A: So anyone who knows me knows I can’t stand overly-anything people. And what I mean by that is someone whose sole purpose in life is being something - anything - and foisting that something on everyone around him/herself, and in the process alienating/looking down on anyone who doesn’t share their exact frame of mind. This could be The Super Jew, The Mega Gay, Overly Black Man/Woman, Johnny Rabid Sports Fan, The Women’s Studies Zealot… I mean ANYTHING.
It’s ok to be really into something. But when it defines you as a person, you need to really re-examine your priorities and decide if that’s all you want to be. Because if it is, you may have your ass handed to you if we cross paths at the wrong time.
So Lioux and I are STARVING after the sound check, so we walk right next door to a little café-type place with sandwiches and stuff. I’m looking around and people are, well, a little off. And then I’m looking at my surroundings, seeing things… little hints… as to exactly where I was standing, but my feverishly hungry mind couldn’t add it all up.
Then I look at the menu. Let’s see… chicken… chicken… chicken… wait. There’s nothing with chicken on here. [I am a big chicken fan.] Ok, how about a burger… nope. Cold cuts? Hell no. Hmm… [looks around again].
[Does that girl have hairy armpits?]
[And hairier legs than me?]
[And what’s with the raggy clothing on everyone?]
Crap.
Me: “Uh, Lioux, this is a veggie place.”
Lioux: “Huh?”
Me: “It says vegetarian and vegan fare on the wall over there.”
And it all comes into focus. The annoying music playing, the almost snobbish attitude toward us “normals”, the lazy-ass way things are getting done, the hideousness of the nasty druid girls walking around. Damn it. Why tonight, of all nights, when I’m least equipped to handle this sitch?
I settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I’m sure made one of them snicker, thinking, “yeah, that’s about all you can handle, carnivore”, but since I can’t actually read hippie minds [thank GOD for that] I didn’t have enough evidence to actually kill any of them. Truth is, I don’t mind veggie food, and I really like a lot of it. I have friends that are veggies, and we’re cool. But those friends are FRIENDS who happen to be vegetarian. It’s not all they are. We have OTHER things in common.
But these people… ugh. They carry themselves with this air of “getting it”. Like they’re so f-ing enlightened. Give me a break. They all look like malnourished assbags, and frankly, I’m really big into the environment and recycling and doing my part, but when it’s put in context like this, I suddenly wanted to club a baby seal with a slab of frozen beef while stomping on Styrofoam cups and singing a Ted Nugent song about hunting animals. I was sooo ready to leave when the lazy hippie bastards finally had our “meals” ready.
And you know what? A blind, retarded kitten with one paw can make a better grilled cheese sandwich than those freaks. I think they half-assed it because they knew we weren’t one of them. Then again, they probably half-ass everything. Except telling you why meat is bad. Christ.
Showing posts with label what's that smell?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what's that smell?. Show all posts
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Fill ‘Er Up
We needed to gas up at this point, so we pulled off in Asshair, Virginia* and found a station right off the highway.
Wow.
I think you might see where we’re headed here.
I was driving for about two and a half hours prior, so I said I would pay for this tank of gas and fill it as the others went inside, used the b-room, got a drink, etc. I’ll let Lioux elaborate on the crowd, as I was preoccupied. So I’m filling the tank, enjoying a stupendous people show, and I glance at the handle of the pump that I’m holding. Clear as day, I read the instruction “DO NOT TOP OFF”. I know what this means. It means when the pump stops, don’t keep clicking it to get the price to something even that you and your mental illness can live with. I read it, process the instruction and go back to the people show.
Maybe about a minute later, just to give you an idea of exactly how little time passed, I hear the familiar click of the pump’s auto shut-off. I glance at the price on the meter.
$48.13.
Surely I can do better than that, right? The little OCD voice inside my head goaded me to keep pumping. To get to that magical $48.50 mark. Just thirty-seven cents more, and I’ll be satisfied.
One click.
$48.22.
Ok, that wasn’t a good one. One more good one this time.
It is at this moment I hear a splattering sound, and feel a wet something-or-other on my leg and shoe.
Glancing down, I realize that the tank is overfilled, dripping onto the concrete and my leg.
Looking back at the pump in my hand, I once again read the warning.
“DO NOT TOP OFF”.
There it was. I saw it, and I didn’t heed it. I’ve got no one to blame.
And the kicker is that the inbred half-breed derelicts standing nearby can do this without the little faux pas I just made.
Oh – and I only got to $48.36.
And when I got back in the car, Elle, now sitting next to me, looks at me and goes, “Dude, your leg REEKS!” followed by “But it’s not that bad.”
Uh-huh.
(*Name withheld to protect the mutants living in this town)
L: Hahaha. While Alienwhere was outside pumping away, Elle, Marconi, and I went inside to the station’s little convenience store to use the restrooms and buy ourselves some treats. As we first entered the store, there was a young man whose car had just broken down and was seeking assistance from the clerk who was on duty. The clerk was little to no help at all, only offering the poor guy a yellow pages.
Elle and I both wanted coffee, and began pouring ourselves some cups. In turning around I notice the next patron to walk through the door. A hulking, fat, hairy and TOPLESS man. Yick. As Elle later put it, “He was about as charming as and reminiscent of Yosemite Sam.”
So as we go about preparing our coffee Elle now notices THERE IS NO MILK OR CREAM FOR THE COFFEE. Just that powdered crap. WHAT kind of convenience store doesn’t have MILK or CREAM available for their coffee. [Again the clerk was very non helpful]. In the end, Elle sucks it up and just makes her coffee with what’s available.
We climb back in the van, and now I’m at the wheel. Elle climbs in back with Alienwhere and that when we notice the pungent smell of gas inside the van…
Wow.
I think you might see where we’re headed here.
I was driving for about two and a half hours prior, so I said I would pay for this tank of gas and fill it as the others went inside, used the b-room, got a drink, etc. I’ll let Lioux elaborate on the crowd, as I was preoccupied. So I’m filling the tank, enjoying a stupendous people show, and I glance at the handle of the pump that I’m holding. Clear as day, I read the instruction “DO NOT TOP OFF”. I know what this means. It means when the pump stops, don’t keep clicking it to get the price to something even that you and your mental illness can live with. I read it, process the instruction and go back to the people show.
Maybe about a minute later, just to give you an idea of exactly how little time passed, I hear the familiar click of the pump’s auto shut-off. I glance at the price on the meter.
$48.13.
Surely I can do better than that, right? The little OCD voice inside my head goaded me to keep pumping. To get to that magical $48.50 mark. Just thirty-seven cents more, and I’ll be satisfied.
One click.
$48.22.
Ok, that wasn’t a good one. One more good one this time.
It is at this moment I hear a splattering sound, and feel a wet something-or-other on my leg and shoe.
Glancing down, I realize that the tank is overfilled, dripping onto the concrete and my leg.
Looking back at the pump in my hand, I once again read the warning.
“DO NOT TOP OFF”.
There it was. I saw it, and I didn’t heed it. I’ve got no one to blame.
And the kicker is that the inbred half-breed derelicts standing nearby can do this without the little faux pas I just made.
Oh – and I only got to $48.36.
And when I got back in the car, Elle, now sitting next to me, looks at me and goes, “Dude, your leg REEKS!” followed by “But it’s not that bad.”
Uh-huh.
(*Name withheld to protect the mutants living in this town)
L: Hahaha. While Alienwhere was outside pumping away, Elle, Marconi, and I went inside to the station’s little convenience store to use the restrooms and buy ourselves some treats. As we first entered the store, there was a young man whose car had just broken down and was seeking assistance from the clerk who was on duty. The clerk was little to no help at all, only offering the poor guy a yellow pages.
Elle and I both wanted coffee, and began pouring ourselves some cups. In turning around I notice the next patron to walk through the door. A hulking, fat, hairy and TOPLESS man. Yick. As Elle later put it, “He was about as charming as and reminiscent of Yosemite Sam.”
So as we go about preparing our coffee Elle now notices THERE IS NO MILK OR CREAM FOR THE COFFEE. Just that powdered crap. WHAT kind of convenience store doesn’t have MILK or CREAM available for their coffee. [Again the clerk was very non helpful]. In the end, Elle sucks it up and just makes her coffee with what’s available.
We climb back in the van, and now I’m at the wheel. Elle climbs in back with Alienwhere and that when we notice the pungent smell of gas inside the van…
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