The other day, I provided transportation for a co-worker home from work. She’s a nice lady, only a few years older than me. She’s crazier’n a loon, but I like her. She needed a ride because her license has been suspended.
For a drunk driving conviction.
Her fifth one.
I pulled into the trailer park (seriously) where she lives with her pregnant, unwed, recreational pharmaceutical-using daughter to drop her off. She loves to talk, and before she got out of the car, she pointed to a nearby trailer.
Ya see that trailer over there? That’s where my ex-husband lives. He stops by sometimes when his girlfriend ain’t home.
I suppressed a grin.
Yeah, she used to live in that other trailer back there with her husband, ’til they broke up. I helped her move her stuff outta there and into my ex’s trailer. I asked her if he had a gun, and when she said no, I went right over to help.
I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
I used to think that the Jerry Springer Show was completely scripted. Now, I’m not so sure.