Messing with my head.

After reading about Chicago's influence on Lisa's Friday, I went down the short list of memories I have related to Chicago (that of "Hard to Say I'm Sorry," "If You Leave Me Now," and "You're the Inspiration" fame, not the town). To wit:

• Grantasm, the Messianic, and I scream-singing NFG's cover of "Glory of Love" (which, technically, was Peter Cetera, and not all of Chicago, but why split hairs here?); and,
• the little anecdote I'm about to tell you.

A couple of years ago, back when I still drove Xander (R.I.P., dear friend!), I was having trouble with the alternator. On one such occasion, I had to leave Xander in a parking lot overnight until my bro and I could get it towed the next morning. We woke up early so that Sideshow could get a look at it, then contacted AAA to get the tow truck.

The truck pulled in, and from across the lot, you could hear the muffled sound of music being blasted in the cab. The driver emerged: a tall, lanky fellow with a 'stache and a formidable mullet, who, upon his exit from the cab, looked absolutely perturbed. Upon seeing this, my bro advised me to hang back so he could deal with Mullet on a Mission. I happily obliged.

Mullet on a Mission barely talked, but when he did, every statement he made was preceded by an impatient sigh. He just sounded plain angry. He barely masked any eyerolls. I stayed away from the whole ordeal, although I really wanted to ask this guy what was up his ass so much that he had to act like a toolbox. When he found out we were getting the car towed to a mechanic in St. Pete, he huffed and puffed even more, and even almost smashed into my car when lining up the tow truck to get my car on the ramp.

Now, by this point, you're wondering what this story, although assholeriffic, has to do with anything, ever. Ready? Here it comes!

The entire time Mullet on a Mission was in our presence, from when he stepped out of the truck cab to when he pulled away from the mechanic's, we heard only one song blaring:

This one:

Luckily for me, this video had not yet been singed into my cranium. I have saved that honor for you, my dear friends! Kisses!

I am not kidding. I don't know if he might have played anything else from Chicago: 18, or any other songs from the Chicago catalog, for that matter, between picking up my car and bringing it to the misogynist mechanic (another story for story for another time, trust). All I know is that the whole time we saw him, "Love Me Tomorrow" blared from Mullet on a Mission's cab.

I found it more than a little odd. But it made a little bit of sense. Perhaps he was saddened by a relationship recently gone sour. Maybe it was melancholy reminiscing. When I heard it was still playing when he pulled in to the shop, I started to feel sorry for him. I also started to wonder why the hell someone would be playing that particular song continuously for half an hour.

Of course, after he brought the car down, Sideshow talked to him for a bit. After he simmered down, he admitted that he was upset because he wasn't scheduled to work that morning, and the guy who was didn't show. So, he had to cancel a fishing outing he planned with his little boy. He said he realized he was "out of line" with us, and apologized for being a tool because of that. We told him we understood, and wished him well for the rest of the day. He drove off, still blasting Peter Cetera's plea to love him tomorrow.

I wondered aloud whether that song had any special meaning for Mullet and his son. Sideshow told me to shut the fuck up.

Out to go shopping for little ones (not my own). Back in a bit.