6.17.2002

Why you wanna be a jackhole, Mister??

Reminding myself that truth is a defense to charges of slander (or, I suppose, since this is published, libel), let me "out" this dumbass in Irvine, California. This is made easier by the certain knowledge that my readership, as it were, is about 6 people wide right now, so what the hell, right?

Chocolate brown Mercedes 500 SEC (which I've never heard of but which brings to mind the ill-gotten gains of insider trading, if I may say so), with all gold trim, uber-decked-out. Ugh, for starters. Vanity plate, which I am growing to hate as much as Dawg does: FRNCYSK. Middle-aged dude at wheel, alone. We're in line for the washing at the Shell station on Barranca, and I notice that he's got his liver-spotted arm out the window, holding his lit cigarette. Well, there's the first stupid move, right there. Who the hell SMOKES at a GAS STATION, for the love of God??? They're called FUMES, people, and they fuckin' blow up, dig?? Ok, so I just think uncharitable thoughts about him for a minute or two, groovin' to Ella with the antenna down, waiting for my turn to roll through the car wash (yeah!). But then....

He FLICKS THE LIT CIGARETTE BUTT OUT THE CAR WINDOW!!!!!! I know what you're thinking: "Oh, no, he didn't!!" But YES, he did! This cannot stand, and it's time for the Dew to jump in. Citizens of the world, unite!

I put Blanche in park (ever the careful driver, myself), and get out of the Volvo. I march over, stomp on the burning butt (get the subtext?), and begin to rant, hands on hips. "Are you INSANE?? Who smokes at a gas station? And what kind of idiot throws a LIT CIGARETTE out the window at a GAS STATION?!!"

(Accompanied by gestures, pointing, etc.).....

So he says, "We nowhere near pumps! You go away!" (And I think he locked the door, but maybe I'm just flattering myself.)

I continued undaunted: "We're at a GAS STATION!! There are fumes EVERYWHERE!! That's why ALL the signs say NO SMOKING!! Only a complete moron smokes at a gas station!! And also, the world is not your ashtray! Don't flick your cigarette butts out your window unless you want someone to dump their trash in your car!! Try not to be so stupid!"

Well, I wish the encounter had been more explosive or otherwise satisfying, but I suppose considering the environment, it's just as well that it fizzled: he repeated his wish that I "go away" and then the car in front of him moved, and I had to jump back in Blanche so as not to impede the progress of the whole car-washing world. Yeah, that part was kind of lame, but I sort of felt that if I got in the way of everyone else, I'd be just as much of an asshole -- albeit a different kind of asshole -- as was the Smoking FRNCY dude. But at least now I've told my tale and feel much better. Much, much better. So be on the lookout for the King of Numbnuts out there in SoCal.

Peace.

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