Post by Toronto Maple Leafs on Jun 10, 2012 21:35:10 GMT -5
This happened two nights ago, and I decided to share it. Let me know what you think of this:
I am what you would call a person who is happy with chocolate in their hands. Some call these types of people "obese" and "definitely hefty", while I prefer to call them "candy opportunists". In one of my classic cases of midnight snackery, I experienced a trifecta of stupidity, and while I prefer not to be critical on people in general, sometimes you just need to... after the fact... in a blog post.
So here's how it all went down. Last night, my girlfriend and I got ready for a movie night but were lacking the necessary snackages to truly enjoy the evening. I suggested we hit up the nearest confectionery, and she obliged as we were lacking iced tea in our beverage cooler.
When we arrived, there were already a few other vehicles in the lot, so we joined them so all our vehicles could socialize while we were inside. I'd assume these conversations would be extremely similar to random acquaintance discussions and would follow as such:
Car 1: "Hey, you're looking good. What kind of miles per gallon you getting?"
Car 2: "About 30, 35 on the highway."
Car 1: "Good, good."
Car 3: "Hey, you guys think it's gunna rain?"
Car 2: "It's possible."
Car 3: "Weather's been hot lately."
Car 2: "Sure is."
Car 1: "I need a bath."
Part 1: Can't Touch This
So we're nearing the entrance, but the truck beside us is still running, and the radio is playing pretty loud and no one seems to be inside. Ah well, it's just a confectionery, and although it is a bit of a sketchy neighborhood, you could trust that it wouldn't be stolen in the couple of minutes you're in a store picking out your tasty treat of choice.
I reached for the door, and a couple in their twenties/early thirties are coming out. I do the polite thing and hold the door open for them. They push the door further open (I didn't realize that a full open would not be quite open enough, and then proceed to give me a horribly dirty look, simultaneously. What a couple of shit-heads. I've done nothing but be a gentlemen and they have to douche it up like clockwork. Then I realize they are followed by a five year old girl, who immediately says "thank you, sir." That kid rocks. I decide to let everyone, including the Shitheads, know who is the better person by yelling out, "see, the kid says thank you!"
In retrospect, maybe the Shitheads are scientist who work with newly formed germs every day and are not allowed to touch most things, including doors. As such, they just really hate automatic doors and prefer to open them themselves in public so as to feel like human beings again and in that moment, I stripped them of their basic human rights, for which I was punished by receiving one of these:
But while I doubt that very, very much, the story does not end here.
Part 2 - Learning to Operate
Once we selected our fine collection of eatables, we went to the cash to check out, but there was a man in line before us trying to buy cigarettes. He was a buck short, so he ran out of the place for a minute or so. Upon returning, it seems he found the correct amount of change to complete his transaction, earned himself a box of cancer sticks and headed to the door. He seemed to be in a bit of a panic, so perhaps he hasn't had the ability to inhale in quite a few hours, or he's had a hard day, either way the door was a barrier from his ability to visit the outside world and enjoy his white tobacco-filled paper of death, and he kicked it open. Success.
We get to the cash register and try to buy our stuff, but the girl is either a complete dits or very new to society, because her social skills were about as good as Lou Ferrigno in a hearing contest.
"Hi. Want a bag? Anything else? I can swipe this."
Not a single second separated any of those statements. She left no room for a response of any kind. No courteous "hello" in return, no decision on the need of a bag, no option to add anything to our purchase, and she didn't even allow me to deny the swipeage. For shame.
She then tried to bag four bottles of 2L pops into one little bag. Not going to happen. I now have to ask for a second bag, which apparently was the equivalent to me asking her to destroy the ozone layer for good. Screw that! I'm not carrying two gallons of carbonated sugar in my fat bag limbs all over town. Two bags, mother nature. Deal with it.
Part 3 - Independence Day
Now, I've yet to achieve the title of "parent", as far as I know of, but one thing I have learned over the years of watching news and enjoying popcorn is that leaving any living thing in an enclosed space for a longer period of time in hot temperatures can lead to it melting in a way only the Wicked Witch can describe with agony. In 2012, this still seems to be an issue with people comprehending it.
Not cigarette man. No siree George. Ciggy, as I'll refer to him for the rest of this article, understands that you "shouldn't", in theory, leave something in a vehicle on a hot night, but if you do then you should be courteous enough to leave a window open a crack. He took that part to the extreme by leaving the windows completely open. Truck on. Keys in ignition. Air Conditioning blowing. Radio, super charged and cranked up to 11.
What would make people say "hey, that's odd" is the fact his 8 month old son sat quietly in the backseat enjoying this toast of freedom. Did I mention the neighborhood was sketchy? Windows down, keys in the vehicle... how much easier can this get? AND he did a double-return, all for a pack of cigarettes.
Look, I'm not saying this guy should be voted worst father of the year (have you heard of Jon Hamm? He agrees.) I'm just saying that while the kid was one step away from being popped collar cool, he's 8 months old and doesn't quite get the whole jacked up, chrome rims, satellite radio hipness.
So, I guess what I'm trying to get at is I'm a father now, and his name is Neil Patrick Harris the third.
....I'll find the second someday. Just gotta wait patiently outside more confectioneries.
I am what you would call a person who is happy with chocolate in their hands. Some call these types of people "obese" and "definitely hefty", while I prefer to call them "candy opportunists". In one of my classic cases of midnight snackery, I experienced a trifecta of stupidity, and while I prefer not to be critical on people in general, sometimes you just need to... after the fact... in a blog post.
So here's how it all went down. Last night, my girlfriend and I got ready for a movie night but were lacking the necessary snackages to truly enjoy the evening. I suggested we hit up the nearest confectionery, and she obliged as we were lacking iced tea in our beverage cooler.
When we arrived, there were already a few other vehicles in the lot, so we joined them so all our vehicles could socialize while we were inside. I'd assume these conversations would be extremely similar to random acquaintance discussions and would follow as such:
Car 1: "Hey, you're looking good. What kind of miles per gallon you getting?"
Car 2: "About 30, 35 on the highway."
Car 1: "Good, good."
Car 3: "Hey, you guys think it's gunna rain?"
Car 2: "It's possible."
Car 3: "Weather's been hot lately."
Car 2: "Sure is."
Car 1: "I need a bath."
Part 1: Can't Touch This
So we're nearing the entrance, but the truck beside us is still running, and the radio is playing pretty loud and no one seems to be inside. Ah well, it's just a confectionery, and although it is a bit of a sketchy neighborhood, you could trust that it wouldn't be stolen in the couple of minutes you're in a store picking out your tasty treat of choice.
I reached for the door, and a couple in their twenties/early thirties are coming out. I do the polite thing and hold the door open for them. They push the door further open (I didn't realize that a full open would not be quite open enough, and then proceed to give me a horribly dirty look, simultaneously. What a couple of shit-heads. I've done nothing but be a gentlemen and they have to douche it up like clockwork. Then I realize they are followed by a five year old girl, who immediately says "thank you, sir." That kid rocks. I decide to let everyone, including the Shitheads, know who is the better person by yelling out, "see, the kid says thank you!"
In retrospect, maybe the Shitheads are scientist who work with newly formed germs every day and are not allowed to touch most things, including doors. As such, they just really hate automatic doors and prefer to open them themselves in public so as to feel like human beings again and in that moment, I stripped them of their basic human rights, for which I was punished by receiving one of these:
But while I doubt that very, very much, the story does not end here.
Part 2 - Learning to Operate
Once we selected our fine collection of eatables, we went to the cash to check out, but there was a man in line before us trying to buy cigarettes. He was a buck short, so he ran out of the place for a minute or so. Upon returning, it seems he found the correct amount of change to complete his transaction, earned himself a box of cancer sticks and headed to the door. He seemed to be in a bit of a panic, so perhaps he hasn't had the ability to inhale in quite a few hours, or he's had a hard day, either way the door was a barrier from his ability to visit the outside world and enjoy his white tobacco-filled paper of death, and he kicked it open. Success.
We get to the cash register and try to buy our stuff, but the girl is either a complete dits or very new to society, because her social skills were about as good as Lou Ferrigno in a hearing contest.
"Hi. Want a bag? Anything else? I can swipe this."
Not a single second separated any of those statements. She left no room for a response of any kind. No courteous "hello" in return, no decision on the need of a bag, no option to add anything to our purchase, and she didn't even allow me to deny the swipeage. For shame.
She then tried to bag four bottles of 2L pops into one little bag. Not going to happen. I now have to ask for a second bag, which apparently was the equivalent to me asking her to destroy the ozone layer for good. Screw that! I'm not carrying two gallons of carbonated sugar in my fat bag limbs all over town. Two bags, mother nature. Deal with it.
Part 3 - Independence Day
Now, I've yet to achieve the title of "parent", as far as I know of, but one thing I have learned over the years of watching news and enjoying popcorn is that leaving any living thing in an enclosed space for a longer period of time in hot temperatures can lead to it melting in a way only the Wicked Witch can describe with agony. In 2012, this still seems to be an issue with people comprehending it.
Not cigarette man. No siree George. Ciggy, as I'll refer to him for the rest of this article, understands that you "shouldn't", in theory, leave something in a vehicle on a hot night, but if you do then you should be courteous enough to leave a window open a crack. He took that part to the extreme by leaving the windows completely open. Truck on. Keys in ignition. Air Conditioning blowing. Radio, super charged and cranked up to 11.
What would make people say "hey, that's odd" is the fact his 8 month old son sat quietly in the backseat enjoying this toast of freedom. Did I mention the neighborhood was sketchy? Windows down, keys in the vehicle... how much easier can this get? AND he did a double-return, all for a pack of cigarettes.
Look, I'm not saying this guy should be voted worst father of the year (have you heard of Jon Hamm? He agrees.) I'm just saying that while the kid was one step away from being popped collar cool, he's 8 months old and doesn't quite get the whole jacked up, chrome rims, satellite radio hipness.
So, I guess what I'm trying to get at is I'm a father now, and his name is Neil Patrick Harris the third.
....I'll find the second someday. Just gotta wait patiently outside more confectioneries.
