coffin tomorrow. Harden your arteries, your destination is right next door.
Even better...for years the sign across the street from the funeral home read "Dead End". Well done, St. Helens...that was an excellent choice. How cool must it have been to walk out of a funeral to see the sign "Dead End" staring you in the face?
Well, when people parked they inexplicably thought just sitting there on the hood of their rig would not get them noticed...so they would leave their parking lights on. Why I don't know. It did not make any more sense then than it does now. But the parking lights were a highlight.
And now, with the background in place we come to the crux of the story. Alan, Billy and I pulled into the lot between the donut shop and funeral home. We turned out parking lights OFF and stood there talking, catching up on old times and watching people go by. Now, not to sound arrogant, but in St. Helens 3 early 20-somethings driving a Stealth, Tercel, and yeah...even a Monte Carlo with T-tops...that was pretty close to the cream of the crop. So we felt pretty good about it.
Then we were topped. A guy pulled into the gas station across the street and parked in classic Cruiser fashion, angled just so to watch people drive by, his parking lights on...well, he jumps out of his rig and sits on the hood.
You know the target market for cruisers. He missed most of it. He was probably in his mid 40s, huge, HUGE beer belly, badly stained wife-beater undershirt, looked like he hadn't shaved in a week and a half, had a chain of cigarettes he smoked...and just had that bearing like "You know I am cool". Which of course he was not. Ridciulous, sure. Cool...not so much. He did, however, have a mid-70s Granada he was driving with 3 hubcaps and lots of rust, so I guess that counts for something.
Well, as he sat there smoking and leering, we hung out for a while chatting. Presently he decided to impress some of those teen-age girls rolling by so he jumped back in his rig. Now, I had mentioned he was a...shall we say largish? man. When he got in the car sagged noticeably. So he proceeded to do a burn-off, lighting up his tires in what probably would have been an impressive show if not for a few details...such as the bald tires, crap car, and general patheticness of the individual...oh, and...the Granada was an automatic.
Anyway, once he decided everyone was appropriately impressed by his 5 second burn off, he popped the car into gear or let off the brake or something, and shot forward...to hi-center himself on the curb.
Best part is that even now, probably 15 years later, thinking back on the overage, overweight, underbathed, crap card driving tub of lard standing there looking at his crap heap hi-centered on the curb in a showing off gone wrong moment for someone who had nothing to show off in the first place...I am still laughing.