This evening I attended the wind ensemble concert at the high school auditorium, and the music was lovely in the lovely parts and exhilarating in the exhilarating parts, and all (but one) of the kids seem to be good citizens who support each other in healthy ways. (I know that sounds like a mom thing to say. Shut up.) ((Also, don’t get me started on the “but one” parenthetical aside up there, because things could get ugly.))
Speaking of things getting ugly, after the concert I drove in the rain to Dairy Queen because I tend to celebrate every single occasion with food. There really wasn’t anything to celebrate tonight other than the fact that I didn’t lose my shit with that one parenthetical kid. It doesn’t matter. Food. Always food.
Anyway, the Dairy Queen parking lot is a weirdo. When you pull in, you can go the wrong way to the drive-thru, or you can go the correct way. (It’s definitely easier to go the wrong way.) Tonight, I pulled into the parking lot right behind a white van. White van went the wrong way. I went the right way. We reached the drive-thru lane at the same exact time. (This is a great story, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make you want to hang out with me?! No?!)
As soon as I inched forward, the driver of the white van JUMPED OUT OF HIS VAN because we live in St. Charles, where most of the population is itching to fight. Picture this: Tall old bald guy with a tiny gray ponytail yelling something at me about how he was FIRST! and something about “YOU DON’T THINK YOU’RE GOING IN FRONT OF ME, DO YOU?!” I (fairly) calmly told him that I WAS going to let him go first (and I was!) and then (because sometimes I’m a little petty) I gently pointed out that he was in the wrong lane. He threw his enormous orangutan-esque arms into the air and spouted out, “THINGS HAPPEN!”
Watch out. I’m about to say the F word.
When Planet of the Apes stopped beating on his big dumb (probably prison tattooed with more than one misspelled word) chest and knuckle-crawled back into his van, I rolled my window up, turned to Jeff and said, “I fucking hate this fucking town.”
I don’t hate this town. I don’t. But I do hate misguided entitlement and tough-mindedness and authoritarian aggression and big hostile dumb white guys with tiny ponytails (is it considered a pigtail if it’s wee and growing out of the back of a Neanderthal skull?) who will do whatever it takes to be the first in line for a Dilly Bar.
Confession: After the guy yelled at me, I was shaken up just enough to turn the car around and go home. No Blizzard for me because mean people ruin everything.
(I have a lot in common with these nacho chips.)