Crash Dummies

Crash Dummies

Jake leaned against the fender of his car and lit a cigarette. It was Friday afternoon and the last of the mechanics were leaving the auto repair shop where he worked. He looked at his watch. 5:05 pm. Where was Ken? Quitting time was 5:00 and Jake couldn't understand why Ken wasn't out the door. Jake always had his tools put away and was ready to walk out at 4:45. Ken actually worked until 5:00 then put his tools away. That didn't make any sense to Jake. He was grinding out his cigarette with his heel when Ken came outside. Jake walked around to the driver's side and got in, Ken settling into the passenger's seat.

"Hey," Jake said as he turned the key.

"Hey," Ken answered.

Jake was backing his car up into the street when he heard the shrill blast of a horn right behind him. He turned to see the irate driver of the other car yelling and waving her arms as though in a silent movie. Jake casually stuck up his middle finger and continued backing up, driving off while the other driver was still carrying on.

"Moron," Jake muttered.

"Ya," Ken agreed.

"What if she had hit me?" Jake asked, rubbing the dashboard affectionately.

"Like you would have noticed, "Ken chuckled.

"Hey, don't make fun of my car," Jake answered defensively. Ken just smiled. This was a long standing exchange between the two friends. Ken teased Jake about his car and Jake would rise to the bait.

The vehicle in question was a 1973 Chevy Impala. It was so dented it looked as though it had been beaten with a hammer and what few areas weren't misshapen were mottled with rust. The glory of its original gold paint was unrecognizable. The interior wasn't any better. The vinyl front bench seat had holes bulging with foam everywhere. The back seat was missing all together. Ken could see the street rushing beneath them through the hole in the floor at his feet. After riding to and from work with Jake everyday for the past two years, there were two indentations on either side where he carefully placed his feet. He felt like Barney Rubble.

Jake stuck his arm out the window and signaled left pulling into the half full parking lot of the Black Dog Tavern. Jake parked in his usual spot and got out and Ken followed. Every Friday, they went to the Black Dog for a couple of beers after work. Friday night was "Guys Night Out". Jake's old lady knew not to wait up. They went inside and had to wait by the door for a few minutes until their eyes became accustomed to the dim interior. The men seated at the bar and scattered around at tables squinted at them like moles that had just been exposed to sunlight. The room was thick with smoke.

"Hey, Jake, Ken! How they hangin"!" A red haired bearded man at the end of the bar waved.

"Just great, Jim," Jake answered with a grin. He and Ken planted themselves on their usual stools, ready for a night of drinking and bitching. Work and old ladies were the regular topics for that pastime. The bartender slid Bud drafts in front of them. Ken took a long drink from his, draining half the mug. He slammed the glass back on the bar and belched loudly making the other men grunt with approval. Friday night had officially begun.

As the evening wore on, the beer flowed freely and the conversation grew louder and more boisterous. Jake was just finishing his third beer when Jim, the redhead, called from his seat.

"Hey, Jake, they're having a demolition derby at the County Fair. Wanna go?"

Jake turned questioningly to Ken. "What do you think?"

"Let's go," Ken answered. He gulped down the rest of his beer and pushed away from the bar. Jake did the same and they both followed Jim outside.

"My friend Frank is in the derby," Jim told the two friends during the short ride to the fairgrounds. Jake's interest was peaked.

"Really? What do you have to do to get in?" he asked.

"Just show up and sign in. It's first come first serve. When they have enough entries, that's it."

Jake thought about this. He had always wanted to be in a derby. Imagine the fun of smashing into the other cars, the sound of metal grinding against metal, totally annihilating the other vehicles and actually winning a prize at the end. What a rush!

When they reached the fairgrounds Jim pointed out where to park in the enormous lot. Surprisingly, they found a spot not far from the derby event. Suddenly, Jim started waving and yelling, "Frank! How they hangin"!" He turned to Jake and Ken. "C'mon. We can probably sneak in with Frank." The three men walked over, Jim shaking his friend's hand. "Hey, buddy, this is Jake and Ken."

"Hey," said Jake.

"Hey," Ken echoed.

"We wanna watch the derby. Can we get in with you?"

"Sure, if they have it." Frank pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Anyone have a light?"

Jake pulled one of his own butts out and struck a match. He lit his, then Frank's. "What do you mean, 'if they have it'," Jake asked.

Frank exhaled some smoke rings. "They might not have enough entries. I guess there aren't enough shitboxes in the world."

"Well, there's at least one more," Ken said looking pointedly at Jake.

"Now don't you start on my car again," Jake said.

"I'm serious, Jake. Why not enter. What do you really have to lose?"

"Our only way to work, for starters," Jake answered.

"Oh, c'mon. We could make due for a few days and you could buy a beater from the boss on Monday. It couldn't be any worse than what you've got now!"

Jake thought it over as he finished his cigarette. Ken was right. He could pull something together. After all, that was how he'd gotten the Impala. They reached the sign up booth. Frank gave his information and stepped aside.

"Oh, what the hell," Jake said as he stepped up to the window. The man inside was fat and sweating profusely, huge wet stains under his arms.

"Name!" he snapped at Jake. Jake told him and gave all the other necessary information then signed his life away in the form of waivers the fat man pushed in front of him.

"Contest starts at 9 pm sharp. You're #24. Pull you car around to that gate fifteen minutes before starting time." He pointed to a large gate to the left. "You need the number on your car and a helmet. Next!"

Jake looked at his watch. 8:10. He turned to look at Ken. "We have a little less than an hour to find you a helmet and get your car ready."

"What do you mean, 'get my car ready'" he asked as he followed Ken back into the parking lot. "And where are we going to find a helmet?" Jake was beginning to regret his decision. He had spent $50 and knew he was going to spend a month of Sundays listening to his old lady about it. But Ken was already walking purposefully between the rows back to the car. Jake had to run to catch up. When he did, Ken had already reached it and was rolling down the windows.

What are you doing?" Jake asked.

"You can't be in a demolition derby with windows in your car, you jackass." Ken opened the trunk and pulled out a tire iron. Before Jake could stop him, Ken had shattered the rear window. A young couple holding hands stopped and watched, not knowing what to do. Ken just smiled as he threw the tire iron into the back. He scanned the huge lot until his eyes stopped on a row of motor cycles parked near the fence. He strode in their direction calling Jake to follow him. There were many to choose from, all hanging by their straps from the seats.

"Well, take your pick," Ken smiled.

"What are you, nuts? Do you know what these bikers will do to us if they catch us?"

"Sure! They'll pat you on the back and congratulate you for winning!"

Jake shook his head and even though he knew he was taking his life in his hands, he chose one of the helmets hanging off the side of a Kawasaki figuring that the guy who owned it would somehow be more reasonable that the guy who rode the Harley Davidson parked next to it.

"What time is it now?" Ken asked as they walked back to the car.

Jake looked at his watch. "Quarter to nine."

"Better get going," Ken said as he climbed into the passenger's seat. Jake got behind the wheel and started the engine. When they got to the gate, the man stationed outside waved them through when Jake showed him his number.

Inside was an enormous open area of packed dirt lit with halogen lights making it seem like day. Surrounding it were rows of bleachers filled with spectators all waiting for the derby to begin. In the center were nine cars all in different stages of disrepair, backend to backend. Jake felt the adrenalin rush through his body and he turned to Ken with a giant grin which was reflected in Ken's face. Ken opened the passenger door. "Go for it, buddy!" he said as he got out. He heard his name yelled from the crowd and scanned the faces until he found Jim's red hair. "Good luck," he said as he went to take his seat.

Jake pulled the helmet on his head and adjusted the strap. It felt a little tight but it would do. He slowly drove to the center of the ring his mind racing over strategies. He had been to a million of these things and he could always tell you what each driver should have done to keep from being disqualified but now, actually being one of them, it came to him that maybe it wasn't as easy as it looked.

He turned his car around and backed up to abut the other cars. He could see Frank diagonally across from him and gave him a salute. Frank nodded. He turned off his engine and glanced at the drivers on either side of him. To his right was a dark haired man with a day's stubble covering his face. His gut, covered by a grease smeared tee shirt, was wedged against the steering wheel. Jake could hear him wheezing even with his helmet on. On the other side was a skinny balding guy missing his upper teeth. He gave Jake a gummy grin.

"Gentlemen, start your engines!" A tinny voice announced over the P.A. system. Suddenly, engines sprang to life revving loudly, the smell of exhaust filling the night air. The mechanical sound took on its own rhythm mesmerizing Jake as though in some strange ritual. Jake revved his own engine feeling the bulous rush of gasoline as though it were being injected into his veins.

"On your mark, get set, go!" The cars began to move forward. As if on cue, the drivers shifted to reverse and began their assault. The Wheezer suddenly smashed into Jake taking him by surprise. He accelerated to escape and pulled out of the fray trying to regroup. The other vehicles continued to pummel each other when he saw Mr. Gummy break free and head straight for him. Jake waited and when he was just about to hit him, Jake stomped on the gas pedal making his car leap forward leaving Mr. Gummy to plow into the protective hay bales that surrounded the ring. Jake let out a rebel yell and after spinning his car around, drove full speed into a beat up Oldsmobile. The fender crumpled like a beer can and he could hear steam hissing from the radiator. He let out a scream of triumph when he realized the Olds was disabled. Eight more to go, he thought as he turned around to ram into Mr. Gummy again who continued to try to disengage himself from the hay bales. Gummy looked up just in time to see the Impala smash into his rearend, bending the axle like a boomerang. Jake cackled with glee. This was such a ball!

The cars continued their damage dance each vehicle with its own agenda but all with the same goal. Jake soon forgot about strategy and just crashed into anything with wheels. His confidence grew with each crunch. Eventually, the race was down to three cars, his being one of them. I can win this, he thought with wonder, I can really win. And then out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Wheezer aiming for him. Before he could get out of the way, the giant green Pontiac was in the passenger's seat. Jake heard the engine die. He threw the car in park and turned the key making the engine whine but not turn over. He tried again and again but it was no use. Jake laid his head against the steering wheel. It felt cool against his clammy skin. He had been so close! Only two more cars and he could have won the $500! But now it was just a memory. The Wheezer was taking his victory lap around the ring after destroying the last car. The competition area looked like a junk yard. Jake tried one last time to start his car but it was futile. When he couldn't open the door, he crawled out of the window and began walking, as though in his sleep, towards his friends.

"Jake! You were great!" Jim clapped him on the back, potato chips clinging to his red beard. Jake looked at Ken.

"Hey."
"Hey," Ken answered and shook his hand. "You did really good. Too bad almost only counts in horseshoes."

"Very funny. How we gettin' home?"

"Frank will drive us back to the bar. I'll drive you guys home," Jim volunteered.

"Thanks." Ken put is arm around Jake's shoulder and started walking. "C'mon Jake, cheer up! You had fun, didn't you?" Jake took off the helmet as he thought about it. It had been a blast. He felt a smile slowly dawn on his face as he remembered each crash and it came to him that this derby was one of the most exciting things he had ever done. Sure he had no way to get to work on Monday and yes, he had spent fifty bucks and had nothing to show for it but it certainly wasn't the first time that had happened. To him, he decided, it was worth every penny.

"You know, Ken, it really was great!"

Frank stopped next to an old Chevy Celebrity and started fishing around for his keys as he opened the driver's side door. "This is your car?" Jake asked.

"Yep."

Jake just stood and stared. This car looked worse than his old Impala! There were so many patched rust holes it looked like the entire car was being held together with Bondo. The left rear window was missing and the opening was covered with a torn green trashbag. As Jake slid into the backseat, he noticed that the dash was ripped apart and the radio was missing. He wondered if perhaps Frank had used the wrong car in the derby but, afraid of losing his ride home, kept the question to himself. He glanced at Ken who shrugged as he slid in next to him.

"At least he has a back seat," Ken whispered.
"Very funny." Jake answered. He settled back against the moth eaten headrest as an idea started taking shape in his mind.

"Hey, Frank," Jake called out to the back of the driver's head, "how much you want for your car?