hey random people: stop pissing me off!
April 07, 2008
I love to drive. Those of you who read this thing with any regularity…or those of you who know my fat ass in real life…are already familiar with this aspect of my personality.
I love to drive around the WV countryside at odd hours. Mostly anywhere from midnight-5am, Eastern Standard Time.
One way or another, I usually end up at Sheetz (a local gas station/convenience store-type franchise) with the intention of grabbing something to eat and hitting the road again as quickly as possible. And yet, I always seem to find myself there about the time when all of the bars and strip clubs are emptying out and there are drunken freaks with serious cases of the munchies on the loose.
Motherfucker…
When I pulled into the parking lot, there weren’t many vehicles. A late model SUV, some kind of ugly four-door sedan, and a silver mustang.
The silver mustang made me a little nervous, because that was what D was driving the last time I saw him. A quick inspection, however, eliminated him as the driver. There were no skull decals on the back window and no Dale Jr. license plate on the front. Thank Christ, Mary and Joseph…
Anyway…
As I stepped inside, my ears were greeted by the musical sound of profanity and crude laughter. Oh joy. There were, like, eleventy-million people in the store, up at the little kiosks ordering food.
I pushed my way up front, ordered my food, paid my ticket and decided to take a piss break while my sandwich was being made.
Normally, I would see absolutely NO reason to point out that all of the people in the store were black because normally this would add absolutely nothing to the story and just sound ridiculous…but as I headed back to the bathroom, I heard some guy yell, “Hey, white girl!”
To which I responded, “Hey black dude!”
So, this skinny guy in a red hoodie and black ball cap breaks away from the pack and approaches me. Two of the other guys…one in a bright orange Reese’s Pieces jacket (just picture it, I dare you) and the other in a black and white checkered shirt that would have looked out of place pretty much anywhere except maybe, oh I don’t know, a Tim Burton movie…started giggling like a couple of idiots.
“So you’re a cowgirl…?” he says, his words slurring together.
I looked down at my sweatshirt. It happened to say Cowgirls Gone Wild, by the way, so at least he could still read fine print and might have passed THAT portion of a police sobriety test…
“Not tonight. I’m not feeling too great,” I said, not really wanting to provoke any further conversation. His eyes were red and glassy. I wasn’t sure if he was drunk or high or what, but he was kind of staggering, and I really didn’t feel like conversing with morons.
His friends started giggling again, and he turned to them and said something like, “So she’s a country girl. Ain’t nothing wrong with that!”
God, please get me out of here…
“Number 378!” the guy at the deli counter yelled over the noise.
“Ooops, that’s me! Gotta go!”
I grabbed my sandwich off the counter and booked.
And I’m so proud of myself, because even though I have PMS, I resisted the urge to be rude and/or bitchy…at least, for the most part.
I’m really going to have to spend way more hours in front of the mirror working on my evil leave me the fuck alone, you goddamn summbitches or I shall smite you where you stand look. It’s just not working the way it used to.
Or maybe that was just all the fat rolls keeping people away. I’m not really sure lol.
