his shirt read, im not a gynecologist, but i can take a look
he struggled with the tesla door handle which everyone does. eventually he got it.
college kid. 22? they all look like babies. slicked back hair, ironic white sunglasses
glued to his phone, giant wireless headphones resting around neck, smiling to himself
27th street, the app told me. USC? i asked, listening for confirmation.
fight on! he said, not missing a tap on his screen.
and we were off.
i hadnt been doing many LAX pickups unless they were private rides. people have found ways to reach me to hire me for airport runs, without the app. friends, readers, friends of friends. it has been delightful.
of the two airport runs, id rather do an airport drop-off than a pickup because you never know how long itll take for them to get through customs and to collect their bags. what if they gotta take a leak? that's just dead time im not making money. the rule is: youre really only earning if the wheels are moving.
meanwhile, at the curb, the whistle-blowing cops quoteunquote are yelling at you to run along which is nuts. no one wants to be there officer, it's not like we're having fun waiting. and terrorists dont explode cars at the white zone which, we know, is only for loading and unloading.
so usually if i drop off someone at LAX, i'll charge the tesla in manhattan beach or get a car wash or head into inglewood where theres little competition. and thanks to sofi and intuit and that semi-secret casino, lord only knows what sort of characters you might pick up and ive had them all.
as you may have read.
but this smart-aleck kid had walked from LAX to the in-n-out a mile away, shaving about $15 to $20 off the trip because neighborhood rates are more reasonable, and the airport doesnt get to impose it few-dollar tax.
junior used that savings to get himself a double double and animal fries. he walked across the street to the 7-11 for a pair of buzz balls which is where we met. he asked me if he could crack one open as we headed to the 105 east and i said,
you know how they say no in french?
no?
yes: non.
so yes?
no: non.
so he pouted.
i looked at the app for his name because i had already forgotten it.
jones? i asked.
yes.
they let people put their last names on here?
no, my first name is jones. my dad loved the talking heads. so boring, he said, as he went back to tapping the glowing screen.
ah yes, naked, i said, noting the album the song came from. hey siri play mr. jones i said loudly.
please don't, he plead, eyes forward, hand on my headrest. anguished this time.
ah ok, my bad. siri pause.
the road was heavy, the sky thick, the air in the cabin a brisk 60 degrees to keep me alert. as i often do, i thought about what i would eat once we reached the destination.
and this, single ladies, is why im fat.
maybe not fat, fat, but there was a time in my past when id disrobe for the first time in front of a generous soul and my fear would be that i weighed less than she did. i was scrawny af.
but thanks to hippies showing me that the devils lettuce increases appetite and cures weird tummy tantrums, ive become a member of the clean plate club.
so now i wonder if these charitable lasses will think im some puerto rican, homer simpson, with the bald head, spare tire, and clumsy footing.
the panda express, i decided. on fig, near the 5-0, because not only did the dodgers win the previous night, but i could use their john as i waited for my food.
whatcha studying over there? i asked, as we slogged upon the last grand freeway they'll ever build in LA.
psych, jones replied without looking.
oooooo! you wanna hear everyones filthiest secrets? i asked.
no, i wanna do forensic psych. crime scenes. figure out why the guy did it. or if he did it. and testify in court. be the expert witness and shit.
oh! so like oj? i asked.
well, that one was easy, jones said, eyes on the phone.
true, i agreed, glove didn't fit.
what are you talking about? the kid asked. oj was guilty.
omg you are so young i told him. a little jealous of the ignorance.
only in the civil trial, i corrected. during the real trial, the only part that matters, i continued, there were soooo many blunders that even the smartest forensic shrinks couldnt have helped throw him into the clink.
but he was running away in his bronco, with a gun! jones demanded.
wait, have you really seen the trial? i asked.
no. he admitted.
seen any of the documentaries?
no
i love your confidence, my man. never lose that. but also you really should study that case. the only trial that mattered that decade.
the '80s? he asked.
i wondered if he was fucking with me, but my niece had just been in town and she asked me what songs nirvana sang pointing to my poster of kurt cobain.
i nearly put a bar of soap in her mouth, but all i have is foaming liquid.
why was he found innocent? jones asked, curious instead of righteous this time.
i perked up because i had watched every day of the trial. E! showed it live, daily, during a time in my life when i had a good job that let me design my own hours.
every day the prosecution fucked up, i told him as the traffic lightened and we moved into the carpool lane.
one day they discovered that the cop who "found" the glove was a racist. next day, they couldn't account for all of the blood they had taken from OJ. then a different cop admitted he took oj's blood back to the crime scene for no good reason. then the next day, they had oj wear the dumb gloves that didnt fit and it was over after johnnie c busted that rhyme.
but he did it, jones insisted, a little quieter this time.
how on earth did you get into 'SC? i asked.
you dont think he did it? he asked in disbelief.
have you not heard me? i said. i watched the show. every day. in real time. best soap opera ever. sorry, best limited run series ever. ive watched every doc since. ask me anything. but wait, youre the psychiatric forensic whatever-in-training, so explain to me. psychologically. why would a wealthy, handsome, famous superstar, banging the chick who would be on the cover of playboy magazine later that year, murder his ex-wife, two years after their divorce?
jones thought about it.
because he still loved her? he said sheepishly. then with his chest he said, because he still loved her!
how old are you jones?
19.
19?! i coulda sworn you were 22. ok. let me ask you. last year when you first stepped on campus, did you meet any hot babes in the dorms?
hell yeah.
no, jones, i mean knockouts. 10 out of 10s. like stunners, that defy all reason.
absolutely yes, he said remembering. and with a slightly lower tone of voice, because damn.
this is a horrible question to ask you jones, but im taking you to 27th? that's The Row, right?
wow, yes.
which frat?
omega omega
is that the gay frat?
NO! he couldnt say fast enough.
ok, so you guys are aficionados of the female form. USC football, vaping, and baddies.
facts, he confirmed.
think about the hottest teachers you have or TAs. think of a woman in her 30s. does USC have any smokin’ hot professors or staffers or anyone who has caught your eye?
honesty no, he said.
have you looked?
looked for 30 year old MILFs? can't say i have, he said.
name the hottest 35-year-old woman. quick.
uhhhh, dua lipa?
bro she's 29. think older.
im stumped.
exactly. you dont think about 30something women, which, youre missing out on btw. you dont think about them because you have 10s standing in line with red solo cups waiting to be harassed by you and your brothers. and these girls are 18 and 19 and 20. and even the memory of watching one of those stunners walk out of the trader joes to the target puts a smile on your face.
he smiled.
do you think that changes when you get older? do you think you won't look at a 19, 23, 25, 27-year-old baddie when youre 40 and think romantic thoughts?
ha - romantic, he mocked me.
now imagine you hook up with one of those 18-year-olds this summer, and you become a star and you can get anyone you want because youre on TV all the time. youre in movies, and commercials, and you come back to 'SC all the time where your football number is retired. your heisman is there. and 20-year-old song girls ask you to autograph their phone case or arm or football helmet for their dad
and when that 18-year-old turns 33, she divorces you and a year later you have a soon-to-be 27 year old playboy cover girl ripping your shirt off. now jones, psychologically, what would be your motivation to slit your ex-wife's neck open and push her tongue through the slit creating a columbian necktie?
no words back there
no really, youd been with her for 15 years, jones, a number im not sure you can fathom only being 19, but for your ex its most of her life and she cant wait to leave you. do you think youre still going to get as excited about the 35-year-old version of her as you did the 18-year-old who listened intently to your every word?
what does this even mean? he asked, so confused.
bro, nicole was 18 when she first started dating OJ and 33 when they divorced. his playmate was 27. two years older than leo dicaprio's expiration date.
what was the question? jones asked.
what was ojs motivation, motivation expert, if he indeed did it?
i.. don't know. he concluded.
bingo, i said as we got off on MLK blvd. you will receive far more insights in that space than you will in the - i know a man is guilty - without watching the trial.
but what if you do know? he fought back.
you never know. i assured him.
but
and for sure You don't know at 19.
i must know something at 19.
nicole didnt know to stop dating oj at 19. what makes you think you know more about anything than a woman knows about love?
the streets were practically empty. summer school only. and a few stragglers.
how was she supposed to know he was going to kill her?
siri play mr jones
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.