Fist Fights with the Disabled
Fist Fights with the Disabled |
On Saturday, I saw a man yelling at my mother.
I walked out of a store, just in time to see a man in a blue Mercedes convertible shouting unspeakably foul things at my mother, who was sitting in her car with the windows up. I take it there had been some disagreement about who had the right of way into their parking spaces before I arrived, but they were both parked now.
My mother could not hear what he was saying, but she could see his hand gestures and that his mouth was opening and closing rapidly. She just looked at him, not moving, not saying anything. He took a break from his rant as he removed his seatbelt, and started to get out of his car, but continued to stare at my mother.
If you have never seen your sweet mother yelled at by a fat, bald asshole, let me tell you it makes the Clint Eastwood aspect of your hippocampus take over the entire brain. And I don't mean the doddering, sentimental Million Dollar Baby Eastwood. I mean the ruthless, violent High Plains Drifter Eastwood.
I have been told that my walk is typically a saunter, but it formalized. My shoulders went back and apart. My chin went upright. I walked to my mother's car with purpose. Not hoping he would say anything, but preparing what would happen if he did. I leaned against the car facing him, waiting for my sister to come out of the store.
Apparently, seeing me against my mom's car took down his resolve to continue his fight with her. I gave him a glare that effectively communicated, "If you say one more word or even look at her, I am going to take that handicapped sticker off your rearview mirror and shove it so far up your ass I'll hang it off the dorsal root of your lumbar spine. You'll gain a new understanding of the word handicapped."
He looked at the ground and walked into the store.
What are you staring at me like that for?
I mean, it's not like he was in a wheelchair or anything. Doesn't the fact that he was driving a Mercedes convertible count against him on some level? Did I mention that it was a natural food store?
Oh, God. What have I done?
But just wait until it happens to your mother. You'll be beating someone's grandmother over the head with her own walker.
Here is your Planetdan link for the day.
I walked out of a store, just in time to see a man in a blue Mercedes convertible shouting unspeakably foul things at my mother, who was sitting in her car with the windows up. I take it there had been some disagreement about who had the right of way into their parking spaces before I arrived, but they were both parked now.
My mother could not hear what he was saying, but she could see his hand gestures and that his mouth was opening and closing rapidly. She just looked at him, not moving, not saying anything. He took a break from his rant as he removed his seatbelt, and started to get out of his car, but continued to stare at my mother.
If you have never seen your sweet mother yelled at by a fat, bald asshole, let me tell you it makes the Clint Eastwood aspect of your hippocampus take over the entire brain. And I don't mean the doddering, sentimental Million Dollar Baby Eastwood. I mean the ruthless, violent High Plains Drifter Eastwood.
I have been told that my walk is typically a saunter, but it formalized. My shoulders went back and apart. My chin went upright. I walked to my mother's car with purpose. Not hoping he would say anything, but preparing what would happen if he did. I leaned against the car facing him, waiting for my sister to come out of the store.
Apparently, seeing me against my mom's car took down his resolve to continue his fight with her. I gave him a glare that effectively communicated, "If you say one more word or even look at her, I am going to take that handicapped sticker off your rearview mirror and shove it so far up your ass I'll hang it off the dorsal root of your lumbar spine. You'll gain a new understanding of the word handicapped."
He looked at the ground and walked into the store.
What are you staring at me like that for?
I mean, it's not like he was in a wheelchair or anything. Doesn't the fact that he was driving a Mercedes convertible count against him on some level? Did I mention that it was a natural food store?
Oh, God. What have I done?
But just wait until it happens to your mother. You'll be beating someone's grandmother over the head with her own walker.
Here is your Planetdan link for the day.
Posted @ 6:22 AM
5 Comments:
3/29/2005
Erik writes:
Spider writes:
hot babe writes:
dan writes:
Brooke writes:
I should mention that there is not actually a Clint Eastwood part of the hippocampus. I used it for the horse pun.
Nothing like a good latin pun, I always say.
3/29/2005
Or nothing like a good son taking care of his Mom...
3/29/2005
I think a good fight with a handicapped person every once in a while puts them in their place. The parking privileges sometimes goes to their heads & then they need to be brought back down to earth. Why was he so pissed about a parking spot anyway? He's got the handicap parking pass. Park there handicapped asshole!
3/31/2005
Just because he's handicapped doesn't mean he's got the right to get all pissy and mean. I'm sure any problems could have been solved without angrily shouting at your poor defenseless mama.
4/02/2005
Good for you! You can't see it, but I'm giving your hippocampus the black power salute.
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