There was this old bastard sitting on his walker at the end of my driveway this evening when I returned home. He looked like he was getting ready to auction off my SmartCar Dilton's spot to the next eager CNE visitor looking for cheap parking--dirty Capitalist!
He was most certainly from "Leisure World" down the block, as only residents from the said "retirement retreat" have eyes that are perfectly void of ambition.
I stopped the Smart, blinker engaged, and waited for him to haul his ass off his walker seat and shuffle to a more convenient bit of acreage. He didn't budge.
I gave a light toot of the horn in place of screaming, "Get. The fuck. Outtamyway!"
All that did was get him to focus his thousand yard stare at the impending doom idling before him, and heave a sigh--there were no other signs of life.
I wound my window down:
B- "Hey pal! Ya mind scootin' over a bit? You've picked a hell of a place to take a break."
A- "Scoot yourself!"
B- " . . . " (blink) "Come on, give me a break, buddy."
A- "You give me a break!"
B- "I will, if you insist. My car doesn't look big or mean, and it doesn't have 4 Wheel Drive; but its driver hasn't any conscience and will keep trying until he runs you over."
A- "Show some fucking respect for the elderly!"
B- "If you don't fucking move, I'll be paying my respects to the dead! Now scram!"
He wobbled to his feet, muttering cuss words the whole time under his breath, and shuffled out of the way about as slowly as molasses in winter. I rolled up my drive and parked with no further exchange.
Now I was all riled up, and fit to hunt bears with a stick. Of all the damn days to bump into a born-again slack-jawed teenager, and I run into one just minutes before I attempt to assemble my new barb-que. Shit.
Post a Comment