Today I enjoyed driving through my bee-u-tiful neighbourhood of Marda Loop even more than usual, because today, Bon Jovi provided the soundtrack to Saturday morning. And nothing I have found makes kids with Down Syndrome, plagued with the relative boredom of waiting for the bus, dance harder than Bon Jovi.
Waiting at a stop light, my beautiful truck Betty's windows down, and her stereo turned to 22, Dr. Jon Bon and company were talking about groovin' to the backbeat, making love in the back seat, and generally being Wild in the Streets--stuff that nearly everyone can relate to--and just as I was beginning to air drum on my steering wheel, I heard a shout out surely meant for me.
D- "Nice truck!"
I looked over to see the glowing benevolence of a twentysomthing fella with Downs who was giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
B- "Thank, buddy!"
D- "Nice music, too!!"
B- "You like rock n' roll?"
Like anyone ever needs to ask that question.
D- "You bet! I love to rock!!"
He was getting excited; so was I.
B- "Maybe I should turn it up? What do you think?"
B- (turns up Bon Jovi) "How's that? Louder?"
I didn't receive an answer--my new friend was dancing like it was his superpower.
There are only two appropriate reactions to this situation, and I did both.
1) Turn the Bon Jovi up to maxiumum;
2) Do a burnout.
How do I know that the other people waiting at the bus stop thought my friend and I were the two awesomest cats on the face of the planet?
When dealing with matters of rock, you just know.
And for many reasons, it doesn't matter what the fuck they thought.
I need to install a dance floor in the back of Betty for situations like that.