Rolling through a less-than-savoury part of town today, up near the Trans Canada Highway, I noticed two motorcycles pulled over on the side of the road. As I approached in Betty, my bright green Chevy, one of them began motioning for me to pull over. Ever the Good Beer Folk, I complied.
B- "You fellas having some trouble with your hogs?"
A- "No--we want beer."
B- blink. blink. "Pardon?"
A- "Beer. We want some of your beer."
B- "So you're not in trouble?"
A- "No. We want beer."
B- "I'm sorry, you've mistook me for someone else. I'm a SALESman; you're looking for a GIVEAWAYman. That guy gives the beer away--I sell it. Want to buy some?"
A- "We want you to give us some."
B- "Yeah, like I said--I'm in the business of selling beer, not giving it away. Oh, and thanks for flagging me over, too; I love it when people waste my time. Drives me wild with excitement."
Then the guy who hadn't been doing all the talking pipes up just as I'm pulling my foot in the door to close it.
C- "Hey! Fuck you! It's your fucking job!"
In a rare moment of clarity, and showing surprising restraint on my part, I closed the door. Then I counted to 5, turned the key, and for a brief moment flirted with the idea of stopping on R as I put Betty into gear. Showing even greater restraint, I continued to D and rolled on.
But I made a promise to myself that if I ever see those two yokels again, I'm going to give them the Christine treatment and run them down.