Once again in a pretty crappy mood, I donít know what the hellís wrong with me lately. Had a cool day: my princess brought me Krispy Kreme AND Arbyís, while she was out doing the laundry. I just sat around reading. We both do housework and chores and stuff, but I just sat on my ass today, and it was extraordinary. I read all day, took a nap late this afternoon, woke up, and went to the movies.
I was sitting there, waiting for the feature presentation to start, I had my popcorn, my Coke, and people are filing in, looking around, finding seats. And I suddenly realize that I pretty much canít stand them. I donít know why. Iím just sitting hoping that nobody sits by me or near me, knowing that it will ruin my entire movie experience. I donít know, man, I just donít know.
Maybe working customer service has been like some weird version of Pavlovís dogs: I see people line up, I automatically get defensive and irritated. I mean, maybe it doesnít even matter anymore that these arenít the same people that I deal with day after day, the bitchy little whine-bags that think they own the world because they bought a freakiní TV. Maybe just being people is enough reason to detest them. Iím losing my mind, thatís probably what it is. Maybe not my mind, but definitely something.
That part that of me that says people are essentially decent. That part that tells me to smile and be polite, to put up with shit. I wonít do it, man, not if Iím off work. I had a guy get in my face at Taco Bell the other day. Itís kind of a long story, and not all that exciting, but what the hell. You late for an appointment or something?
Itís lunch hour, Iím still in my stupid work clothes, Iíve got my princess in the passenger seat, weíre talking, having a pretty good time. We decide on Taco Bell because itís close to where we work, and pretty quick. Thereís this guy in his car, about two car lengths away from the drive-thru, just sitting there. Iím coming in from the other side of that parking lot, so I stop and give him time to pull up so that I can get in there behind him. He signals me to go ahead. I motion that Iím not passing by; Iím actually going to Taco Bell. He nods his head, motions for me to go ahead. Just to clarify, I ask my princess, ďHeís telling us to go in front of him, isnít he?Ē
ďLooks like it.Ē Good enough.
I pull into the line, this guy starts honking his horn like crazy, just gong ape-shit wild back there. I half expected this, though, because nobody lets you ahead of them at the drive-thru. I try to reverse, but there was a blue Suburban back behind me, also wanting some taco-ey goodness, and heís pulled right up to my bumper. So thereís nothing I can do. The idiot who signaled us to go ahead is still back there on his horn. After about thirty seconds, the Suburban backs up, and I start to back up. As I look over my shoulder, I see that the honking guy has actually gotten out of his car and is approaching. I figure that heíll get back into his car, now that everybodyís backing up, which is what he does. He squeals his tires a little as he tears into the drive-thru line. I call him a few names, all in good fun, and make some random comments about the mass quantities his mother must have done up during pregnancy. You know: road talk.
Whatever. So I pull in behind him, start talking to my princess again, probably about what a moron this guy is, and HE GETS OUT OF HIS CAR AGAIN.
Skinny little guy with glasses, tall but not tough. Dressed sort of nice, I guess. He comes storming over to my car, my princess is un-strapping her seat belt, getting ready to rumble, man, I kid you not. I tell her itís cool.
My window is down, because it was a warm day and the air conditioner in my car died last fall. The guy starts yelling when heís still about ten feet away, about he was waiting back there to let people through. ďI was being courteous!Ē He yells.
ďYeah, youíre courteous as hell,Ē I tell him. ďYouíre doing a great job.Ē My princess is over there, sheís saying something to him, but I honestly donít know what. Iím just looking at this guy, wondering if heís going to freak out and start punching in through the window or something. Iím not getting out, because if I do that, Iím going to end up beating the shit out of this guy, and although I really, really like tacos, I donít feel like going to jail over them. Heís still standing there, saying something, I donít know what heís saying, either, because Iím really just listening to the voice in my head thatís telling me itís not worth it to beat this guy. I go, ďGet back in your fuckiní car.Ē And then I just look at him, trying to convey how serious things are going to get if I have to step out. He starts walking back to his car, ďWell thanks for backing up, you jerk!Ē
My princess giggles. ďYou Texans,Ē she says. I donít know what sheís talking about until she goes, ďEven in a fight you have to be courteous: telling us thanks for backing up and then calling names.Ē
By the time we get up to the little sign where you place your order, Iíve calmed down enough to find humor in it. Thanks for backing up, you jerk. Yeah, man, no problem. Thanks for giving me something to write about on the website, dipshit.
I know it wasnít just about tacos. I mean, he felt like he had been treated unjustly. But, see, I backed up as soon as I was able. Problem solved. And then he decides to get out and come get in my face? A skinny little shit-heap like that, and Iím what, supposed to be afraid? Apologize? Nah, man, you want an apology, you go find another candy-ass like yourself, check at Starbucks, maybe. If he would have touched my car, or reached through the window, it would have been on, and once you start something like that, it can get out of control pretty fast.
You donít know what youíre getting into, not really, and that gives you the fear, and the fear can make you do some really stupid shit. More than likely, I would have tossed little wormy guy around a bit, and then the cops would have shown up and I would have gone to jail, maybe been on the news for humor value. But maybe he had a can of Mace, or maybe he had a knife, or maybe he was strapped. You would be amazed at how many people have licenses to carry concealed down here. I am, and I grew up in Texas.
My point is, once you get out of the car, things can go anywhere. Why risk that? Over a spot in line at Taco Bell? I should have beat the shit out of him on general principle.
Anyways, enough about that. I watched Sin City tonight. Freakiní rocked. I heard it described as ultra-violent, but ultra-violent doesnít even begin to describe it. I donít know how they got an R rating, man, I really donít. Couple of boob shots, not much bad language (that I noticed, anyways), but so much violence. The violence wasnít what made it great, though.
In truth, Iím not a big fan of violence. In truth, I wish it didnít exist. But what world am I living in, right? Iím not even one of those people who says that violence doesnít solve problems. It would be nice if that was the truth, but it isnít. If you want to drag things under a cold, raw light, and look without flinching, you find out that violence actually DOES solve problems. Maybe not the way we want them solved, but it does solve them. In fact, with enough violence, we could solve all of the worldís problems. Of course, that would involve killing every man, woman, and child on the planet, and then killing yourself, but it would solve the problem.
For the most part, I think weíre better off having the problems.
But back to the movieÖ
Beautiful movie, man. And Iím not just talking about how it was mostly in black and white, with a bit of color splashed in. That was pretty cool, but it isnít what made the movie so nice to look at. Just everything about it, really, thatís what made it so cool. I donít know if the plot was even that great, if you want to know the truth. It was hardcore pulp, like the old detective books where theyíre always calling chicks ďdamesĒ and ďbroads,Ē and thereís always a voice-over saying something so goofy that itís cool. ďI didnít know what I was going to do next, but I knew there was going to be a lot of killing involved.Ē
Stuff like that.
But, yeah, really violent. Donít walk in to the theater expecting something sweet like Silence of the Lambs. They didnít pull too many punches, and the punches they did pull were almost as bad as the regular ones. You know that movie Reservoir Dogs? That part where that cop gets his ear cut off? I swore up and down that I saw that guy getting his ear cut off, I could actually remember how the scene was shot, what it looked like, all of it. Trey told me that I didnít ever see it. I didnít believe him, not until he finally put it in the DVD player and showed it to me. And even then, I wasnít so sure. ďMaybe I saw a different version of the movie.Ē Nope, he told me. Only this version, this one that cuts away (no pun intended) and shows you none of the actual violence. Hm.
Sin City is a lot like that. When they donít show you something, you almost wish that they had. Anyways, I guess Iíve gone on long enough.
I feel better, my crappy mood is still hovering around here somewhere, but at least itís not right on top of me, poking me with a sharp stick and things. Iím glad we had this talk.
Take it easy, kids.