Parking Lot Etiquette, Assholes, and Hair Gel

So, a few weeks ago I had my head up my ass.  It happens to the best of us.  Know what separates us from the animals?  Our ability to ADMIT the occasions when we have our head up our ass.  Those that CANNOT admit this, therefore, are complete assholes (ok, "asshole" is not an animal per se, or not even a "per se" actually, but this is the most appropriate word for the situation, and I refuse to go back and re-write my introductory statement.  Moving on...).  Those that cannot forgive those of us who can admit when we had our head up our ass are even bigger assholes (think blue whale sphincter...rhino anus*...Godzilla's dark star**...etc), at least, in my opinion, that is.  So, with these declarations in place, here's my short, cautionary story about assholes and proper parking lot etiquette:

I was driving in my local supermarket/strip mall parking lot at a breakneck speed of about 7 MPH.  As I approached an intersection within the parking lot, I was simultaneously fucking with my stereo, dialing a phone number, and reaching in my back seat for my wallet.  In other words, admittedly, not being real attentive.  A gentleman, and by gentleman, I mean hair gelled*** prick in a BMW, had already entered the intersection, and therefore had the right of way.  Me, due to having my head up my ass, did not see him and rolled into the intersection.  I looked up, and due to my whopping speed of 7 MPH, was able to stop my car about 15 FT. from his car.  It wouldn't even warrant calling it a close call. Calling it a close call would be like calling sex with your ex a good idea****.  In other words, it's not (it wasn't? Whatever).  So, because I adhere to proper parking lot etiquette, even though this wasn't a close call, or anything remotely perilous, I did the mea culpa with the hand and facial (heh heh...I said "facial") gestures that intimated "Sorry.  I had my head up my ass...and yes, I find this embarrassing.  Please proceed good sir."  Now, the proper response to my top notch display of etiquette would be a smile and a friendly nod that says, "Hey, no worries...we all have our moments of head up assedness...and thank you for recognizing yours like a true mensch."  And then we would both proceed on our way, thinking human beings aren't really all that bad a bunch after all.  But no.  This is not the case.  Human beings, of course, do suck.  Mightily.  So, Mr. Dippitty Doo here has to pile it on.  It's not enough that I've acknowledged my breach of safety procedures.  Oh no.  Porcupine head here has to give the wild "WTF???" shoulder shrugs and "Pull your head out your ass!" hand gestures to, you know, really hammer the point home.  But, do you want to know what really happens here?  There's no further lesson learned on my part.  NONE.  AT ALL.  His tough love is getting him NOWHERE in my lessons learned department.  Know what lesson he IS in danger of learning?  This one: that what his wild gesticulations DO inspire in me is not additional shame, but rather I pretty much shift into a red mist of rage, and have to use every neuron within my body to stop my brain from causing my foot to mash on the gas pedal, and launching my front bumper into a smoking tire beeline right into his drivers side door in the hope that not only can I see his eyeballs explode out of his skull in a geyser of blood and gray matter, and maybe, if I can find the free time in my schedule, also attend his funeral to hear the lamentations of his loved ones*****.  Because at this moment, that sounds like a really great time to me.  Naturally, this doesn't happen as the neurons win out in restraining me, and Mr. 10w30 hair job continues, obliviously, on his way in a self righteous cloud, not knowing I just let him live out the rest of his overly crunchy headed days in hair gelled, douchey peace.******

Anyways, point being, when somebody admits to their mistake, be gracious enough to accept it...for the love of god.

*Rhino Anus: if this isn't an ancient Chinese aphrodisiac  it should be.
**Godzilla's dark star: wasn't that the 2nd track off of Radiohead's 3rd album?
***Hair gelled prick: hair gel is the blue pinstripe business suit of the prick world.
****Sex with your ex: bad idea.  Unless they're good in bed.  And hot.  And kinda dirty. And you crave a little drama.  Then go for it.  Jesus Christ...figure it out for yourself...what am I?  Miss Manners???  For fuck's sake grow a pair and make a bad decision once in a while.
*****Vehicular manslaughter: this is of course used as hyperbole.  Juicy, delicious, amazing hyperbole.
******Live out the rest of his days in douchey peace: unless of course I change my mind, follow him home, and call in a precision drone strike.  Apparently you can get a drone strike ordered anywhere nowadays.

   

Random Thoughts

So I've recently been reintroduced to the awesome pleasure of the portable laptop/wireless internet combo. As I lay here in my ridiculously comfortable bed and type this, I am also listening to the new U2 album for free on their website. Ah...technology. It's a beautiful thing. And yet, technology is a demanding mistress who must be kept in check. Take the posting of rants for instance. I think it should be done in moderation, and only when you have something truly passionate, amusing, or interesting to say. However, lately I've felt like I needed to keep putting stuff out there, like I needed a steady stream of posts for reasons I really cannot comprehend. Probably ego. Probably a need for some sort of personal validation. Whatever. Problem is, volume does not always equal quality. Sometimes less IS more, so I'm going to dial back my posts until something really and truly motivates me................................................OK....two things did motivate me over the last few days, so I'll briefly share them here, and then, I SWEAR, I'll be cutting back for qualities sake.

Anyway, number one:

I saw a guy driving a Honda S2000 with the following personalized plate, "TUFRYDE". Um, not really. I mean, a Honda S2000 is a lot of things, but a TUFRYDE is not one of them. It's a Honda S2000, and you're a dude. May I suggest "GAYRYDE" as a more appropriate choice?

Number two:

I have lots of problems with Starbucks. I do not know why. But, if I'm in a hurry, that generally guarantees I have ZERO chance of getting out of there in any kind of reasonable time. Last Wednesday I was pushed for time, and had to do my eighty mile commute to work from West Sacramento to Oakland. I'm in a hurry, sleep deprived, and just want to get on the road. Naturally, the one person in front of me in line is explaining to the pimply faced teen working the counter how to make the perfect cup of tea. He's going on about the forests of Ceylon, and 'off the boil', and steeping techniques. Really? Is that necessary? I'm sorry...I thought it was FUCKING TEA. You know, that shit you put in hot water and let it soak? What the fuck dude? I know you're some old retired fuck who has no need to be anywhere, but Jesus Christ, nobody cares about your prattling on about the joys of Earl Grey! Of course, that wasn't all. He had to be social and talk up the staff. You know, spread a little joy. Want to know who wasn't feeling the joy? Me. Want to know what I was doing? I was concentrating every electron of hate I had in my body and shooting it out of my eyeballs like a microwave beam to the back of this crusty old shitbags head. I was really, really hoping I could make his brain boil and head explode. No, it didn't work, but not for my lack of trying. Anyway, he kept laughing and talking, and wouldn't stop. Just as I started looking around for a 1lb. bag of whole beans (Pike Place) to beat him into merciful silence with, he finally moved on, and I got my coffee and was out the door. I swear, I'm going to perfect that electron microwave beam thing, and when you start reading grisly stories about exploding heads in the paper, you'll know somebody was being a self centered dick at the wrong Starbucks at the wrong time.