Date:         Mon, 10 Apr 1995 22:31:25 EDT
From: gilbertsmith <gsmith@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Subject:      WHTMOTWHFDC 1
To: Multiple recipients of list WORDS-L <words-l@uga.cc.uga.edu>

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME ON THE WAY HOME FROM DC 1

So, the m/m (formerly known as the tc\sw) and I are driving home from
a professional appointment related to Israeli/Palestinian poster art
and we decide that we are hungry and want to stop for supper.  It is
Saturday afternoon but seems like Sunday and the m/m finds a perfect
place, a truck-stop restaurant just outside of Richmond, part of a
TravelLodge.  Looks new on the outside but turns out to be an old
truck stop that I have visited on many occasions.  Only the outside
is different.

We sit at a booth by the window, away from the smoke, which makes the
m/m sick and reminds me that it is a disgusting habit for everyone
except the one who is doing it.

The waitress comes and takes our order, and the entire time the m/m
is staring at her.  So, I question her after the waitress is gone.

I:  What were you looking at?
MM:  Her teeth.
I:  Amazing teeth.  I wonder what causes that.
MM:  Bad luck.
I:  Or, not having anybody around who cares.
MM:  Or, not having money to get them fixed.

Then, a car pulls up by the curb outside the window.  Two very chubby
boys, about 10 and 12, get out and crawl under the car halfway,
rolling around on the pavement, looking for something.

The waitress returns with my coffee and the m/m's sweetened iced tea.
She says:

WTRS:  There you go, Hon.

As I observe that we just experienced a WLM, that the waitress called
the m/m "Hon", The boys get up from the pavement.  The car is
dripping.  Something is dripping under the car, steadily, something
clear.  Gas.  We are roughly five feet from the car.  The m/m is back
from three weeks in Israel and the West Bank, home without having
been blown up and we are five feet from a car dripping gasoline with
only a huge plate glass window between us and a Virginia suicide
bomber.

We just wait to see what happens next, as the father and the mother
and the little grandmother struggle to get out of the car, and the
chubby boys stand with their arms folded and look inside the truck
stop, interested in the food.
--ggs