Public Intoxication

February 17, 2009 at 1:20 pm (Clairissa, Cussed Dumbers)

What is it with people these days?

I’ve been witness to, and the recipient of, a lot of bad attitude lately. Economy? Time of year? Didn’t get any for Valentines Day? Whatever it is, it’s been going around.

I’m not exempt from this behavior. It started on the way to work yesterday. The bus I ride is usually quiet, maybe a little chatter. If it gets too rowdy, I plug in the portable music device. About a mile from my house, the bus pulled to a stop at a major thoroughfare. From a block away, I heard, “Stop that bus! STOP THAT BUS!” Two middle-aged women were stealth-moseying toward the bus. The driver, a charitable fellow, waited for them. I didn’t wait for the cacophony; I pulled out the MP3 player. I knew this would be loud.

And it was. One of the ladies sat away from her friend, who took a fancy toward the bus driver. She flirted, laughed, bounced back and forth, slapping her thigh, shouting to her friend. She sipped a bottle of root beer. Supposedly. I wonder if there was some 151 mixed in there; she was quite amused. In the breaks between songs, I learned that “I’m 47, got a kid 27, a kid 10 and a kid 7. I can still make a baby! You fine...”

The Butthole Surfers wouldn’t drown her out, so I switched to Metallica. “Can’t hear ya talk to two by four…”

Wish I had one.

I stopped by the office for coffee on the way to work. Whitney was being stood down by a middle-aged man, who insisted on holding the can of Copenhagen he so desperately craved. Whitney patiently told him the ‘born on’ date.

“Can’t I just hold it?”

“Yes, just as soon as you pay for it.”

“YOU SIR ARE AN ARROGANT ASSHOLE! FUCK YOU!!” He stuck a middle finger in unfazed Whitney’s face with a menacing wag. He stomped out, returned to slam the glass door, but made us all laugh when the air-cushioned anti-slam device negated that. I bid my co-workers a better day and hurried after the guy, hoping to kick him out of my store.

I related the tale to Grinder, who told me of how he’d almost been ran over by a woman on a cell phone. He yelled; she laughed at him. He proceeded to take out a lot of aggression on her hood and eardrums. He felt better.

My night was not so bad, especially after that auspicious start. I ‘just said no’ to several drunks, 86ed another long-term irritant, and awaited the arrival of Reverend Decaf.

Reverend Decaf claims to be a minister, but peppers his dialogue with racial and sexual epithets. He’s in his 70s, but spry and angry. After the last police call we learned that he’s got a concealed weapons permit. (We now make damned sure there’s always a pot of decaf on.) He refers to Grinder as “that faggot manager,” and I can’t wait until he says it to Grinder’s face. There aren’t that many years between Grinder and the hostile reverend, and Grinder has a lot of pent-up frustration.

Sounds win-win to me.

This morning? I had three dreams about Clairissa. Nothing naughty requiring a change of sheets, just us hanging out and having fun. It made me smile, so I sent her a text message, thanking her for making my day.

Hope it holds, considering how many people want to sent it the other way…

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