Tryna Go To Jail
So basically I went to the car dealership cuz I was feeling pretty fed up about my life all around. Not cuz life’s bad, life’s awesome. I 100 percent messed up, that’s why I don’t like my life. Anytime someone is unhappy with their life it’s actually cuz they 100 percent messed up at some point.
Anyway, I was murderous. Show up to Friendly Honda feeling like a fiend, guy sits me down tries to start selling me something called the “Passport.” I never heard of this dumb ass car in my life. I came in asking for the ‘21 Pilot. The Passport is 7 inches smaller than the Pilot. Okay…? Is that what I said I want…? Guy is babbling demonically into my ear about the Passport.
“Hey, stop, stop. Stop your little salesman trickery. I want the Pilot. Show me the Honda Pilot right now or I will leave.”
Guy does as he is told, gets me the keys, I test drive the thing. I consider running off the lot with it. Not really worth it. That’s not what I want to go to jail for.
I sit down across from this guy after the test drive and he starts blasting me with paperwork. Next thing I know I’m signing my life away, a dozen sheets later they’ve run my credit (580—yikes! I guess treacherous harpies and credit cards don’t mix) and financed me something downright disgusting. I don’t care really care about the interest, because as soon as I get this car, I plan on going to jail. I make this clear to the guy around the time he has me put 500 down to lock the car.
“So this is your big journey car, eh?” He asks me. “Big trips, family trips, and so on?”
“Yeah but also I’m gonna start running people over with it, that’s kinda the plan haha.”
“Excuse me?” He laughs uncertainty. He’s a big Greek guy, looks like a boulder. Thinks I’m taking a stab at dark humor. I’m actually not, I have one hundred percent decided on going down this path.
“What? I’m gonna run people over with this car. That’s kinda why I’m getting it. Is it good for that? Like tumbling over people in grocery store parking lots?”
He looks at me with mild confusion. Part of him still believes—has no choice but to believe—that I am just kidding.
“Actually wait I’m also gonna come run you over,” I said. “Right after you gimme this car I’m gonna go home, chill for a bit, then probably zoom back over and catch you in the parking lot. THWUNK. That’s gonna be the sound. I detest your kind, salesmen. Not that it’s principled or anything like that. I just wanna go to jail.”
“I’m not sure… not sure I follow, sir.”
“Oh, I wanna go to jail. It’s better than real life, once you’ve made your real life jail, that is. I bet it’s refreshing, like being honest with myself that this is what I want life to feel like, you know? You just have the State taking care of you. You get a modest little room and can just read in peace, not have to worry about women and stuff. Seems chill since I messed up my life.”
He pretended he didn’t hear me, pretended to laugh, and sold me the car anyway. I’m in jail now. It’s kind of cool, feels humble to be here. I hear a lot of bad things about modern prison but it’s kinda fine. Idk, what was I gonna do out there, anyway, keep making weird choices with no supervision? In jail you can effectively pause time and just read undisturbed for half a century. Idk, sounds good to me.