Don’t Yell!

I got yelled at by three people I’m not related to by marriage or blood last week.  I must be doing something right.  Well, one was a honked horn, and one was a snide whisper, but still, a good week.

I started off the week at Eurofoods, my favorite little deli.  It must have been seniors’ day, at least six pairs of old folks wandering around.  I was the young kid in the room.  I walked down the counter to the number-spitter and got a ticket.  Then I tried to get down to the far end of the counter.  Just past the bingo machine, the counter dips in about eight feet.  This leaves space on the floor for a refrigerated bunk, but the room between them is restricted.

Ahead of me was some old lady bossing a clerk around.  As so often happens, her cart wasn’t ahead or behind her, adjacent to the counter, it was just south of her outstretched butt.  Halfway between the cart and the bunk drifted her husband.  I looked at the open spaces in front and behind him, and decided that I would pass his ass.  I headed for the bunk….and he backed up and leaned on it.  I pulled the cart back, aimed it between him and his wife….and she called him, and he stepped right back in front of me.  I turned the cart towards his butt again, and looked him in the eye.  He turned sideways, and took hold of her cart.  Finally, I pushed my cart past, and as I passed him, sotto voce, I got, “Some cart driver.”  Yeah well, if you got out of the way, and stayed there, you could see me really spin.

A day later, because of my destination, I went the long way around, and left the subdivision by the back street.  As I got to the intersection with the main road, there was a van, already pulled across the line, at a 45 degree angle.  I pulled up behind him and took a quick look up the street.  Nothing coming, so I pulled out and turned right, behind the van.  As I started my turn, I noticed a car on the far side of the intersection start to move forward also.  As he pulled in behind me, I got BEEEP!   Apparently I was supposed to treat the corner as a four-way stop, where alternate vehicles move in sequence.  Damn!  How dare I have the right of way?  I figure, if you have the time and the presence of mind to honk a horn, it wasn’t an emergency, just petulant bad manners.  Then we got to the lights, where he still had to wait for a green anyway.

Finally, on Thursday, I got the best of the bunch.  If this guy hadn’t been so irritatingly dumb, it might have been amusing.  I left the subdivision the short way, out onto the big road that runs behind my house.  When I got to the T-intersection, I had to wait for two cars coming down the hill, one in the curb lane and one out in the center.  After I pulled out, I pulled over behind the guy in the outer lane.  There were quite a number of cars in the curb lane.  Some of them will want to turn down the side-road to get in the side entrance to the plaza.  Others will want to go through the lights, but still slow down to go in the front entrance.

I want to go straight through, so I stayed in the go-through lane.  When we stopped behind the crowd at the light, he left a whole car length in front of him.  At this point I wasn’t even trying to be an asshole.  I left two feet between us; I’ve left a lot less.  He crept forward five feet.  I crept forward five feet, and stopped two feet from his bumper.  Suddenly he lurched forward.  I thought he might hit the guy in front, but after another five feet, he slammed the brakes on again.  I drifted forward five feet, and stopped two feet behind him.

Suddenly the driver’s door opened, and he climbed out.  Two things ran through my mind.  First, he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  Second, where in Hell is the windshield scraper/brush?  I may need it to teach him to stay in his car.  He faced me and made shooing motions.  It’s unsafe and illegal to back up, so he must mean not to get so close.  I stuck my left arm out and shooed him back into his car, and through the soon-to-be-green light.

That did not sit well.  Now he’s coming back to my car, and I’m really looking for that nylon scraper-stick.  He stops a couple of feet from my window and starts bitching.  Leapers, creepers, I’m being yelled at by some oriental dude who can’t drive. (Is there any other kind?)  “Why you stop so close?  Why you stop so close??”  I picked the wrong side of the argument.  I asked, ”Why are you stopped back here?”  “The light is red.”  “I know, but why are you stopped back here?”  I actually thought I might get a long sought answer.

This is where I thought it really got silly.  He looked at me and said, “I’m your neighbor.  Why you do this to me?  I’m you neighbor.  Don’t you recognize me?”  Hmm, you came down the hill in front of me.  Did you go four blocks out of your way to get here?  Do I recognize you?  Let’s see.  Twenty-five feet in front of me, through my windshield, through your back window, with your back to me, and a car seat-back and headrest between us?!  Oh yeah, you’re the guy who has lived across the street from me for ten years, and has never smiled, never waved, never said hello, never came across the street to introduce yourself, the one who makes me look friendly and gregarious.  Yeah, sure, I recognize you now!  He finally got back in his car, drove through the now-green light, pulled over into the curb lane without signalling, cutting three drivers off, and went into the plaza.

He never did explain how far back he thought I should be.  As long as I don’t hit him, I can stop wherever I want.  The *neighbor* thing bewildered me also.  He was giving me shit for doing something he didn’t feel was acceptable; what does being a neighbor have to do with it??  Is it okay that I do the unforgivable to anybody else, just not to him?  Damn, now I’ve offended him.  He may not talk to me for another ten years.  I hope!

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Be Kind To One Another…Or I’ll Beat The Snot Outta Ya

drip……drip……drip……drip.

It seems like Chinese water torture.

Drip……Drip……Drip……Drip

Once upon a time, I was liberal, understanding, forgiving.

Drip!……Drip!……Drip!……Drip!

The other day, my wife asked me, “When did you start hating Pakis?”, and, without thinking, I answered her.

DRIP!……DRIP!……DRIP!……DRIP!

A recent study proves that women with higher-than-normal levels of testosterone will not co-operate with others, insist on having their choice/decision acted on, and are wrong in their choices 74% of the time.

(You can make up your own jokes about men and testosterone.)

Actions and attitudes.  There were things in my twenties that I never even noticed, things in my thirties that I noticed, but shrugged off, things in my forties I noticed and they irritated me, things in my fifties that I said, “Why the F**k can’t they be a little more thoughtful?”, about.  Now I’m past my mid-sixties, and, there’s not a day that there isn’t someone I feel should be beaten to death with a shitty diaper.

There ARE colored people who are Niggers.

There ARE Indo-Asians who are Pakis.

There ARE men who are arrogant ass-h**es

There ARE women who are shrewish bitches.

There ARE Muslims who are terrorists.

There ARE Christians who are narrow-minded bigots.

And they’re making life hell for the rest of us.

I went to my supermarket yesterday.  There were two shopping carts stuffed into one of the wheelchair parking spots, the one which is back-to-back with the cart corral.  At least they were right at the top.  A handicapped person could park in the space, carefully, and use one as a walker, as my wife does.  The cart-return kid always thanks me when I move them.  I want to ask him why he doesn’t do it, but he’s got to work on volume.  Get the ones from the corral back to the store first, then worry about stragglers.  He’s a nice kid.  His mother drives down to the store and delivers his lunch.

If you drive away leaving a shopping cart, you’re just lazy, selfish, unthinking, inconsiderate and egotistical.  If, instead of walking a hundred feet across the parking lot and putting the cart in the corral, you walk ninety feet across the parking lot and stuff it in a handicapped spot, I’m going to have to call on BrainRants to define the level of ass-holery being committed.

I backed into a parking spot, in the dark, in a snow storm, and found that someone had left a cart in it.  I know, it’s at least half my fault.  Punched a base-ball sized hole in my light cover, the one which stretches all the way across my trunk lid.  Five hundred dollars from the dealer, only, after a visit and two phone-calls, never got back to me.  Two-hundred and fifty from a scrap dealer,  if you can find one who’ll peel it off an undamaged trunk lid that they can sell for $600.

My son was driving the car one day, and some guy chased him three blocks and  caught him at a stoplight.  Offered to sell him the cover and the two outside lights for a hundred bucks, cash.  Some self-employed entrepreneur who spent $1400 for a trunk spoiler and fancy light cover to doll up the same Impala I can hardly afford to keep on the road.  I happily paid for the privilege of cleaning out his garage.  After we drove for three years with packing tape over the hole to keep water out.

Came out of the same grocery store a couple of weeks ago, just in time to see some 30ish female abandoning a cart in the middle of the same spot.  I BELLOWED at her, “DON’T LEAVE THAT THERE!!  THAT’S A HANDICAPPED SPOT!  I mean, the guy at the strip mall across the street looked over.

Yeah, who are you?

I’M the guy who has to use that spot!

For just a second, I thought that I had made contact, but then the look of entitlement slipped back into place.  She wheeled away and gave me an over-the-shoulder dismissive wave, and a, “Whatever.”  She headed towards my car, which was parked in the next row.  I thought perhaps she had the grey van parked next to me.  I figured on pulling another leave-the-cart ploy, but she walked between the vehicles to a car on the far side.  Oh well!, I walked the cart around and put it in the corral.

I walked back around to head for my car, and met a Paki shoving another cart into the middle of the same spot.  He was already wearing the shitty diaper on his head, so I considered beating him to death with the cart.  Throat was a little raspy, not quite as much volume this time.

DON’T put that there!

Oh no??? (In Paki sing-song)

Oh NO!!

It only took him a few seconds to put it where it belonged.  Why couldn’t he have done that without being yelled at?  Where do all the bad manners come from?  Ikea?  Do they assemble them themselves?  My kids (and grandson) were taught better than that.  He then walked over to the grey van that was parked next to my car and got in.  That’s who owns it.  Damn!  missed out on my chance to play the parking lot abandon-the-cart game.