Grocery quest
Every week I bike down the block to get food. And every week, because I live in Pittsburg II: the Legend of Curly's Gold, this is some kind of bizarre challenge. And not like the challenges of Santa Barbara that you could plan for like you're trying to speed-run a Mario level, but social challenges that are inherently irrational and unpredictable. He's a compilation of some events.
So I'm heading down the street, dodging traffic because no one had the foresight to design a road with room for two traffic lanes AND a shoulder, so everyone basically parks overlapping the sidewalk infront of their house. In a situation like this, do you need to check for traffic before throwing open your driver-side door? Of course not. Anyhow, I make it through the barricade of angry-looking people in wifebeaters stopped in the center of the street to buy corn from the Corn Man, and I narrowly avoid getting t-boned by this other guy on a bicycle for whom stops signs and right-of-way are against his religion. As I pass him he calls out after me, "Yo yo man! Yo!" Great. Is this how I get shot? "Yo you need some shampoo?!" Uh no, I'm all good, thanks. "Yo, does yo BITCH need shampoo?!" I wave him off as I continue to put distance between him, and I hear him calling to other "bitches" on the street to inquire as to the status their hair care needs.
I make into to the parking of the FoodMaxxxxxxxx, passing several half-animals along the way (seriously people, your cats belong indoors). As I tie up my bike, an old woman gets out of her parked car and walks up to me all slow-like, like you do with your dog when it escapes from the backyard and you're trying to get close enough to throw a chain on it before it runs away. "Heyyyy… it's okay. It's alright. Whatever it is, you just believe that it's gonna turn out alright."
I…
what is this I don't even
Am… I bleeding or something?
Okay… thanks lady. I… guess I appreciate the sentiment? Buuuuuut your spontaneous confidence-boosting actually has a very different impact on people.
Okay. Now it's time to get into the fucking store. Unfortunately, there's a table erected at the entrance today with some people behind it and signs out front. I don't bother figuring out exactly why - it looks religious and conservative, and petitions seem to be involved. I put on my very large headphones, which I consider to be the universal communication of "I cannot fucking hear you, go away" but which to date NO stranger has EVER picked up on EVER. Today is no exception. The table master calls to me as I charge forward and stare steadfastly ahead. "Sir?" No, I can't hear you. "Sir?" Still no. "Sir? Sir? SIR? SIR?! SIR!! SIR!!! SIR!!! SIR!!!!!! SIR!!!!!!" …until it reaches this truly bizarre level of just absolutely HATE-FILLED screaming, his voice cracking with fury and strain like he'd just watched me blast his 2-year old daughter in the face with a shotgun, and sounding like he was going to hurl his plastic picnic table through the brick wall and fly through the air at me like the Hulk. Jesus, the Obama = Hitler people had a better handle on themselves in public than you. By the time I finish my purchases of delicious $0.35 Mexican cans of hepatitis and lead because that's the only thing I can afford to eat, I see that the table is gone. So apparently I must've arrived 1 minute to the deadline of their cause with only one signature remaining, and/or maybe the local authority summarily gunned them down had a talk with them.
Getting home is generally easier… I just have to remember that loaded down I'm a slower target, and to cross the street when it looks like a domestic violence situation is occurring.
So I'm heading down the street, dodging traffic because no one had the foresight to design a road with room for two traffic lanes AND a shoulder, so everyone basically parks overlapping the sidewalk infront of their house. In a situation like this, do you need to check for traffic before throwing open your driver-side door? Of course not. Anyhow, I make it through the barricade of angry-looking people in wifebeaters stopped in the center of the street to buy corn from the Corn Man, and I narrowly avoid getting t-boned by this other guy on a bicycle for whom stops signs and right-of-way are against his religion. As I pass him he calls out after me, "Yo yo man! Yo!" Great. Is this how I get shot? "Yo you need some shampoo?!" Uh no, I'm all good, thanks. "Yo, does yo BITCH need shampoo?!" I wave him off as I continue to put distance between him, and I hear him calling to other "bitches" on the street to inquire as to the status their hair care needs.
I make into to the parking of the FoodMaxxxxxxxx, passing several half-animals along the way (seriously people, your cats belong indoors). As I tie up my bike, an old woman gets out of her parked car and walks up to me all slow-like, like you do with your dog when it escapes from the backyard and you're trying to get close enough to throw a chain on it before it runs away. "Heyyyy… it's okay. It's alright. Whatever it is, you just believe that it's gonna turn out alright."
I…
what is this I don't even
Am… I bleeding or something?
Okay… thanks lady. I… guess I appreciate the sentiment? Buuuuuut your spontaneous confidence-boosting actually has a very different impact on people.
Okay. Now it's time to get into the fucking store. Unfortunately, there's a table erected at the entrance today with some people behind it and signs out front. I don't bother figuring out exactly why - it looks religious and conservative, and petitions seem to be involved. I put on my very large headphones, which I consider to be the universal communication of "I cannot fucking hear you, go away" but which to date NO stranger has EVER picked up on EVER. Today is no exception. The table master calls to me as I charge forward and stare steadfastly ahead. "Sir?" No, I can't hear you. "Sir?" Still no. "Sir? Sir? SIR? SIR?! SIR!! SIR!!! SIR!!! SIR!!!!!! SIR!!!!!!" …until it reaches this truly bizarre level of just absolutely HATE-FILLED screaming, his voice cracking with fury and strain like he'd just watched me blast his 2-year old daughter in the face with a shotgun, and sounding like he was going to hurl his plastic picnic table through the brick wall and fly through the air at me like the Hulk. Jesus, the Obama = Hitler people had a better handle on themselves in public than you. By the time I finish my purchases of delicious $0.35 Mexican cans of hepatitis and lead because that's the only thing I can afford to eat, I see that the table is gone. So apparently I must've arrived 1 minute to the deadline of their cause with only one signature remaining, and/or maybe the local authority summarily gunned them down had a talk with them.
Getting home is generally easier… I just have to remember that loaded down I'm a slower target, and to cross the street when it looks like a domestic violence situation is occurring.