I was trying to get somewhere in a hurry this week, but my car was not functioning, no cranking noise, no lights, shifter won’t move, totally dead. I call the AAA (‘cause I am a Jew and a member of the AAA, AAA+ thank you) and they send a giant hillbilly man with a big, red, curly-haired afro. I’ve been speaking to him less than a minute about what might be wrong with the car and he spits tobacco there on the dirt part of my driveway. As a Jew from the Westside of L.A. living a sheltered existence where as a young child I was protected and very distant (probably several hundred miles) from any man who might chew tobacco, this is likely the only time I have had a conversation with someone whilst they spit tobacco. This hillbilly man was very helpful. He said “you cain go to a mechanic, if you just wanna spend money.” He jumped the car and suggested the Auto Zone, where they could test my battery. The car was fine. They said that it was probably an electrical surge. Thank you crazy, fucked-up looking hillbilly man. You can spit tobacco on my driveway any time.