My brain seems to be locked onto the old days in Arizona and young GIs with way too much car for their own good. I mentioned the obnoxious Chevelle driver on my last post; I'll share another quick one about him.
Most weeknights we didn't go to Tucson; sometimes we did, but mostly we either hung around the barracks or "cruised" the town of Sierra Vista, right outside the gate of Fort Huachuca. On one of those very late nights, as we were making our last lap out to Sambo's, we spotted the Chevelle sitting in the driveway to Sue & Herbs drive-in. Gordy said, "It's that Bozo in the 396...watch him, he'll wait til you're right on top of him then he'll tear out in front of you". We crept up to him but there wasn't anything moving in the car. It looked like the driver was asleep. I stopped to check him out, to make sure he was ok.
We walked up to the Chevelle and peeked inside. There were four guys in it, all were sound asleep...or more acurately...passed out. The lights were on, but the engine wasn't running. I tapped on the driver-side glass and got no response. Gordy pounded on the shotgun-side door. The driver sat up a little straighter, put in the clutch, shifted into first gear, and let out the clutch...all while still passed out dead away. Gordy, Bergie (our third running mate) and I all busted out laughing. Then the Chevelle driver shifted gears. That really cracked us up.
None of us were mature enough at the time to consider what would have happened if the car had still been running.