Sam's dad stops by the shop the other day on his way to work. He comes in and lights a cigarette. "How long before she gets here?" He asks.
"About 20 minutes," I tell him.
"Good idea," Indian says and lights one up, so do I.
Backstory: Sam is very anti-smoking and no one is allowed to smoke in the shop while she's there (the little pain in the ass). Sam's dad isn't allowed to smoke at the house either and he has to hide his cigarettes. So in the mornings before she gets to the shop, we smoke like chimneys to get our blood nicotine levels up to carry us through the 3 hours she's there in the morning. Sam's dad stops by sometimes to commiserate (he went to high school with the Indian). Fine.
"Your daughter is a pain in the ass," I tell Dad.
"You're telling me?" He says. "I'm not safe driving down the street in my own car."
"What, is she following you?" I ask, laughing. Sam can be a pit bull when she latches onto something.
"I don't know," he says. "But the other day, I was driving down the Avenue, happy as a clam, radio playing, enjoying a Marlboro, when I see this green Pathfinder in my rear view mirror."
"No shit?" I laugh.
"Dude," he says. "I see her swing out, go around two cars, and get along side me. I see the passenger window go down and I hear 'put that cigarette out, daddy'. And then she passes me and speeds off."
"Sucks to be you," I say.
He laughs at me. "Don't talk, pal," he says. "Look at the three of us. Grown men scared of a teenage girl."
"Damn straight," Indian says, keeping an eye up the Avenue for a green Pathfinder.