I always say, “There’s a reason they call it ‘The inevitable.'” Because of that, I was hardly surprised when my PT Cruiser was finally placed on “IT watch.”
She gagged and grumbled for 20-some miles Sunday morning and ground to a stop in Tailgate Lot 3. Twenty seconds of Googling couldn’t give me an answer why she now sounds like a motorcycle, but this I knew: Every time I drive that car, I have to be ready for it to die. For good. Any time I push that gas pedal, this could be it.
I arrived at 6:03 a.m., surveyed the lot, and moved into a
parking spot near a cluster of satellite toilets — not to be confused with actual satellites, which I spent a few good minutes searching for when a friend told me to “park near the satellites.”
I slipped into that half-comatose, half-overdrive state and set up shop. I dragged out a cooler, flipped open my table, set out the goods, opened a beer, popped open some chairs, and pulled at my canopy’s legs until the stupid thing was up standing. This is what I ooze out of bed for at 4 a.m.: my spot, the first slices of bacon, a buzz before 7 a.m., and Yeezus blaring out of my phone speakers.
Sir Obi-Wan. He helped guide me to the ideal parking spot, then helped me pack up and move to the real ideal parking spot before his knighting into the Viking World Order that morning. Below are the two of us and his girlfriend showing off our ability to squint in synchronicity. It was a busy morning for the VWO. Obi’s initiation came during an effort to raise money for Cancer awareness. I couldn’t make it to that, so I had to steal a picture from his girlfriend’s Facebook feed.
If you look closely, you’ll see the RV below is for sale. Still. It was for sale last season. I’ve warned my wife that I’m buying that sucker if it’s still for sale in 10 years. Ten years might feel like three weeks if “IT” happens before the Packers game. As for the golf cart, add that to the “List of Things Less Noisy Than My Cruiser Now.” Other things include an uneven washing machine, anything Vin Diesel drives on screen, a jackhammer, and Dick Vitale calling a Duke/North Carolina game.
Things louder than my car include a low-flying jet, a New Yorker on a cell phone, and our television when my wife is watching it.
My neighbors had been to every Vikings home game for 16 years. Even with my wife and her best friend showing up late (this very spot, as it turned out, was the site of the Zombie Pub Crawl the night before; fake blood still stained the sidewalk), I was blessed with great company. I met a woman dressed as Sasquatch, and got snapped with an Adrian Peterson head.
No matter how many times I see the Skol Line, it’s surprising and worth showing everyone as if it’s my first time. I mean, ALL THOSE DRUMMERS! After the game started, I failed to find Obi again and instead stood awkwardly with a group of people around a television as everyone got angry at it.
After that, I loafed around Minneapolis for an hour while the lot emptied out so less people would have to hear my loud-ass car. The end.