Heather Christena Schmidt

Today I witnessed the most bizarre thing I have ever seen in my life.  It occurred at roughly noon, and now – almost eight hours later – I am still befuddled by it.

I present to you first, a random, elderly Hispanic couple.

No, this is not the actual random, elderly Hispanic couple that I am referring to.  It would have been far too obvious for me to lean over and take a photograph of them with my cell phone.  But after (literally) hours of searching the Internet, this is the closest thing I could find.  The woman was dressed exactly this way, with the similarly vacant look on her face.  The husband’s striped shirt was starched impeccably straight; and his glasses were just as plastic and thick.  The only real difference was that they were in their 1970s, red-orange Chevy Impala.

I next present to you the music they were listening to.  There were no other cars or trucks at the intersection, so this was their music blaring, without the shadow of a doubt.  I would argue it was as loud as it could go.

Neither of them flinched a bit through the entire time the song was on and we were sitting at the unusually long stop light.  They just sat, staring straight ahead vacantly.  I sat there, looking over at them repeatedly, each time my insides becoming more and more horrified.  I don’t know why this was so horrifying at the time, but it was.

What’s wrong with this picture?

I don’t want to be judgmental or to generalize, but this is not exactly the type of music I imagine an elderly couple of any persuasion to be listening to at maximum volume in their car.  When I got home, I looked up the song and the lyrics and immediately the reason behind my terrified feelings became quite obvious.  Let’s look at a few of the lyrics.

Grind, grind, grind!
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on
Grind, grind, grind, grind on

Man, I got no bitches on a… running.. for me!
..should stay fit… should I stay rich
I never go broke, I got a… 

Cause I’m on my (grind)
Get money when you (grind)
Fucking when with my (grind)

I’m so cold on these whores, somebody throw me out
Gotta.. like to go down South
See me talking on the plane, I got a fly ass mouth
You did, I’m shining dough
So where’s my glove?
So where’s my bitch?
So where’s my wife?
All I do is, I like it when she grind!

Grind, grind, grind, grind on
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on
No I guess my grind on

By far, this was the most bizarre experience of my entire life.  This tops almost everything I can think of, even that one time in Baja…