Me and Dave went to Yosemite one day in the winter of' '91. We normally didn't spend a whole lot of time in Yosemite because it was Federal property and any drug or gun (two things we were never found without) offenses were Federal Felonies, even simple marijuana or firearms possession that would be misdemeanors in any other part of the State. I mean, let's not tempt fate, right?
We had decided that we wanted to see the Sequoias in the Mariposa Grove in the southern part of the park. When we get there, there ain't a single solitary car in the parking lot. That's why you go to Yosemite in the winter.
Anyways, we go through the entire Grove, not seeing another soul. At one point, as we were heading back to the truck, I stop to look at something and I hear Dave say "I wonder how loud this fucker will sound here?" and then I hear a clack-clack as he racks the slide on his 45. I almost had a heart attack right on the spot. One road in, one road out, the ranger station between us and the road, and he wants to go bang-bang.
After we got back from the Mariposa Grove that day, we stopped off at Yosemite Village there in the valley to cop some food before we headed on out.
Man, we went into the store, but neither of us felt like paying $6.00 for a coke and a bag of chips. Besides, we were wanting something a little more substantial, so we walked around and found a snack bar. When the teen-ager behind the counter asks Dave for his order he asks her, "How do you do your chili dogs here?"
I started laughing my ass off. "They take a hot dog, slap it in a bun, and pour a can of chili over it, you dumb fuck. How did you think they did 'em?"
"No, no, what I meant was, are they pre-packed chilidogs or... oh hell, I'll just have an order of nachos," Dave said.
"Would you like to know how we do those, too, sir?" the counter girl asked, laughing harder than I was.