Last Saturday, October 7.

I was sitting around the driver's room. It was 12:15, and I was waiting for my noon load. I get a frantic text message from my chick.

People were running scared into her work, saying there was a mass shooting at the Home Depot. Her place of employment was now "locked down". All the beta males and women folk were cowering in fear of their worthless lives, hiding behind the false comfort of a glass door.

I tell her, "Hey, relax, baby. You'll be fine. The law of averages is on your side. Besides, Home Depot is way the hell across the parking lot from you. Everything will be ok".

I'm secretly thinking that this might be the Hail Mary pass we need to get P-town a top 25 finish in this year's Murder Bowl. I know, wishful thinking. I might as well go to a Harlem Globetrotter's game and root for the Generals.

Right about then, one of the dispatchers was walking out through the driver's room, it was the end of his shift.

"Have a nice weekend, fellas," this moron says.

I smile and say "Hey Bernie, I just came from the Home Depot on Washington street. They got a big 50% off sale, but it ends at 1:00. You oughta hurry up and get down there!"

He smiles back, and says, "Oh yeah?"

I love management....

I was suddenly reminded of an old acquaintance from long ago, affectionately known as "Ken-Loke".

We used to hang out and drink together now and then. You know that old saying about how there's black people, and then there's niցցers? Out of respect for him, and my commitment to being truthful, I would never call Ken-loke a black person. He liked kool cigarettes and 40 ouncers, violent hip hop and white women. I wouldn't trust him for one second, but for some strange reason I never could figure out, we just got along real good. He was the type of dude who could be funny without saying a word. His facial expressions were hilarious. He was entertaining.

The night I met him, I was a homeless teenager, drinking in a park. He was trying to sell me a gun. He wanted 50$ for it, some old rusty Saturday night special. I told him I don't have any money. He smells a sale here and won't let up. I finally say, "Look man, I'm not giving you fifty dollars for that thing. I don't even want it. It's obviously stolen and you've probably shot at least 3 old ladies with it. I don't want to be within a mile of that gun."

He gave me a look that conveyed genuine hurt and sadness, then said, "I wouldn't do that to you, man. This was MY MOMMA'S GUN!" I couldn't help but laugh.

Ken-Loke ended up shooting 6 people one day. One was a cop. 3 of 'em died. He just snapped. Plain as that. At one point during his shooting spree he started taking pot shots at the freeway, necessitating it's closure. I sat in traffic on I-5 for 4 hours on account of his stupid ass. He put 15 holes into one cop car and 6 in another. Seattle police needed an armored vehicle to finally take him out. Of course, he never lived long enough to see the inside of a courtroom. That was Memorial Day weekend of '99.

The whole Home Depot thing was nothing. Someone heard shots, next thing you know, herd mentality takes over, and these people who have been seeing Las Vegas on the news non-stop just go into full on panic mode.

And now my chick is asking me "What's a murder bowl? I thought you didn't like sports."