It Was Kind Of Like That Jeepers Creepers Movie, Except Without The Flying Monster Thing That Stored Bodies Underneath The Church

Did I ever tell you about the time when two guys tried to kill me?

When I was growing up, if you were the least bit different from everyone else, people would question your sexuality. Long hair, unnaturally-colored hair (pink, purple, orange, etc.), piercings in both ears, and brightly-covered clothes were things that would raise the ire of certain people in my town. It doesn't take much to piss some people off.

I was called every name in the book: f*g, f*gg*t, q*eer, g*y, ho-mo-sex-u-al (heavy emphasis on every syllable). If I had a dollar for every time I had one of those epithets hurled at me, I could've paid for some much-needed therapy for many ignorant and sexually-repressed individuals. There's way too much hate in this world. Too many of us think others are inferior or are worth hating because they are different: be it their looks, their religious beliefs, their political leanings, their sexuality, or the way they act. People suck.

Anyway, during this particular time, my car wasn't the most reliable vehicle. And when it broke down, I had to borrow my mom's Geo Tracker.

My mom's pink Geo Tracker.

One night, I went out to a bar with my brother and his girlfriend, Penelope. My brother was in the passenger seat and Penelope was in the backseat. It was two in the morning and we were headed home on the interstate. An old, beat-up truck pulled up next to us. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that it was keeping the same speed as our vehicle. Penelope yelled from the backseat, "Don't look at that truck!"

What the hell are you supposed to do when someone says something like that? Naturally, I immediately looked at the truck and saw two guys pointing at us and laughing.

Over the years, I have found it's easier and safer just to ignore people like this rather than engage them. So I turned back to my brother and started a conversation. About twenty seconds later, the truck finally accelerated and passed us.

Penelope spotted them first. "There's that truck!" About three miles down the road from our initial encounter, the truck was pulled over on the side of the interstate. As soon as we passed them, they revved their engine and pulled back onto the interstate.

Penelope turned around and watched the truck. "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE THEY DOING?" she screamed. I pushed the accelerator of the Tracker to the floor, foolishly thinking I could outrun them with my moped engine. Penelope continued to give a play-by-play (like I wasn't staring at the rear view mirrow, watching the headlights closing in on us). "THEY'RE GETTING CLOSER! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL US!"

Even though it was two in the morning, there was still some traffic on the interstate. I had the Tracker going 85 (which is where the speedometer topped out at), weaving in and out of lanes, trying not to cause an accident.

Seconds before impact, Penelope screamed, "HERE THEY COME!" Then BOOM! They hit the back of my mom's car. I don't know why I didn't lose control of the vehicle. Penelope stared crying hysterically at this point. "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" Finally, my brother snapped at her, "SHUT UP AND LET HIM CONCENTRATE!" I was half-expecting him to slap her like they do in the movies. He picked up the car phone (the old kind, where the phone was actually mounted in the car) and called the police.

The impact caused the truck to slow down some, but it didn't stop him. He started closing in on us again. I didn't know what to do. I thought about pulling off on one of the exits, but figured that would just make us sitting ducks. The only option was to continue to drive, weave through the traffic, pray that the Tracker would find some untapped horsepower, not get us killed, and wait for the cops to come.

BOOM! The truck hit us again. Penelope didn't make a sound. She was sitting in the backseat with her head between her legs. I think she was in shock. Or nauseated. "They just hit us again!" my brother yelled into the phone.

Once again, we were able to stay on the road. The truck pulled back some. I thought he was finally bored with us. But then I saw the headlights come speeding at us again. Finally, at the last second, he swerved and pulled off the ramp.

I was beyond pissed at this point. I wanted to turn the car around and track the son of a bitch down. But I realized that would definitely get us killed so I went on to the next exit and pulled off into a truck stop.

The highway patrolman met us about ten minutes later. By that point, I had already chain-smoked half a carton of cigarettes and cursed everyone in the world. Penelope was back to being a blubbering mess, thanking me for not getting us killed.

But I did learn a few things that night. Like Rain Man, I'm an excellent driver. And cops will put up with a lot of verbal abuse if you've just been through an extreme amount of stress.