Make that change
One time in high school I got really bored and dropped a whole lot of powerful acid and drove down to the golf course to hit a bucket of balls. I had recently acquired my trademark fedora on a trip to New York and, at the time, wore it everywhere I went. I also constantly wore wraparound fake Oakleys.
Anyway, the acid hit really hard on the drive over and I stopped into a gas station to get my head together and snag some water and cigarettes. As I was waiting in line, tripping my nuts off and attempting to keep my brain in my skull, this tiny Mexican woman nudged me from behind and asked me if I was Michael Jackson.
This is the sort of thing that they show on commercials for LSD.
I had no idea how to react, so I just politely said I was not Michael Jackson and turned away, thankful that she couldn't see my eyes behind my sunglasses (because they'd turned into rotating beach balls by that point, of course, to match the rising and falling oceans of blood behind the counter). But she was a sweet little woman of a certain age, and I pictured her listening to Jackson Five records on the floor of her bedroom, possibly on a tiny plastic record player like the one we had at home that we listened to "We Are the World" on over and over again.
I was about to start running from the Dragon that was stalking the gas station aisles when I heard her little voice again. "No, I know it's you" she playfully insisted. I turned back to her.
Then she did something that will stick with me absolutely forever, particularly since it was so sweet and awesome it broke through all the drugs to absolutely kill me. With the most adoring look in her eyes and the sweetest little goofy smile she said, "I love you, Michael."
Now, all these years later, I honestly couldn't tell you if this woman really thought she was talking to Michael Jackson. Probably not. But there was something so real and sweet and vulnerable in that moment, and I don't know that there are all that many people who have ever lived who can engender that kind of feeling in people they've never actually met. 'Thriller' was the number one album in the country for 37 weeks. THIRTY SEVEN.
I left the gas station and headed out to the golf course completely discombobulated, and not by the drugs. There was something so sad and sweet and honest in that moment that just really crushed me. Maybe if she had been goofy about it I would have just walked away. But for a teeny tiny instant I was some kind of surrogate for Michael Jackson, and saw for a teeny tiny second the way that people look at you and genuinely love you when you're Michael Jackson, and it was no small thing to behold.
So then Michael Jackson left the gas station with a tiny wave to his fan, who lovingly watched him climb into his beat up Dodge Van, and then Michael Jackson bought a bucket of golf balls at the the par 3 course, but Michael Jackson's LSD was too strong and it got way too hard to hit the ball because the ground kept undulating so he kept hitting them all over the place, and at one point a guy came up to Michael Jackson and said "Are you the guy selling the golf clubs?", and it took Michael Jackson almost a full day to realize that he'd just totally gotten burned.
Anyway, the acid hit really hard on the drive over and I stopped into a gas station to get my head together and snag some water and cigarettes. As I was waiting in line, tripping my nuts off and attempting to keep my brain in my skull, this tiny Mexican woman nudged me from behind and asked me if I was Michael Jackson.
This is the sort of thing that they show on commercials for LSD.
I had no idea how to react, so I just politely said I was not Michael Jackson and turned away, thankful that she couldn't see my eyes behind my sunglasses (because they'd turned into rotating beach balls by that point, of course, to match the rising and falling oceans of blood behind the counter). But she was a sweet little woman of a certain age, and I pictured her listening to Jackson Five records on the floor of her bedroom, possibly on a tiny plastic record player like the one we had at home that we listened to "We Are the World" on over and over again.
I was about to start running from the Dragon that was stalking the gas station aisles when I heard her little voice again. "No, I know it's you" she playfully insisted. I turned back to her.
Then she did something that will stick with me absolutely forever, particularly since it was so sweet and awesome it broke through all the drugs to absolutely kill me. With the most adoring look in her eyes and the sweetest little goofy smile she said, "I love you, Michael."
Now, all these years later, I honestly couldn't tell you if this woman really thought she was talking to Michael Jackson. Probably not. But there was something so real and sweet and vulnerable in that moment, and I don't know that there are all that many people who have ever lived who can engender that kind of feeling in people they've never actually met. 'Thriller' was the number one album in the country for 37 weeks. THIRTY SEVEN.
I left the gas station and headed out to the golf course completely discombobulated, and not by the drugs. There was something so sad and sweet and honest in that moment that just really crushed me. Maybe if she had been goofy about it I would have just walked away. But for a teeny tiny instant I was some kind of surrogate for Michael Jackson, and saw for a teeny tiny second the way that people look at you and genuinely love you when you're Michael Jackson, and it was no small thing to behold.
So then Michael Jackson left the gas station with a tiny wave to his fan, who lovingly watched him climb into his beat up Dodge Van, and then Michael Jackson bought a bucket of golf balls at the the par 3 course, but Michael Jackson's LSD was too strong and it got way too hard to hit the ball because the ground kept undulating so he kept hitting them all over the place, and at one point a guy came up to Michael Jackson and said "Are you the guy selling the golf clubs?", and it took Michael Jackson almost a full day to realize that he'd just totally gotten burned.