Back story: I worked at my college newspaper with a guy Derek, who is on a one-year stint behind the wheel one of the six weinermobiles, or WMBs as they say. They do promotions, pedal weiny whistles and get to drive all over select regions of the country in that trademark ride. Our mutual friend Pete flew into Vegas to hang out with Derek while they were in town and that's where our story begins.
Sunday, Jan. 4
I had hung out with Pete, Derek and his fellow "Hot Dogger" Alana a few times that weekend but had yet to meet the WMB in person. When I feasted my eyes on that 20-foot ode to Americana, I knew it would be quite the ride.
They even let me ride "shot bun."
It's a six seater with big windows, sun roof and cloud sky above. It has a killer turn radius, normal CD player and no food. That was a bit of a buzzkill.
But the magic is what happens on the outside. You can literally watch people try to compute what they are seeing when the WMB rolls by. And let me tell you, when it all connects, they lose their ever-livin' minds. Cameras are hoisted, shouts hollered and befuddled expressions are common.
I was more interested in the people who were totally unaffected by us when we were driving down the Strip. Las Vegas Boulevard is over-stimulation central, I guess.
We tried to go into the shooting range but it was closing (shoot?) as we arrived. That didn't stop the staffers to flood outside to take a look.
After dolling out some weiny whistles, we went to my favorite tacky diner, The Peppermill, which isn't in the greatest of spots on the Strip. Derek jokingly asked if we'd come out of the restaurant and find the Weinymobile on blocks. Of course not, I half-heartedly promised.
So we ate, got a little discount for bringing the wait staff weiny whistles (I swear those are like currency) and went to head out. Four people were gathered around the WMB, taking pictures and generally freaking out. They were four 20-somethings and so were we so we let them do their thing.
Until one guy tried to climb on the bun. Not OK.
Alana went complete Rambo and grabbed him by the puffy coat screaming "Get off my Weinermobile." I think he figured she was joking and just started jumping around her screaming "Weinymobile, Weinymobile, Weinymobile" and getting in her face. It was terrifying.
She pushed him off long enough for us to scramble inside and lock ourselves in. That guy started banging on the windows and yelling some more. We were safe inside the Weinermobile. I will never be able to say that again in my life.
As we drove away recounting events, Pete made the statement of the night — "There really is no authoritative way to say 'Get off my Weinermobile.'" Well put.
What was a great life experience also involved one of the spookiest moments ever, so there is that. And I didn't even have to sing the song to get my own weiny whistle.
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