Damn the Rain

Home : Stories by Mick : Damn the Rain

Summary: Jamie deals with another rain shortened race.

AUTHOR: Mick
EMAIL: mick@cryptoffic.com
RATING: G
CHARACTER: Jamie McMurray, assorted others
WORD COUNT: 1,465
DISCLAIMER: If I owned them I’d be too busy to write this stuff. Just fiction, folks. I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I blame this entirely on Cat and her horrid way with warping my mind. I hope you’re happy woman.
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Rain. Rain everywhere. Every direction I turn it’s pouring down in buckets. Big, fat, wet drops of acid rain falling from the sky. It’s like the heavens parted and the floodgates opened and doomsday is upon us. It slams down against my car and splashes up off of it and I can do nothing but watch on in complete and total frustration as yet another weekend is ruined. All I wanted to do was come out here, race, and go home. But noooo, not even that can go my way thanks to mother nature and her permanent case of PMS and ongoing hatred for stockcar racing. So the rain continues to pour down, the race is cancelled, and here I am with no umbrella and a perfect head of hair to protect.

Jeff Hammond walks by my car with a headset on and a minion behind him holding an umbrella over them both as he tries desperately to keep up with the former crew chief and his god awful farmer’s tan. Someone should really tell him that if he’s going to fry himself in a tanning booth he should at least take off his tacky sunglasses. I go to call out to him but he’s already got his eyes locked on his newest target. Watch on in complete disappointment as he shoves a microphone into Elliott’s face and begins an interview. What they could possibly be talking about is beyond me. The race is already called and aside from a shared interest in golf there’s nothing for them to improv about. Besides, I could use that umbrella way more than his thinning head could.

The last thing I want to do is climb out of my car with my perfectly groomed coif and have to sprint for shelter under the nearest awning. The rain would no doubt wash out all the gel and hairspray I’d used so strategically this morning to ensure my hair would look as good after the race as it did before. Looking like a drowned rat in a possible interview is so not my style. I’ll leave that look to someone more deserving of it, like Brian Vickers and his Garnier Fructis-soaked head. God, does he really think he’s impressing anyone with those second-rate products?

The team swarms around my car and I sigh softly as they begin to cover it up with its protective tarp and silently wish that someone would find me a protective tarp so I can get out of this dungeon and get back to my coach. Of course, no one seems to notice me as they go about their jobs and I continue to sit and wallow in my custom seat while my helmet swings back and forth from its hook, occasionally hitting me in the head. Seriously, this is like the icing on my cake of suckitude.

After what feels like an hour, but is really only five minutes, I give up on my personal assistant ever showing up with my jumbo, sponsor-endorsed umbrella. It’s obvious the little twit has once again shirked her duties and is no doubt sleeping in the hauler or my coach, or better yet in her hotel room, and I’m left to fend for myself. Personal assistant my ass. That bitch is fired the second I find her. I reluctantly pull myself from the car, forcing back tears as I feel the rain begin to pelt my head. Once I’m back on the ground I try my best to use my arms as a shield and bolt for my pit box.

Just my luck. It’s already disassembled. I begin to look around frantically, sighing in relief when I see one of my teammates coming my way, a giant umbrella in his hand.

“CARL! Carl help me!” I bolt over to him, skidding on the slippery pavement, and quickly huddle under his umbrella, “Thank god. You are my savior!”

He arches an eyebrow at me as I pull a compact from my fire suit and begin inspecting my tresses, none of which look even slightly out of place, “…everything okay, Jamie?”

“It is now! God, I worked on my hair for like…TWO hours this morning and then my twit of an assistant disappears with my umbrella. I mean, really! Who does she think I am, Mikey? Does she think I like having a jungle of messy hair on my head?!”

“I, uh…geez, Jamie. Sorry, I think. I’m just headed over to the hauler so I can change, but I can walk you to yours if you need the shelter….”

“Oh god, yes, please!” I wrap him in a hug, “You are a saint, Carl! I mean it, a real Mother Theresa!”

“That’s great, Jamie. Can you, um…let me go now? Please? People are looking at us funny.”

I pull away and wave to Kevin Harvick and Junior when I see them watching us from the safety of Junior’s pit. Kevin gives me a flirtatious wave as Junior bats his eyelashes at us and I laugh softly, “Oh don’t mind those two. They’re just a couple of big kids.”

Kevin gives us his trademark smirk and yells over from his side of pit wall, “Got a little male bonding session going on over there, boys?”

Junior lets out a hoot and slaps his knee in amusement, “Didn’t realize Jack had y’all attendin’ a sensitivity group!”

I laugh and wave a hand at them flippantly, “Oh you guys! You’re so funny! I was just thanking Carl for giving me cover from the rain. My hair was getting ruined!”

Kevin’s eyes sparkle with mischievous flecks of gold as he looks over at Junior, “C’mon Junebug. Lets go back to my coach so I can thank you for saving me from the rain.”

Dale’s face turns a light shade of red but he follows after Kevin as they run off to the coach lot. I smile as I watch them go; they really are like big kids. Carl clears his throat and I turn my attention back to him.

“Lets get going, Jamie. I have a flight I need to catch, really need to be on my way….”

“Oh, of course! Wouldn’t want to hold you up!” I link my arm through his and start toward the haulers, “You’re not flying yourself home this weekend?”

His attention seems to have drifted from our conversation and I peek over at him, furrowing my eyebrows when I see him looking around as if worried about being spotted, “Don’t worry about fans, silly. They’re long gone by now. Not even the diehards would sit through this mess.”

“Huh?” He seems to realize I’ve been talking and turns back to me, slipping his arm out of my grasp, “Sorry, just…preoccupied.”

“No problem,” we reach my hauler and I give him a grateful hug, “Thanks for the umbrella, Carl. See you at the shop tomorrow!”

As quickly as he can manage, he takes off in the direction of his hauler and I’m left to wonder just how much time he has before the plane takes off. With a shrug I turn and climb onto my hauler, walking to the back where my clothes are waiting for me in a neat pile just where I left them before the race. I change quickly and grab an umbrella from beside the door, opening it as I start for my coach. Just need to grab Jake and my bag and I can be on my way home.

I reach the coach without incident and root through my jeans pocket for the key to the door, letting the umbrella tilt back a little in the process. The rain’s let up for a moment so I close it back up and rest it against the side of the coach as I fumble with the lock. In an instant, I’m doused in freezing cold water and let out the loudest shriek I’ve ever managed in my life. My clothes are soaked, my skin is covered in chill bumps and--

“MY HAIR!!”

Hyena-like laughter cuts through the air and I snap my head back, looking up in time to get another bucket of water in the face. I cough and sputter as it gets in my nose and burns its way down my throat, trying to wipe my eyes clear. When I can finally manage to see straight again, two bodies come into view on the roof of my coach.

“YOU TWO WILL PAY FOR THIS!!”

Kevin and Junior fall over each other as they laugh at me and I can do nothing more than fight back tears as I bolt onto the coach and slam the door shut. My hair. My poor, poor hair. Ruined in the name of humor.

God, I hate rain on racedays.

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Mick - mick@cryptoffic.com