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Mysty's on a roll.
1. Redneck At Wal-Mart (Not the Seed Feed guy, thank God, but probably a cousin.)
I was driving my mom's car last night and I went to put some gas in it. I thought I had a Wal-Mart card that had a few bucks on it, which was why I went to their gas station, but upon arriving, realized I didn't. Eh, whatever, cash works too. So I put my ten dollars in the tank and walked over to the little outdoor store-like area to pay. (If you've ever bought gas at a Wal-Mart Supercenter, you know where I mean.
Ahead of me is Redneck. Full body camo suit, ratty tobaggon hat, etc. Buying "MARLBORO CARTON!" Oh hell, I've seen this before. So I keep my distance for now. Now, dude is obviously in his late forties at the youngest, but I could tell the girl behind the counter has been busy and so, out of what definitely sounded like robotic habit, she said "What's your date of birth?"
Dude acted like she asked for his kidney. "MY DATE OF BIRTH?! G**DAMN! MY G**DAMN DATE OF BIRTH!? IT'S THREE THREE FIFTY-THREE G**DAMN!!"
The girl winced visibly and went scurrying, and Redneck turned, apparently still incredulous, and caught sight of me standing there. Hell, I have REALLY seen this before. "Was that not the most g**damned retarded thing you've ever heard?!"
*sigh* Before I could stop myself. "Sure was." As the man, apparently satisfied, started to turn back around, I finished the thought my brain couldn't stop my mouth from saying in time. "How long did it take you to g**damn come up with it?"
He whipped back around, and I, knowing now that I've stepped in it ankle-deep, just kept a poker face, staring him down. He kept glaring, and I kept staring, and he finally turned around, paid for his carton, and left, keeping his head down as he brushed past me.
Bullies back down when someone who CAN stand up to them calls them on it.
2. Woman Who's Lucky Not To Be In My Obits Today
There is some VERY bad language in this one. I do apologize for it but in the interest of telling it like it is...I'll still star out the words a bit.
Apparently, there is a rapper named Nelly who wears a band-aid on his face for "some gang reason". I may have been aware of some version of this truth, on some level before. But now the lesson is REALLY engraved deep.
A couple days ago, part of the ceiling caved in here at the paper. Not a big deal, it busted one reporter on the head but she's fine. No one's suing. During the fracas, I got nicked on the face. No big deal again. Wash it in hot water, disinfect the hell out of it. Unfortunately, maybe because of Asperger's, maybe because I'm just nuts, I have a problem with picking at my face and a fresh wound is apparently too tempting, so I finally got tired of wounding myself and put a band-aid over it to stop the picking.
So, I have a band-aid on my cheek under and slight to the left of my left eye. And today, just because, I'm wearing my Rey Mysterio T-shirt, that has a huge "619" graffiti design on the back of it, baggy grey windpants, and heeled boots, and a purple bandana holding my hair back. In retrospect, I can SORT OF understand her "mistake". Anyway. Not thinking anything of it at the time, I stopped at a little grocery store to pick up some cookies to snack on while I worked today.
Long story short, some little black woman, probably in her thirties, walked up to me while I was in line, grabbed the band-aid, and ripped it off my face. VERY fortunately for her, this was a very good sticky band-aid, so the pain was just blinding enough to distract me so I didn't go STRAIGHT for her throat. While I was still recoiling, she started screaming at me.
"You gang members and ho bitches are responsible for everything that's wrong with our world! Your violence is ruining my son's life, it's because of people like you he's in j-hall!!"
Now, having recovered my faculties a bit, I've decided it's time to jump up in the middle of this bitch and start hitting until the cops come, fortunately (for her), there's a very large bagger boy between us who knows that I've got murder in mind and is physically restraining me from adding her to the meat department. I settle for yelling back.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU PSYCHO FUCKING HOSEBEAST?! I'M TRYING TO BUY MY G**DAMN COOKIES!!"
She starts waving my (used) band-aid at me. "What does this mean?! What does this mean?! Is it your gang signal?! What does this mean?!"
"IT MEANS I HAVE A CUT ON MY FACE YOU STUPID BITCH!!" I figure that gesturing wildly to the cut with my middle fingers pointed it out all the better.
She looked at it, looked at the band-aid, looked at me again, looked at the band-aid...seeing the bit of dried blood...and screamed, throwing it down and shaking down her hand out. Obviously, her first thought and everyone else's was HIV, hepatitus, or various other diseases.
"I'M CLEAN YOU STUPID FUCKING W**RE!! NO THANKS TO DUMBASS GUTTER C**T SL*TS LIKE YOU!!"
I really do apologize for the language.
The store manager came along, booted her out and kept me in place until she was good and gone, and offered me a box of band-aids for free. I turned him down, assured him I had no intentions of suing them (hell, wasn't their fault), bought my cookies, and came to work (with a minor distraction below).
If I EVER. See that wench again. I swear. You guys will never hear from me again because I will be IN JAIL.
3. Wherein Mysty Gets Cheered Up Immensely.
There's a no-passing zone on my way to work where the speed limit is 40, which is craptastically slow compared to how smooth and empty the road is. However, the thing is well-known among us newspaper workers as a major speed trap.
So, I'm driving along doing 40, still fuming, and this red car with what looked like a pack of teenage boys in it comes flying up behind me approximately two microns off my bumper. If I had been in my car, I'd have been in a bad enough mood to slam my brakes and let them rear-end me, but again, I was driving my mother's car. So I just kept driving the speed limit and did my best to ignore them.
However, the little punks decide to whip around me, IN THE NO-PASSING ZONE, going around 60 or so...and just as they pull back into our lane, I catch sight of familiar flashing blue lights on a small side-street to my right.
I didn't have to gloat out the window as I passed the little buggers. I just accepted it as indirect karma and enjoyed it as I went.
So, how has everyone else's weekend been?
1. Redneck At Wal-Mart (Not the Seed Feed guy, thank God, but probably a cousin.)
I was driving my mom's car last night and I went to put some gas in it. I thought I had a Wal-Mart card that had a few bucks on it, which was why I went to their gas station, but upon arriving, realized I didn't. Eh, whatever, cash works too. So I put my ten dollars in the tank and walked over to the little outdoor store-like area to pay. (If you've ever bought gas at a Wal-Mart Supercenter, you know where I mean.
Ahead of me is Redneck. Full body camo suit, ratty tobaggon hat, etc. Buying "MARLBORO CARTON!" Oh hell, I've seen this before. So I keep my distance for now. Now, dude is obviously in his late forties at the youngest, but I could tell the girl behind the counter has been busy and so, out of what definitely sounded like robotic habit, she said "What's your date of birth?"
Dude acted like she asked for his kidney. "MY DATE OF BIRTH?! G**DAMN! MY G**DAMN DATE OF BIRTH!? IT'S THREE THREE FIFTY-THREE G**DAMN!!"
The girl winced visibly and went scurrying, and Redneck turned, apparently still incredulous, and caught sight of me standing there. Hell, I have REALLY seen this before. "Was that not the most g**damned retarded thing you've ever heard?!"
*sigh* Before I could stop myself. "Sure was." As the man, apparently satisfied, started to turn back around, I finished the thought my brain couldn't stop my mouth from saying in time. "How long did it take you to g**damn come up with it?"
He whipped back around, and I, knowing now that I've stepped in it ankle-deep, just kept a poker face, staring him down. He kept glaring, and I kept staring, and he finally turned around, paid for his carton, and left, keeping his head down as he brushed past me.
Bullies back down when someone who CAN stand up to them calls them on it.
2. Woman Who's Lucky Not To Be In My Obits Today
There is some VERY bad language in this one. I do apologize for it but in the interest of telling it like it is...I'll still star out the words a bit.
Apparently, there is a rapper named Nelly who wears a band-aid on his face for "some gang reason". I may have been aware of some version of this truth, on some level before. But now the lesson is REALLY engraved deep.
A couple days ago, part of the ceiling caved in here at the paper. Not a big deal, it busted one reporter on the head but she's fine. No one's suing. During the fracas, I got nicked on the face. No big deal again. Wash it in hot water, disinfect the hell out of it. Unfortunately, maybe because of Asperger's, maybe because I'm just nuts, I have a problem with picking at my face and a fresh wound is apparently too tempting, so I finally got tired of wounding myself and put a band-aid over it to stop the picking.
So, I have a band-aid on my cheek under and slight to the left of my left eye. And today, just because, I'm wearing my Rey Mysterio T-shirt, that has a huge "619" graffiti design on the back of it, baggy grey windpants, and heeled boots, and a purple bandana holding my hair back. In retrospect, I can SORT OF understand her "mistake". Anyway. Not thinking anything of it at the time, I stopped at a little grocery store to pick up some cookies to snack on while I worked today.
Long story short, some little black woman, probably in her thirties, walked up to me while I was in line, grabbed the band-aid, and ripped it off my face. VERY fortunately for her, this was a very good sticky band-aid, so the pain was just blinding enough to distract me so I didn't go STRAIGHT for her throat. While I was still recoiling, she started screaming at me.
"You gang members and ho bitches are responsible for everything that's wrong with our world! Your violence is ruining my son's life, it's because of people like you he's in j-hall!!"
Now, having recovered my faculties a bit, I've decided it's time to jump up in the middle of this bitch and start hitting until the cops come, fortunately (for her), there's a very large bagger boy between us who knows that I've got murder in mind and is physically restraining me from adding her to the meat department. I settle for yelling back.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU PSYCHO FUCKING HOSEBEAST?! I'M TRYING TO BUY MY G**DAMN COOKIES!!"
She starts waving my (used) band-aid at me. "What does this mean?! What does this mean?! Is it your gang signal?! What does this mean?!"
"IT MEANS I HAVE A CUT ON MY FACE YOU STUPID BITCH!!" I figure that gesturing wildly to the cut with my middle fingers pointed it out all the better.
She looked at it, looked at the band-aid, looked at me again, looked at the band-aid...seeing the bit of dried blood...and screamed, throwing it down and shaking down her hand out. Obviously, her first thought and everyone else's was HIV, hepatitus, or various other diseases.
"I'M CLEAN YOU STUPID FUCKING W**RE!! NO THANKS TO DUMBASS GUTTER C**T SL*TS LIKE YOU!!"
I really do apologize for the language.
The store manager came along, booted her out and kept me in place until she was good and gone, and offered me a box of band-aids for free. I turned him down, assured him I had no intentions of suing them (hell, wasn't their fault), bought my cookies, and came to work (with a minor distraction below).
If I EVER. See that wench again. I swear. You guys will never hear from me again because I will be IN JAIL.
3. Wherein Mysty Gets Cheered Up Immensely.
There's a no-passing zone on my way to work where the speed limit is 40, which is craptastically slow compared to how smooth and empty the road is. However, the thing is well-known among us newspaper workers as a major speed trap.
So, I'm driving along doing 40, still fuming, and this red car with what looked like a pack of teenage boys in it comes flying up behind me approximately two microns off my bumper. If I had been in my car, I'd have been in a bad enough mood to slam my brakes and let them rear-end me, but again, I was driving my mother's car. So I just kept driving the speed limit and did my best to ignore them.
However, the little punks decide to whip around me, IN THE NO-PASSING ZONE, going around 60 or so...and just as they pull back into our lane, I catch sight of familiar flashing blue lights on a small side-street to my right.
I didn't have to gloat out the window as I passed the little buggers. I just accepted it as indirect karma and enjoyed it as I went.
So, how has everyone else's weekend been?
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