So I head inside and walk straight up to the register. No browsing the gum like usual, because this town has been seriously gum-dry for almost a week now and I'm waiting patiently for the next shipment of Orbitz citrus mint. Just as I arrive at the counter a woman exits the establishment. Like I said, this purchase is a quickie: I'm in, money and goods are exchanged, and I'm out like a seventeen-year-old choir boy in San Francisco.
As I throw a "peace out" at the guy behind the counter, I open the door and lunge into the monsoon outside, launching myself upon my car door, only to find that the Dumb Bitch who was leaving White Hen as I was entering had settled herself nicely into the driver's seat of my car and was trying to change the radio station.
So I open up my door (raining, raining, raining, mind you), and the following scene unfolds:
ME : Can I help you?
DUMB BITCH : No, thanks, I'm just trying to change the station.
ME : In my car?
DUMB BITCH : What? No...um...huh? Well, this is...um...(pointing) what is this?
ME : My radio.
DUMB BITCH : Oh, I mean, no, what...um...what band is this?
ME : The Clash.
DUMB BITCH : Oh, well I would never listen to this so I was just trying to--
ME : That is because this is my car.
DUMB BITCH : Oh--really? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry.
ME : Then can you please get out?
DUMB BITCH : Oh, well, um, of course--let me just--
ME : Please get out of my car.
DUMB BITCH : Yes, well, um--
ME : Get out of my car.
DUMB BITCH : Of course, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
(Proceeds to get her purse out of the passenger seat and climb out of my car. She had really familiarized herself with my whole front seat.)
ME : Thanks.
DUMB BITCH : I really am so sorry.
(DUMB BITCH then walks three parking spots down to her black two-door Toyota, which of course is easily confusable with a silver Honda Civic/Fake Hybrid, pulls her keys out of her purse, unlocks her door, gets in her car, and drives away.)
She gets an F.