i was walking home last night with a friend after our night class, and the route we take cuts through a parking lot located between a rental property and a bar. Partway through the lot, we're interrupted by this piercing scream--the epitome of bloody murder. I flinched and started looking around to see where it came from, but with the acoustics in that area, I couldn't tell exactly. I finally looked up and saw this couple (I suppose you could call them chubby, portly, big-boned, etc.) standing at the railing of the deck, smoking and looking down at us. Apparently it was purely for our benefit. Gee, thanks.
After finding that the source was not someone being repeatedly stabbed in the shadows beside the bar, I turned away and shook my head in disbelief. From above we hear her say, dripping with disdain, "Pussies."
This is a prime example of why I'm torn about college. I can't describe how happy I am that I finally returned to school or how well things have turned out for me since then, but every fall I feel this strange mixture of rage and disappointment at the ignorance displayed by the hordes of returning students. How do you tell a drunk, stupid sow you're more afraid of the prospect that she is a representative of what I think is wrong with the upcoming generations than the fact that she gave us a few seconds of fright from a slasher-film scream? Or should I say, how do you tell her that without stooping to her level?
So after getting home, I decided to take the night off with a movie and headed to the local Hy-Vee in order to pick up some junk food to enhance my viewing pleasure. The conversation at the checkout lifted my spirits.
There's a guy who has worked there for what seems like forever, but I don't see him all that often. When I do, I don't hesitate to head for his register. Here's why, and I should mention that he'd just finished commenting on the previous customer's two boxes of Froot Loops:
Him: "How're you doing, sir? Do you like Froot Loops?"
Me: "I do enjoy Froot Loops once in a while, yes."
Him: "Me too. I always steal some from my little cousin when he eats them."
Me: "Ah, so you're one of those kinda guys."
Him: "No, I don't steal Froot Loops from babies." (pause) "Well, yeah I do, but it's okay, because he's stupid. I say stuff like, 'Hey, good job! You finished all your Froot Loops!'"
At this point the people behind me in line and I are laughing.
Him: "So, you got any plans tonight?" (This may sound strange, but I've never heard him not ask someone this question.)
Me: "Nope. The plan is to not have plans tonight."
Him: "Oh. You're dressed all spiffy, so I thought maybe you'd just come from somewhere or were headed out for the night."
I was dressed in a Dickies shirt, cargo shorts, and grubby work boots.
Me: "Wow, you call this spiffy?"
Him: "What can I say? I'm easily impressed."
That exchange was typical of every single conversation I've had with that guy, and I'm always chuckling about it afterward. Seriously, if there were only two registers open and I had to choose between him and some gorgeous, swimsuit model-type, I'd probably go through his lane. But I'd be craning my neck to see into the next lane.
