When I was a teenager I had the coolest best friend.
We’ve since drifted apart, but she was seriously one of the neatest people I’ve ever met, and I’m the person I am today because of our friendship.
I drove this Ford Bronco II that was adorable, but not exactly the greatest car on the planet or anything.
I had to add oil like twice a week, it would overheat in the dead of summer and we’d have to drive around with the heater on… and let’s not even talk about the weird smell that came with that.
At one point we were out being all teenagery- and we decided to stop at Kmart but we didn’t really have anything we needed to buy.
So, we picked up a can of SPAM.
Look, neither of us was about to eat it or anything, and this was before SPAM = Viagra emails–we just thought the word was funny and we’d never actually seen the stuff.
But, we wimped out, and neither of us could open it. So we just put it up on the dashboard of my car. (In Texas, in 108 degree summer heat.)
I know what you’re thinking here. You’re thinking you know where this story is going, right?
The spam explodes and covers my car in a spray of Hormel’s pre-cooked finest.
That can never even so much as bulged. I kept it in my car for three years, and every time it slid across the dahsboard, everyone in my car yelled out in their most dramatic voice, “Oh no, Not the Spaaaaam!”
We always thought that can would come open, but it never did.
I wonder if my mom kept it. I think it’s probably in a plastic tub somewhere in their store room. Man, she’s going to kill me if it gets all over everything…