Tuesday, August 15, 2006

File Under "No Shit"

This afternoon I'm in line at the gas station, getting ready to assume the usual hands around ankles position now necessary to fill up my gas guzzling Honda. That's right fuckers, I drive a Japanese car. Why? Because I hate America, that's why.

Actually, it's because I could afford it and it should last 200,000 miles before I have to buy another car and it was built in Ohio anyway, so there.

But that isn't the point.

Nope, I'm in line behind a woman. A woman wearing cut-off jeans and a wife-beater tank top. No bra, and while this is occasionally enticing, in this case it just made me feel sorry for the tank top fabric, which was clearly worn out from fighting a losing battle with gravity, much like her breasts would ahve been if they hadn't given up that fight about three yeasr ago, and much like you surely are after reading this run-on sentence. Seriously, in high school English that's -5 right there.

She's not in line to pay for gas, which did explain the Camaro parked askew in front of the entrance. Done up in basic black except for the gun-ship metal gray, (grey?), hood. No, shockingly she was just running in to grab cigarettes and, of course, a handful of lottery tickets. I fucking hate getting stuck behind people who have a list of tickets to get, but can't read the names so they have to point them out to the clerk. And the clerk is from Pakistan, (he really is. I'm reporting him to the FBI, because I know he has access to thousands of gallons of gasoline), so he doesn't understand her, which in this case isn't his fault because I've lived in this country all my life and have 19 years of schooling and I can barely make out the words she's trying to grunt, so the whole transcation has to turn into a series of Helen Keller like grunts and pointing until Ms. White Trash '06 has exchanged a handful of crumpled bils for some bright and shiny tickets.

But even that isn't the real point, because before she got to the head of the line, (which gets longer as the prices go up; I suspect it's harder to keep enough chnage to break the $100 bills), she got a phone call on her cell. The following is the actual conversation, as barely deciphered by me



"Nuttin', jus' gettin' a pack a Marlburro" (she left out the lottery tickets, probably so she doesn't have to share the winnings)

"Cupla minnis. Whuder you doin?"

And when she uttered this last line I thought to my self, "Well, no shit"

"fixin' the trailer?"


Blogger Madame D said...

Oh god. Oh god. "fixin' the trailer?"
It may be a little while before I can breathe again...

12:22 AM  
Blogger JD's Rose said...

Laughing my ass off... how do people get like that. I am confused!

5:29 AM  
Blogger Ranea said...

OMG, this could sooo be my next ex next door neighbor. Except their Camero was faded yellow. But still had the bondo.

5:35 AM  
Blogger Pud said...

I have to go bang my head against a wall because you put a bad image in it with the description of the tank top. Why don't you just top off this description by adding she smelled like 3 day old stale smoke?

5:53 AM  
Blogger Syd said...

Nosy little fucker aren't ya? Stop eavesdropping on my phone calls.

6:09 AM  
Blogger Zoe said...

Classic, or should I say classy?

I spell grey with and e instead of an a. I guess that's what 9 years of catholic school gets you.

6:13 AM  
Blogger Nonny said...

You left off the best part of this story. She probably went to the grocery later and used her food stamps, where she purchased steak and shrimp and every frozen meal ever made with your money.

Seriously, that pisses me off. I'm working my ass off and these welfare people eat better than I do. They never buy store brands or generic cigarettes (I do, I smoke this cheap ass brand called "Legends") No way in hell I can afford to smoke Marlboros.

Her Camero is the exception. I've seen welfare people pull into our office driving Eddie Bauer edition Ford Explorers.

6:24 AM  
Blogger limpy99 said...

Actually Nonny, she did pay cash. I know because it took awhile to uncrumble the dollar bills.

Syd, I've seen your picture and I know that this wasn't you. You don't smoke Marlboros.

Ranea, I knew the word I was looking for was Bondo! Couldn't remember when I was typing this, but that hood was pure bondo.

Pud, she actually didn't smell that I noticed. Might have been the most surprising thing.

Zoe, 9 years of Catholic school? Looks like you missed more than how to spell gre(a)y.

8:27 AM  
Blogger little sister said...

a woman wearing a wife-beater. too funny.

sometimes, truth is too strange.

8:51 AM  
Blogger jmeped said...

hhhhhaaaaaaaahaaaaaahahahahahahh! I just peed a little. Are you sure you're not in Georgia?

10:24 AM  
Blogger Lady K said...

I SO needed to laugh that hard today. It's sad that I know people like that, although I do try to avoid them at all costs.

12:40 PM  
Blogger Lady K said...

I SO needed to laugh that hard today. It's sad that I know people like that, although I do try to avoid them at all costs.

12:40 PM  
Blogger ~Deb said...

Okay, I spit out my coffee while reading this you moron!!!! HAHAHAHAAA!!! I mean that with love of course... ;)

This was hysterical!!! This sort of reminds me of Uma Thurman in that movie she did with Juliet Lewis, "Hysterical Blindness". You have to see this. She's driving the same Camaro with the wife beater tanks...oh----gotta see! lol!

Thanks for the laughs!!!!

2:18 PM  
Blogger Alkelda the Gleeful said...

Hey! I'm visiting you too. I appreciate your use of the word "gendarmes" in an earlier post, by the way. My three year old daughter says it sometimes because of the Madeline books, and it makes me laugh.

5:11 PM  
Blogger eclectic said...

Not that there's anything wrong with wearing tank tops, right? Since they comprise nearly 60% of my non-office wardrobe, I NEED to know.

5:20 PM  
Blogger limpy99 said...

Eclectic there's nothing wrong with Tank tops. They're about 50% of my wife's wardrobe in the summer.

But there was something very, very, very wrong with this woman's tank top.

8:36 PM  
Blogger Boo said...

One time I was driving from Virginia to Texas, and on the morning of the second day I started from Memphis and got into Arkansas. Five seconds over the border I switched on the radio. I swear this is the first thing I heard:

"And we're back on [station name]. Today's topic is: is it ok to have sex with your cousin?"

Didn't even scan the dial.

6:53 PM  

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