Tuesday, October 3, 2006

Why I seriously can't have nice things.

I pull into White Hen last night to make a pre-bar purchase of the usual cancer-inducing necessities, and since trip inside is gonna cost me about thirty to forty seconds of my life I decide, against my better judgement, to leave the car running.

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.


paperback reader said...

She was putting the "pirate" in "This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite." That, or the "Thieves" in "Police and Thieves."

I could keep going. I listen to a loooooooot of the Clash.

I bet the Sheriff wouldn't like that. In fact, it could be argued that fundamentally, he can't take it.

Rassles said...

Don't knock the Sheriff. He thinks it's not kosher. You know he really hates it.