Saturday afternoon I was in line with my friend at Store 24 when a belligerent drunk guy came in. He ambled in the door wearing black jean shorts, a wifebeater, and work boots. He stared at the girl behind the counter and immediately bellowed, “WHAT THE FUCK? YOU’RE LOOKIN’ AT ME LIKE I’M CRAZY.” The girl ignored him and was talking to the guy in front of us, who wanted to know the price of a disposable camera. The guy got right behind me in line. I could hear him breathing and shifting impatiently. He went, “YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME.” The cashier couldn’t find the price of the camera and was trying to look it up. The guy said, “DON’T YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? YOU WORK HERE; YOU DON’T KNOW THE FUCKING PRICE?” The cashier looked nervous but kept doing her job. My friend and I were silent and still, but I was SuFi’ing him in my head. A woman joined the line. The guy walked away and pointed back at her: “I’M IN LINE RIGHT THERE. I’M JUST LOOKIN’ AT THE PRICE.” My friend and I paid for our beverages; as we were walking out we heard him ask for a pack of Old Gold smokes. Outside, she said, “That was kinda scary.” I said, “Yeah, he was pretty unbalanced.”
Later that night Joe and I went out to dinner. We were on this two-lane main road that is a pain in the ass because it has too many lights, you have to zig-zag between the lanes because whichever one you're in becomes turn-only every other block, and it's lined with parallel parking spaces so you always have to stop to let someone back in or pull out. We were in the right lane, and behind us on the right came this guy who was laying on the horn and trying to bypass traffic by using the unoccupied parking spaces as his personal travel lane. Because my instinct is to passive-aggressively fuck with people on the road, I eased rightward and tried to box him out. But I wasn't aggressive or quick enough, and he managed to squeeze by anyway, horn still blaring. I was expecting to be flipped off or yelled at, but he — a middle-aged guy in a nondescript American sedan — was casually looking ahead, as if he was on a leisurely Sunday drive. I really wanted to issue him a hefty SuFi, but I can only SuFi with my left hand and he was on the wrong side. Plus I was envisioning the shotgun he probably had in the passenger seat.
On the way home, same street, it goes from two lanes to one when you cross the town line and you have to merge. I was in the right lane and there was a black BMW in the left lane about half a car length behind me. Now, merging is a folding in of cars, a zipper of cars closing. In a merge situation, the car that is half a length behind would naturally fall back, yes? That's what I thought too. But this guy started honking and getting all agitated. I could tell that it was because his feeble ambitions of scoring a better place in the merge pattern had not been met. So he zoomed left and passed me. I should have SuFi'd him then because he was right there and he was a dick! But his maneuver was too fast. Then he jerked to the side of the road and got back behind me and followed us until our turn came. I thought for a second about what I'd do if he followed us. It looked like he wanted to; his headlights seemed to wobble as if he was popping a blood vessel inside, but he grudgingly went straight.
Then, of course, I SuFi’d the angry red smolder of his taillights.
Later that night Joe and I went out to dinner. We were on this two-lane main road that is a pain in the ass because it has too many lights, you have to zig-zag between the lanes because whichever one you're in becomes turn-only every other block, and it's lined with parallel parking spaces so you always have to stop to let someone back in or pull out. We were in the right lane, and behind us on the right came this guy who was laying on the horn and trying to bypass traffic by using the unoccupied parking spaces as his personal travel lane. Because my instinct is to passive-aggressively fuck with people on the road, I eased rightward and tried to box him out. But I wasn't aggressive or quick enough, and he managed to squeeze by anyway, horn still blaring. I was expecting to be flipped off or yelled at, but he — a middle-aged guy in a nondescript American sedan — was casually looking ahead, as if he was on a leisurely Sunday drive. I really wanted to issue him a hefty SuFi, but I can only SuFi with my left hand and he was on the wrong side. Plus I was envisioning the shotgun he probably had in the passenger seat.
On the way home, same street, it goes from two lanes to one when you cross the town line and you have to merge. I was in the right lane and there was a black BMW in the left lane about half a car length behind me. Now, merging is a folding in of cars, a zipper of cars closing. In a merge situation, the car that is half a length behind would naturally fall back, yes? That's what I thought too. But this guy started honking and getting all agitated. I could tell that it was because his feeble ambitions of scoring a better place in the merge pattern had not been met. So he zoomed left and passed me. I should have SuFi'd him then because he was right there and he was a dick! But his maneuver was too fast. Then he jerked to the side of the road and got back behind me and followed us until our turn came. I thought for a second about what I'd do if he followed us. It looked like he wanted to; his headlights seemed to wobble as if he was popping a blood vessel inside, but he grudgingly went straight.
Then, of course, I SuFi’d the angry red smolder of his taillights.
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