One Day At Target

I'd locked my bike up next to a parking spot. Done with my business, I went out to unlock my bike. The parking spot was empty, and while I was there a car pulled in.

An SUV comes roaring around from the next lane, and the woman at the wheel lets loose: "You fuckers! You assholes! I was fucking waiting for that fucking spot! Assholes! Fuck you!..." and on and on she went.

Now, it seems to me that a) if you are waiting for a parking spot, then you're sitting there in your car waiting for the spot, not driving down the next lane looking for a spot and b) if, after 45 seconds of you screaming vulgarities, those people are not vacating the spot for you, they're probably not going to.

As someone who likes to be helpful and friendly, I got on my bike and rode up to her window and made a helpful suggestion: "Jesus Christ, you stupid bitch, find another fucking parking spot."

Curiously, she took exception to my suggestion and turned her attention to me. "You fucking asshole! Fuck you! You're an asshole!"

I tried again: "Shit, bitch, not like you couldn't use the fucking exercise."

"You asshole! Fuck you! I'm 126 pounds! Fuck you!"

"Maybe your head is a 126 pounds, honey."

It seemed a fine time to bring the conversation to an end so I pedaled off and went home. I don't know if she ever found her fucking parking spot or not.

The Man The World Revolves Around

I'm at the theatre. The phone rings.

Man on the phone: "This is Dale, I'm at Wrigley Field, dude, and it's thundering and lightening up here and it's my birthday and my birthday is ruined cause it's thundering and lightening so can I come trade in my tickets for the Cubs that I payed a lot of money for cause it's my birthday and then see your show?"

Me: "I'm sorry, no."

Him: "It's my birthday and it's ruined."

Me: "......"

Him: "So do I get a discount if I come to your show cause it's my birthday and it's ruined?"

Me: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."

Him: "Dude, it's my fucking birthday and it's ruined. I come to see your show what benefit do I get since it's my birthday."

Me (that I want to say): "Dude, you get to see the fucking show. That's your fucking benefit."

Me (to him): "I'm sorry, we don't have any additional benefits to offer."

Him: "Jesus, Dude, you just don't fucking get that ---" At which point I hung up on his drunk ass.

For the record: I then went over and opened the office door to the street. It was not thundering nor was it "lightening." Nor was it raining.

Say Good Night, Gracie

So there I was up on Devon Avenue for a meeting. That area of Devon has the city's densest concentration of Indian businesses.

I wanted to get something to eat before the meeting started so I popped into an Indian restaurant.

I was wearing my new glasses (that's them, in the picture over at the right).

When I walk in, the host -- a handsome Indian fellow in his early to mid twenties -- looks at me and says:

"The glasses -- nice! George Burns!"

George Burns? I'd be surprised to find a mid to early twenties American who knows George Burns.

(He went on to tell me he was a big fan of the Rat Pack and of fifties and sixties American television.)

Another Friendly Conversation

So there I was, waiting, on my bike, for the light to change.

Woman walks up. Woman talks to me: "You fucking bicyclists, you're always in the fucking away! I fucking hate you goddamn bicyclists! Why don't you all get the fuck out of the way!"

"Ma'am," I say, "perhaps it would help the matter if you would kindly get your fucking fat ass out of the fucking bike lane and walk on the goddamn sidewalk like you fucking pedestrians are supposed to do!"

A Friendly Conversation

There I was, riding my bike east on Lawrence Avenue, in the bike lane, just like I'm supposed to do. And this car starts to drift into the bike lane.

The passenger side window was down, so I said "Hey." Didn't yell. Just wanted to make a noise to let the driver know someone was there.

The driver, well, he looks over at me. And he says: "Fuck you."

Okay, fine. I say to him: "Fuck you."

This bothers him. He says to me: "Don't you fucking swear at me!" Yeah. Swearing at me is the best way to convince me not to swear at you.

I say to him: "Fuck you, you fuck."

This bother him. He responds: "I told you not to fucking swear at me!"

So I say to him: "Fuck you, you fucking fuck."

Him: "Goddamit I told you not to swear at me!!"

Me: "Fuck you, you fucking fuckwad."

Well, by this point I was getting bored with the conversation, so I rode off. I wonder if he ever figured out why his polite request was so rudely ignored.