Page 16 of Happy Hour

“Four car, hit the wall hard.” Aiden told him. “Collected Harris with ‘em,”

“So what do think bud,” Kyle came over the radio. “any changes?”

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing.” Jameson snapped. “The car’s fucking perfect. This bitch is corning like it’s on rails.”

And that iswhyLane can’t listen.

“All right so...four tires boys...no adjustments and fuel.” Kyle ordered, the crew who stood ready on the wall waiting for Jameson to get to the stall.

“I need a bottle of water.” Jameson told the crew.

He had the first pit at the end of pit road so it seemed to take forever for him to get there. Once they made it to the stall, we couldn’t see much from the suite but relied on radio chatter.

“Three...two...one...wheels straight, foot on the brake,” The crew went to work but got stuck on the left rear when a lug nut wasn’t tight, causing Jameson to fall behind five spots on the exit.

“One lane...one lane...hard, hard, there you go.” Aiden guided him through pit road traffic. “Cross over on entry...there you go.”

“You guys act as though you’ve never performed a pit stop before. My god!” Jameson yelled. “How’d I lose five spots?”

“Sorry bud.” Kyle said. “There were loose lug nuts on the left rear.”

The remainder of the race was spent with Jameson and Kyle arguing strategy, and Jameson telling him to shut the hell up a few times.

Eventually Jameson came over the radio at lap three-forty. “How many more laps?” You could tell by his tone, he was exhausted.

“About sixty,” Kyle answered.

“If I ask again—ignore me.”

Jameson had fallen back to seventh and wasn’t all that pleased by this. Every time he pitted, he lost at least four spots.

Jimi was pissed and yelling at Mason, the car chief, over the radio to tell the crew to get their shit together.

Jameson, well he was quiet, which was a good indication that he was livid.

The stream of profanities that flowed when he fell back to third, after making his way to first again before this last caution, actually hurt our ears.

“Oh Jesus you guys...what the fuck?” Jameson shouted. “How can we win if every time we have a pit stop you fuck it up and we’re down three more spots? I don’t know how many times I’ve passed this fucker in front of me!”

“They’re working on it,” Mason clipped.

“They’re working on it?” Jameson mocked sarcastically. “We all have a job to do out here. Get it together!”

I could tell Mason was just as disappointed with the pit stops as Jameson and Kyle were. From our position in the tower, you could see the crew hanging their heads in shame. They didn’t need to be told they weren’t holding their own, they knew.

Both Emma and I had to pull the head phones away for a moment as Jameson continued his ranting.

When he drove past the front stretch, you could see him throw his water bottle and pound the steering wheel with his fists. After a few laps, he was quiet again.

At five laps to go he was running second when the caution came out. “Cautions out, turn three low,”

“Stay out or no?” Jameson asked.

“Uh...” Kyle paused for a moment.

“Kyle...we can’t be hesitating like this.”

“I know that, Jameson.” Kyle snapped back. “How’s the car? Do you need any adjustments?”

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