Friday, October 9, 2009

I Don't See Your Name On It

This is a cautionary tale. Do not cross me, for I will find out what annoys the everliving PISS out of you and do it naked at the top of my lungs on Main Street at high noon.

Yesterday I was at the Concord Co-Op eating my lunch. This older guy walks up to me, calm as a summer's morning. He's in good shape for being aged, lean, maybe late fifties. Retired woodsman-looking guy with denim, flannel & boots. Not bed-worthy but tolerable enough to look at.

“I usually sit there.” he says to me with a depreciating chuckle, like he's doing the store a favor to even deign to come in.

Now, I'm not feeling good as it is. I'm feeling like I'm clinging to my own forehead, trying to steer this giant body when I'm about four inches high and clinging onto my own bangs to stay upright. So I give him The Eyebrow of DOOM, over my glasses' rim for maximum effect and narrow my eyes. The cup of coffee he's holding has no lid and with a hard enough slap, it'll go right in his face. This is really the way I think, folks. EVERYTHING is a weapon.

So he keeps staring. My already low bullshit tolerance level hit its nadir about 3 minutes after I woke up. This whoreson prick motherfucker actually expects I'm going to pack up my lunch and get up & move. Now, the Concord Co-Cop has OSSIM pork dishes there. And those of you who know me know how I worship the swineflesh. When I found out the entire world of Jewish & Muslim people don't touch it, I wept, for there was even MORE FOR ME. When I see on twitter that the co-op is having pork of any stripe you betcha bum I shimmy on over there tout de suite. This man has just walked into my personal temple and tells me he wantsta get crumbs on my altar? BLASPHEMER, THY NAME IS 'MUD'!

So. I show Captain Monomania how possible my moving for his tired ass without the immediate application of hundred dollar bills dipped in powdered chocolate will actually happen by upgrading from Eyebrow of DOOM to GLARE OF DOOM. He is now finally hip to the boiling rage he's lit the fire under & sees that I'm not going to giggle submissively and scamper out of his lordly way, deferring to his OBVIOUS superiority what with him being OLD and having a PENIS and all.

“Well, I guess I'm not sitting there today!” he huffs, planking down at the table next to me. He proceeds to tsk, hem, haw, fidget & sip LOUDLY at his coffee.

OH. HELL. NAW. You...are trying to annoy...ME? ME, who am the High Priestess of Snide, Madame Vitriol, She Who Will FUCK YOU UP? Are you really trying to intimidate me, herd me out of the store all because I'M SITTING IN “YOUR” SEAT?! And, my right hand to the theological divinity of your choice: Every time I move in my chair he twitches, wily as any jungle predator waiting for his chance to SPRING into action and reclaim his rightful throne when I *do*move.

So I did what needed to be done.

I pulled out my laptop, fired it up and started writing this down, tee-hee.

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