The tag team from the Pacific Northwest. Dana Purdy and Anna Purvis: Darling Dana and Anna Run Amok. I met them at a Waffle House and we smoked cigarettes in the parking lot. I was cruising for "mouth love" and no dumpster to hide behind. Indeed the dumpster was an unlit distance away between the Waffle House and the Flying J.
A blowjob and one of those truckstop souvenir shirts. But I was faltering, dropping faster than Lynyrd Skynyrds airplane.
I took one of those 5 dollar showers over at the Flying J and was looking over the audiobooks and truck swag, snacks and things, wearing the towel still around my head.
"Hey there, Bin Laden!" I heard from behind me.
And that was the Peppermints, also known as Dana and Anna.
We were waiting, in folding chairs, for the last match, the TV guy getting all the gate, and us barely able to get a hamburger after an evening's work. There was a bottle of Ibuprofen, though, and anyone could have some. But it was all varsity crap, man, the dressing area, and then a shower curtain over the entryway.
But we did the thing. Did the job.
A hurt shoulder and no oral sex, just trying to sleep off the pain in my old single cab F150. Sockfeet on the passenger doorpanel, arms bent almost like praying, half-open hands tucked under my head. I was like I was kneading the side of my head.
A stupid glow at irregular intervals, cars and trucks passing by, ghostly headlight glare. That whoosh of tire noise on the tarmac.
I was thinking that the Amok Twins and I had seen pretty much the same thing, yet we submerged each ourselves into the dishwater, and they so weary but innervated in a weird way, happy to be performing, where I thought it was just a job, taking a folding chair to the head a few times, fall and take it to the back. Why in the ghostlight from the big windows in front the Waffle House, I wondered how we could ever persevere with such a difference, how we both all three went through the same thing, but saw it so differently.
Well, for one thing, I didn't sell any tee shirts that night, where the Amok twins did some business with their merch. Probably a few kisses on the cheek for the benefit of photographers, maybe even a blurb in the dirt sheets.
And yet, the same card. But the tv guy? It was all buttcrack smells and slumming for him, dues he's already paid, taking a big step backward in his career, all the way back to the very beginning, wrestling in an old de-commissioned Guard armory property.
How we all see the same events so very differently!
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