Monthly Archives: September 2014

A Polite Question Ruined

And it was my doing (not that I have to tell you that). A woman comes up to me and says, “Peanuts?”

To which I ruined her day (if her reaction was any indication) by responding, “No. Urine like everyone else.”

Vanity Plate

I was standing outside talking with some people. I sort of drifted off because the conversation wasn’t all that interesting to me. I glanced at the cars parked around and saw a license plate with letters. I’m looking at it thinking,

‘Damn, I WILL read anything.’ When a female voice says,

“Are you looking at my plate?” I look at her then point to the car. She nods in a smiley fashion. “That’s my car.” She takes me by the arm and leads me over. The conversation has stopped and everyone’s paying attention to whatever this is. “Do you want to know what it means?”

Yes and no.

Yes, because, who wouldn’t? But no because she’s just a little too pleased with herself over this. I look at the plate and, for the life of me, can’t figure out what
I T M A P means. Maybe it does means IT MAP but that makes no sense to me. I look at her, forlorn that I do want to know. She squeals and says,

“It means I’m The Most Awesome Person!” There is no one on earth more pleased with herself right now than this woman. And we can’t have that happen now, can we boys and girls? I nod at her for a few seconds. My expression is not utter derision (proving just how damn good an actor I am) it’s one people could take as benign bemusement.

“Oh, that’s what it means?” She’s gleeful. I hate that. “Huh. I thought it meant I’ve Totally Mastered Ass Play.”

Ahhh, the world’s such a better place now.

Don’t go outside!

Someone who heard a very disturbing weather report felt she had to share it with me. I found it so distressing I felt it was my duty to share it with you.

She said, “I heard later today there’s going to be tarantula downpours.”

To which I could only reply, “You don’t even hear of that shit in the bible.”

A jaunty gentleman. . .

. . .gleefully saunters up to me and asks,

“How’s your day going?” The gentleman looked at me for a second while I stood Plymouth Rock still.

“It sucks the quills off a porcupine.” The gentleman blinked once or twice or thirty times before saying,

“I think I will  refrain from asking you any more questions.”

Smart man.

Big Tipper

I give $11 in change to a customer. She throws the dollar back on the counter and says,

“Go get yourself something nice.” I pick up the dollar and say,

“Finally! I can go to the dollar store and get that plastic palm tree cup I’ve had my eye on.”

Motherly Embarrassment 

When I was a kid my Mother used to like embarrassing me in public. Mainly she’d say things she’d assume a normal kid would be embarrassed by. And it did. For a while. But once you’ve heard your mother loudly call,

“Chris, do you have enough prune juice for the day?”

A few times you sort of harden.

The last time she ever did it we were in a crowded drug store. I was at one end of the aisle, she at the other with four or five people between us and many others milling about. She calls down the aisle,

“Chris, should I see if the druggist has those condoms you like?”

People in the aisle stop and look at me. In my head everyone in the store stopped. I just smile and say,

“Is it my turn for date night again, Ma?”

New Insults

I was in a room with a group of people. Also known as a bar. As often happens in places like that with groups of people is someone is being loud. Everyone can hear each utterance from every lunkhead at the table.

Have you ever noticed it’s never someone being loud in a room screaming, “I’ve found a cure for cancer!”

It’s always some numb nut  who shouldn’t be giving anyone his opinion even if his life depended on it. On second thought, especially then.

The gist of his rant is of the general quality for chaps such as these. Of course there’s the leader of the pack. He’s not saying anything different than anyone else, just louder.

He, the dick in question, is of the Caucasian persuasion who blames everyone not of his ilk for all the horrendous events that have ever happened in the world even if that race, creed or gender wasn’t anywhere near that disaster at the time.

But logic is not a strong suit for guys (and why is it mostly guys you hear with this? Come on, gals! Take off those aprons! Stop breastfeeding that baby – or toddler if there are separation issues! Get on your soapbox – have a man flip it over for you so you don’t get splinters – and let us hear you roar!) like this. Whatever is wrong in the world, his real world invented for him by one of the many trusted news reporters and calm, reasoned radio broadcasters he mindlessly follows, could never, has never nor will be the fault of his kind.

I don’t think it was the mouthful of colorful phrases dribbling out of his spittle caked quivering lips that bothered the gentleman ten feet from me. I think he was pissed off at the length and all inclusiveness of the diatribe. His quiet was being disturbed.

I could tell he was going to say something. You’ve seen that moment before someone sitting there quietly while a maelstrom is winding around him is about to erupt. He was getting to it. But I could see his dilemma. Acting out would only reinforce this idiots views. I could see the battle behind his eyes.

Then, under his breath, as if he’s trying it out, he mumbles, “Fucking racists.”

“What did you say?”

How the fuck did he hear him? I barely heard him and I’m the closest person to him. I think folks like him are super tuned in to  those they rail against.

I see the guy also wondering how he heard him. Now he doesn’t know how to continue. Fighting verbal fire with fire with people like this never works. They won’t listen so all it ends up being is two sputtering idiots. And that’s exactly what he wants. To bring those he is prejudice against down to his level.

The guy looks at me. I smile. I lean over to him. He leans toward me.

“Don’t call them racists. That’s like a badge of honor. Call him what he really is.”

“What’s that?”

“Tighty whities.”

The guy laughs, sits back and laughs. Then he bellows loud enough to be heard across the street.

“I didn’t say anything to  you, you tighty whitey.” He keeps laughing while the guy doesn’t know what to do. He can defend racist, bigot and misogynistl. He’s got those loaded in his peashooter. But tighty whitey?

That’s a game changer.

A woman is talking to me. . .

“I grew up in the fourth largest city in North Dakota.”

“Do you know how boring that must have been?” She looks at me as if I’ve insulted her and she’s probably right.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you know that fact.”