Messing with Mota #1

If you know me, then you know that I love to laugh. If I'm not finding a reason to laugh, then there is something truly wrong with me. The love of laughing, as you might guess, is a result of Jorge's influence on me. 



The two of us often got in trouble for making jokes at someone's expense. The two of us often got in trouble for laughing at inappropriate times (mostly in mass). The two of us always found a reason to make the other laugh. I always felt proud when I got a jaw shaking ha-ha-ha from my brother. He really had the most amazing laugh.

One of our favorite people to mess with was his friend Mota. Now, if you don't know, in Spanish, mota, is slang for pot. This guy's actual last name was Mota which was already pretty funny to us. Jorge had met Mota when he was a security guard for a clothing factory. They'd started as guards and later, because my brother was also pretty smart and hard-working, Jorge was promoted to supervisor meaning he became Mota's boss. 

They became friends outside of work because Mota was a really easy-going guy. He drove Jorge around. He laughed at all his jokes. So, Mota was over at our house often. Sometimes he'd come to bring things Jorge would ask his to buy. Sometimes he'd come to chauffeur Jorge to a store or movie. Occasionally, I'd tag along with them, and Mota never seemed to mind. 

One time, Jorge and I wanted to go to the haunted house at the mall. Since Jorge wasn't ever fond of driving, he asked Mota to take us. The added bonus was the Mota was kind of a wimp and afraid of everything, so we'd get to laugh at him being scared. However, Mota said he couldn't take us because he had a family thing.

So, Jorge and I went to the haunted house on our own. As usual, we weren't scared. We took every opportunity to yell back at all the monsters, and when we walked out, we were talking about how lame it had been. Then, Jorge says, "Hey, isn't that Mota's van?"

I look in the direction he was pointing and respond, "Yeah, it is!"

"What's he doing here? He said he had a family thing!"

Being punks, Jorge takes brick he found in the parking lot and wedges it behind the back driver's wheel of Mota's van.

We get in our car and decide to wait for Mota. Not much time after, Mota comes out of the mall with a girl. They get in the van. We wait. Mota turns the car on. We continue to wait. Mota puts the car in reverse, and we're on the edge of our seats. He presses the gas. His van doesn't budge. You hear Mota press on the gas again, and still, his van doesn't budge. He revs the engine harder this time. Nothing. Finally, he gets out of the car and walks around it. He sees the brick wedged behind the tire. He looks around and then takes it out. 

That's when Jorge and I jump out of the car howling. "Que paso, Mota? Too much weight in your car? Couldn't back up?"

Visibly annoyed, Mota restorts, "Chis-to-si-to!"

I don't recall if there was more conversation after that because this is usually where the story ended when Jorge and I would tell it. It was one of our favorite stories to share because even after all these years, we would still laugh as if it had just happened. We always laughed harder than our audience because we could imagine lanky, big-headed Mota with a perplexed look on his face.