I’m convinced that Vons and I have a problem. And Texas. Texas, too.
I had just finished grocery shopping and was heading towards my car when I saw a man leaning against the rear of my car, his shopping bags placed haphazardly on my trunk. Of course, he was on his cellphone, yammering away in a thick, incomprehensible, subhuman drawl.
I approached the man and said, “Hey, man, that’s my car. Could you please remove your bags so I can put my groceries away?”
The man turned to me, pulled the phone away from his ear, and said, “Does this piss you off?”
The conversation followed:
Me: “Um, a little. You’re being rather rude, actually.”
Asshole From Texas (just try to imagine Larry The Cable Guy, but more brain-damaged): “You let birds shit and dogs piss all over your car, and you get mad over some plastic?”
Me: “Yes, well, you’re supposed to be higher functioning than the birds and the dogs, so…”
Asshole from Texas: “Where you from, boy?”
Asshole from Texas: “Yeah, well, where I come from, we take care of our problems like men.”
Asshole From Texas moves to within a foot of me.
Me: “And in California, that attitude is likely to get you sucker punched, stabbed, or shot.”
At this point, Asshole From Texas starts to back away.
Asshole From Texas: “Yeah? You’d better be careful, boy.”
Me: “I’ll do that. Thank you, Sir.”
Asshole From Texas gets in his truckasaurus at this point and drives away, “Don’t Mess With Texas” bumper sticker and Texas plates mocking me in his wake.
Yeah. Gotta love Texas.