You don’t know me.
If you’re lucky, you’ll never actually know me, because I will make your life hell. And it’s not because I dislike you. It’s because I find you to be just about the lowest form of being there is, and–sadly–because you’re White and Gainfully Employed and living in the place that values your kind over all others–you’re also valued by people who (if they really thought about it) would spit on you. Not because spitting is cool. But because you are the king of what is wrong with this place.
So, I have already had a big conversation with myself about what it means that I’m seeing this crap (because I believe that what we see is a reflection of our reality and that concept makes me sad because OMG, if this guy represents my reality I’m in big-ass trouble), but I figure my brain needed to entertain this foolishness and share it with y’all just to cleanse the palate for better things. Believe me, just about anything is gonna be better.
So, we’re at El Cholo, finally using a gift card Keith received from a lovely friend of ours for having done computer work (which he so rocks at) to have a proper date, which is well deserved. It’s Thursday. It’s a little packed. We’ve been at our patio table for an hour or so and when another table clears out, an elderly man and woman head over from the bar area to the patio table. IMPORTANT NOTE: There is no wait list for the patio. It’s the honor system. Only if you want a table inside do you put your name on a list and get one of those cute little red-blinky vibrating “your table is ready” indicators.
As Ma and Pa Kettle amble over to the now-vacant table, MABEA (Middle-Aged Balding Entitled A-hole) rushes over–cute little red-blinky vibrating “your table is ready” indicator (NOT GOING OFF) in hand–screaming, “Hey! We were first! We’ve been waiting! That table is OURS! You get up!” His two other MAB (maybe/maybe not EA) friends swarm nearby, and the octogenarians, looking appalled at this jaggoffery, get up and move back into the bar area, figuring they must’ve done something wrong.
Of course, I want to run over and say, “You’re not doing anything wrong! He’s an asshole!” And then I realize, in a life more than twice the length of mine, they’ve surely seen many an asshole and know that’s what they’re seeing. I don’t need to point that mess out. I should just continue enjoying my date.
Dinner is over for the MABEA and his MAB friends. Keith and I are still enjoying our date. Yeah… we hang out a long time. We drink. We talk. We flirt. We work. It’s good.
Anyway, MABEA and his friends head over to the valet and MABEA sees a very lovely young lady returning to her beau at another patio table. He stops and watches her ass. Like SERIOUSLY takes in her ass as if it exists for him and him alone. Because that’s not enough assholery here in front of the patioful of observers, he collects the fellow MAB with a cheesy ’70s mustache (as opposed to the fat one) and tells him to act as if he’s saying something to him. No, no… he’s not saying anything. He’s giving him an over-the-shoulder view of the juicy ass (which is no longer in clear view, as the lovely lady has sat down with her beau to continue their date). Mustache MAB is less amused by this than MABEA seems to be, who heads back to valet tugging on his nutsack while talking loudly about how much he would “hit that shit” if not for the (certainly, happy) wife he’s got waiting back home for his sloppy, drunken, middle-aged balding entitled a-hole kisses.
Anyway. My point is, hello. Yes. I saw you. I let your vibe interrupt a good ten minutes of my date tonight. And you suck. You can expect a character based upon you in a future script coming your way soon. This will not be a compliment, despite the fact that you might want to take it that way.
You are a special kind of broken. And sadly, your credit rating is better than mine. There is something seriously wrong with that.
That is all.