I Got My Revenge ... And Then I Felt Empty

I was driving to the airport to pick up my parents.  I was using the minivan because the oil level light on my sedan kept popping on and I was scared.  The minivan's check engine light stays on, and the seat belt light keeps blinking, but my parents assure me that it's been that way for months and everything seems to be fine.

And it was.  Sure, it's an unsexy working van, but it hauls ass.  In fact, it accelerates faster and smoother than my luxury car (even though it is seven years older than my parents' van).  I knew this when a white Cadillac cut in front of me without turning its turn signal on while we were on the highway.  I've usually let this slide, but for some reason, this crossed a line.  This car didn't do anything particularly bad to me; it's not like the driver gave me the finger, and there have been many other cars that cut me off much closer than this one did.  Because I felt more confident in a better car or that I had enough, it took me a couple minutes of seeing this goddamn car continue to zoom away from me -- to get away with what it did -- for me to say to hell with the increased police presence over Thanksgiving Weekend and chase this fucker down.  I'll have time to brake, and besides, my parents will understand.

So I take the minivan up to 70, then 80, then 85.  Holy shit, this van can buck!  And buck well!  None of the cars were suddenly braking or slowing down, so the coast was clear of the po-po and I was free to track down the car that wronged me.  It took a little while for me to match her speed, then exceed it.  About five minutes and three miles later, I caught up to her; she had what looked to be a South Dakota license plate.  I was prepared to remember it in case I remember to report her online to the state.

Then, she signaled -- oh, now he signals! -- and moved over to the right.  You afraid of me, bitch, huh?  You afraid of me?  Then I realized; I won.  I just won!  She knew I was the car whom she cut off, and she gave up because she knew she lost!!  Yes!!! ... wait.  Maybe she wanted to slow down because she didn't know where she was going.  Or maybe she just decided to slow down at that point regardless.  You know, maybe she was absentmindedly cutting people off because she zoned out, and now that she's snapped out of it, she (or he) started to drive more like a grown-up.  If this person really wanted to be an asshole, he (or she -- never caught the gender of the driver) wouldn't've moved out of the way.

And now what I thought was my triumph, a very rare case of road rage justice where no one got hurt, has now made me feel empty.  The driver wasn't acting pissed off or bitter, he or she didn't submit once I caught up to him or her.  He or she appeared to do his or her own thing without regard to how it affected me.  It's not right what the driver did.  But there's no way to communicate how that made me feel, not when the person just decided to stop being an asshole and started driving at a normal speed.  This person stopped road ragin' at his own choosing, thus denying me my revenge.

I guess I can take solace in returning the dusting.  I kept driving between 65 and 70 while this white Caddy seemed to disappear in my rearview mirror.  And I needed every one of those seconds I made up driving at subsonic speed; I got to the airport less than ten minutes before I saw my 'Rents coming down the escalator.

Wiped Out

Sorry I'm late posting today's post.  Don't know if it's the oncoming winter, the weather turning colder, that it's now holiday season, my circadian rhythm out of whack because I had to work for my parents.  But for the last two days, ever since I picked up my parents from the airport, I've passed out around midnight or 1, way before I usually do, and woken up around 9 or 10, way too early.  I've also felt very sluggish when awake.  Is this a start of a shift to new conscious hours -- namely, hours that are alike everybody else's?  I shudder to think.

I like eating at work. It's free, so why not? But at this particular place I work at seasonally I have made it a ritual whereby I eat after I report, then eat after I'm done.

I shouldn't do that anyway, seeing that I'm only really working there six hours. These are big breakfasts and lunches, I tell you, and it would've been hard for me to lose all the pounds if this was me after college, let alone now.

Depending on what I ate the night before, there are some instances where, after the first breakfast or lunch, I would have to take a dump. But where I work there are no toilets where I feel secure to take a dump. It's an old place, and the shitters are nasty and the bathrooms are cold. Also, it's incredibly busy where I work, and so I won't have the privacy I want to defecate in a public place.

For some reason, though, yesterday was worse. The last thing I ate the night before was salad and soup, although I did have a beer as well. And it wasn't as if I helped myself to thirds. Just seconds, and that was only for the first lunch (not breakfast in this case). I didn't feel a raging bowel movement coming on, nor did I begin to fart these killer farts, the farts that could peel paint off the walls, the farts where people at the area where I work would just have to stop everything and go, "Goddamn, who farted?!" I didn't feel that gas, so I avoided major shame.

But it was when I finally got home after a long day at work where my excretory system finally undid its belt and let come what may -- actually, I did the same thing. My shit was anticipating its freedom right when I drove up to my driveway, so I walked like I was having a cramp all the way to the door. I burst in, threw off my shoes, and ran up to the bathroom, where I proceeded to spend the next 30-45 minutes voiding. It was fucking unreal. I wasn't shitting a lot, just plop-plop-plop, but I felt massive pangs coming from my intestines, like it was pounding the walls in order to escape. And I so I sat and pushed my feces out of my body, again and again and again. It was shitting by a thousand cuts.

And when I thought I was done, I'd get up, only for my body to tell me to sit back down again. And I shat some more. Then I got up and out of the bathroom, only to go back in about five minutes later. Again, it felt more bark than bite; my body tells me to squeeze more and more, yet when I look down there ain't nothing there. But I sat and sat and sat till the pain was gone.

And I look at my stomach and I'm still fat. Really, if I had as much bathroom time as I did last night I should be able to fit into my high school jeans again.

I fill in to work for my parents whenever they're vacationing, as they usually do over holidays.  All I do is stand at the front, read the newspapers I've been saving for weeks to read, and listen to my satellite radio.  Oh, and help out my uncle with customers, of which there are several and only several, sadly.

Thing is, I feel bad that I'm not doing more.  I don't exactly know what I could do at the store ... maybe clean up things, maybe tidy the shelves, I don't know.  But just being a mouth-breather to prevent people from stealing our stuff is something we needed to do a decade ago, not now.  Use me!

And yet ... I don't really want to do anything there except read my papers and listen to college football on the radio.  And I've done it so long it'd be weird if I tried to do actual work.  See, I want to help out the store because it is the engine that nourished this family and put me, my brother and my sister through college.  It's worth maintaining.  I just don't know if I have the strength to maintain it.

Black Friday Fail

In my previous post I said I was dreading Black Friday -- and I was right. My day/night/afternoon didn't even have to see me get out of bed before it got off on the wrong foot.

I slept an hour before 4 in the morning. I'm usually up, but the two places I had to go open their doors at 5 and 6 a.m., just when I'm about to go to bed. And since I had to work that morning, I needed to get in as much pass-out time as I could. Which was an hour. And the alarm didn't wake me -- my Grandmother, Buddha bless her, did. She burst through my bedroom door. She had turned the hallway light on, so when she startled me awake, she looked like the Virgin Mary, scaring the shit out of me.

She said she thought I had already left. I didn't, and now I wish I hadn't agreed to do this for my parents. Closed my door again and just laid back in my bed, quietly stewing over what I was about to do and feeling so tired I wish I was dead. I only wanted to pity myself for a few minutes before I got up out of bed, but my Grandmother, ever vigilant, walked up to my closed door and said, "You've got to get up." To which I replied, "OK, Grandmother, I'll get up when I want to!!!"

I heard about Black Friday bringing out the worst in people, and I didn't have to be awake to prove it was true.

I rolled out at about 20 after, got to Target a half-hour before opening, a little later than I wanted to. Couldn't believe there were so many cars at 4:30 in the morning. Then I got to the parking lot and drove up to the line; it was long already. I had to drive past the line, then park and walk past the line, to appreciate how long it was. I estimate I was the 250th person in line. Longest line I've ever been in, even longer than the rides at Disneyland.

The kid who got in line just in front of me told me he was at Herberger's, which opened their stores at 3. He was fighting with a woman for a comforter and she hit him right across the face. I feared this: Black Friday violence. I remember the poor Wal-Mart worker who last year was trampled to death by these sick humans. Sick humans like this bitch who hit this poor kid. Sick humans ... like us. Like me. Fighting for cheap stuff you want with other people doesn't change a person; it reveals who that person really is.

(I didn't tell him, but when I saw the kid pulling ahead of me in the race for the end of the line, I thought, just for a second, "I have to cut in front of this fucker.")

Actually, he and the two people ahead of him were really nice -- comiserating on Black Friday horror stories, what Target will do, what we want to buy, etc. I was a dick; when one of them asked me what I was going to buy, I declined to tell her. I'm a dick. Talking with them killed time and made me forget it was in the twenties in the wee hours of the morning.

There was no trampling when the clock struck 5, thank Buddha. But I did start race-walking once I got inside. Target did a great job preparing us while we were queuing, giving us a reusable bag with a map of where to find their door-buster deals. And the corner is where the 32" LCD TV my parents want was.

I quickened my pace once I got to the hall where the TV's were. I saw carts with one, even two TV's. My parents wanted two TV's, and when I got there, I saw two TV's.

Is there a limit?

Is there a limit? ... No, there is no limit.

And then I heard someone behind me: "He can't take two TV's."

And here I was, at the Janus point. What was he going to do? Was I going to ignore him because it's every man for himself at Black Friday? And then I had a practical question: How the hell was I going to carry two flat-screens to the register without a cart? I really wanted to try, but in the end I decided I didn't want to get this stranger pissed at me to the point where he'd cold-cock me while I was dragging both TV's down the aisle and take both of mine. So I gave one of them up.

And then another guy, right behind him, with a cart, says, "Aw, I needed a TV."

Fuck, what do I have to not piss you people off? And I don't even fucking know either of you! And now My Fucking Mother will ask me why didn't I get two fucking TV's, and I'll have to lie to her, but she'll have none of it. Goddammit, if you want these TV's so fucking bad you'll endanger your life to some stranger you'd probably get along with under any other social interaction, go fucking do it yourself!!!

Anyway, bought the TV for $250. Sweet deal, but are Westinghouses good?

---

Had to go to Menards too. They opened at 6, about 45 minutes after I got done with Target. Fortunately or unfortunately, it was across the street from Target.

Should I go home and dump the TV? I didn't want anyone who didn't get a TV to stalk me all the way to Menards (in case they too were going there) and do some bad shit to me or my car. But I saw this line grow when there was none at 4:30. I couldn't do it in case the dozen items My Father wanted me to get for him were gone.

The line was shorter when I hopped in; about #125, I guesstimated. The guy behind me was thin, old with white hair, and wearing camo. For much of the 35 minutes we were in line he was kneeling and gazing off into the distance, as if he was hearing Custer's cavalry coming.

I really didn't think there would be a line for Menards. I mean, it's Menards, a hardware store. Why would anyone want to pour into a hardware store for stuff at 6? But I guess a deal's a deal. Which meant that this queue was more dangerous. Target customers are kids on their skateboards who want to buy Call Of Duty, or moms who want a new set of linens. Menards customers are men. Men and lesbians. The woman in front of me, the one I made very small talk by ragging on a car that was making a lot of shitty noises as it drove past us, had a really, really masculine voice. If we were fighting over a cordless drill, she would've poked my eyes out with her dick.

The line grew exponentially behind me. There was an edge to the parking lot that was fairly close to me, and the tail hit it soon after I lined up. Then a Menards employee came out and probably forced the line to snake somewhere around the corner to make more space. And yet the line grew further and further. Lines are long, but when it gets so long that it bends, that's when you go, "Damn, this is a long line!" Yes, I understand that a long that remains straight infinitely is by definition long. But when it reaches natural obstacles that in turn shape it, that means it's too long and has to be contained and controlled. Like this one had to be.

Menards was not proactive; there were no bags or directions to hot items. Moreover, Target did a clever job of forcing the beginning of the line to go behind this huge wall and an extended row of planters. Menards had set up several posts with crime scene tape, but it ended several dozen people ahead of me. That's important to note because, shortly before the doors opened, I noticed several people waiting at the front of the parking lot but not headed to the end of the line. No! They're going to cut in line!!

And they did once the clock hit six. Well, I vividly remember a couple of bitches going around the last stantion and joining us. They put their heads down as if hoping none of us would notice. But we all did, stupid. Only a few us catcalled them: "Hey! You cut in line! Go back to the end of the line! Be a grown-up!" I was not one of the catcallers. But in a different mood than the one I was at then, I could've.

This time I really needed a shopping cart. There was some pushing and shoving. When I saw those two cunts that cut in line grab a cart from an employee, another guy rushed right in and took it from them, saying something to the effect of, "You cut in line, you don't get this cart!" They got another one anyway. It made little difference, and yet I agree with the principle of what he did. Fairness, that's all. But in that ephemeral act of Black Friday Justice, I saw the dark side of me, a side I know I've shown to the world often, a side I was ready to wield as a weapon if provoked for something as little and as stupid as the last pair of fucking dark socks. There were so many goddamn people in the store, by God, that I could've been ten times as worse as those two rude women or that vindictive man. That anger, that acceptance of the use of force to get what I want, that is in me. That is me. And I hated seeing the monster side of me reflected in that little exchange.

Men don't want to ask for directions, yet they generally don't want to shop longer than they have to. Those two facts don't reconcile, and that's brought into sharp relief on Black Friday. You either are left alone to get your shit, or you get out as soon as you fucking can, but not both, not today. So I did what I think many of the guys (and lesbians) did; I just went up to the first worker I saw and asked him or her where this product is. Once I got that, I went up to another employee and asked where the next item in my shopping list is. I still couldn't get anywhere fast because of the crush of rabid consumers; hell, waiting in line to check out took about 40 minutes -- but I really would've gone postal if I didn't ask for directions. Maybe I should do that more often.

By the way, a nice young woman piling in line for one of the checkout registers handed me the box of plastic food containers, the last item on my Menards list. There can be civilization amid the chaos if you find it.

There were at least four lines leading to the checkout lanes. How can people shop at this place Black Friday morning? But everything went well, and no one tried to steal the knockoff Snuggies and puffer coats out of my cart while I wasn't looking.

Look, the first time I do anything I anticipate with loathing because I fear the unknown. Once I face all the bad things that could happen I feel prepared for the next time I do it. But not this. I got some great deals, but there's nothing, and I mean nothing, that would interest me so much that I feel I would have to line up early in the morning to buy it. And fend my way through other people -- and potential get into a fight with someone -- just so I could get my hands on some material goods.

I do this for my parents, but for no other reason. And they can clean up my room if one of these Black Fridays I wind up murdered by a guy who really wanted those $2 slippers for his wife.

I'm getting increasingly agitated by the thought that I have to wake up in about 90 minutes to drag myself to Target and Menards to buy stuff for my parents that I probably won't be able to get because people have already started camping out.  And then I have to work for my parents at our work and I won't have any good sleep time so I'll be all cranky and shit.  And after that I want to Black Friday shop for myself but I don't know if I should just say "fuck it" and go to sleep.  Plus I have to see a friend for the Timberwolves game tonight.

Goddamn I'm already pissed off.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#0: Vikings (Last Week: -1). In what many consider the team's most complete victory of the season, 35-9 over Seattle. It wasn't a full-throttle throttling from whistle to gun, nor was it like their wins over Cleveland and Detroit where they were slow coming out of the gate, made adjustments at halftime and finally pulled away in the second half. Somehow, through all the penalties and runs up the middle for little-to-no gain, they were able to pour it on the Seahawks in the second quarter. Favre, who threw touchdown passes to four different receivers, has yet to show signs of fatigue or recklessness. However, Sunday's game at home versus Chicago is Week 12, which statistics show is about the time he starts to fall apart.

#-1: Twins (Re-Entry!). They're here because Joe Mauer was named American League Most Valuable Player this week. He's only the second catcher since I was born (that's 33 years) to be AL MVP. For this, he will be handsomely rewarded with a long-term deal that'll pay him the moon -- and as well he should. The question becomes: Who will be sacrificed from the team in order to accomodate Mauer's new contract and fit under their budget guidelines? The real question should be: At what point does the greatest ambassador this franchise has ever known get undermined by the diminishing returns of a player who catches? The real follow-up question then should be: Can they convince Mauer to stop short of that point in the contract, or can the Twins let go of Mauer before they reach it?

#-2: Gopher men's basketball (Re-Entry!). Some people have criticized Tubby Smith's non-conference schedule as soft. It is, and it should thus be ridiculed. But at least they're winning. I neglected to put them in last week's WMNSS because I plain forgot, so I'll say that the Gophs had a 3-0 last two weeks ... even if the margins of victory were 37, 40 and 25. The continued suspensions of Royce White and Trevor Mbakwe have so far not been an obstacle. Having what is considered the deepest bench in the Big 10 helps. Of course, that doesn't mean they're the most talented -- think about that to Purdue, Michigan St., and Michigan. This week they face the toughest part of their non-con schedule by participating in a Thanksgiving weekend tournament, the 76 Classic. (Is this is a classic? Did it start in 1976? No; according to wikipedia, the 76 Classic started in 2007. So shouldn't it be called the 07 Classic? The 76 stands for the 76 gas station company. Pssh.) Anyway, they face Butler, number 12 in the AP poll this week, in the quarterfinals. If they're good enough to beat the Bulldogs, UCLA looms next.

#-3: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -3). A home sweep of Bemidji St. and they're still #2 in the poll (behind Mercyhurst -- where's Mercyhurst?). Congrats to Megan Bozek for being WCHA Rookie Of The Week. I put this team below the men's basketball team because 1) the women's hockey team has disappointed me before, and 2) they have taken a couple of dings while the men's cagers, even though it's early, hasn't even faced its conference schedule yet, so you can say there's hope. A huge test this week -- they host third-ranked Clarkson this weekend.

#-4: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: -2). I'm dreading -- dreading -- the moment this team loses to someone seeded below them. Getting their asses kicked at Michigan is understandable; it was Senior Day and the Wolverine are ranked 12th (although they passed the Gophs this week based in part on the win). Needing to come back from a two-set deficit at unranked Michigan St. is much more disconcerting. A comeback like that might show resiliency and the ability to adjust. I say that a team that has aspirations -- now dead -- that they could reach the Final Four shouldn't be fucking doing that at all. This team will be upset early for the second year in a row; I guarantee it. Naturally, I say the Gophs will lose at home to Illinois for Senior Night Saturday night; it'd be a perfect way to completely burn off any hope that this team can contend for a title. Oh, and they also host Northwestern Friday.

#-5: Gopher women's basketball (Re-Entry!). I also neglected to put this team in the last week's survey -- which would have accounted for their first loss of the year, at Utah on the 17th. Their schedule is somewhat of a turkey too -- home wins against Lamar, UI-Chicago, Colorado and North Dakota St. -- but it's a touch stronger than their Y-chromosome counterparts. It's not bad up here weather-wise in these parts, but I'm still kind of jealous this team has been invited to play in the Bahamas this Thanksgiving Weekend; they face TCU Friday morning in the Junkanoo(?) Jam; the winner of that game faces the winner of the Kansas-Xavier game for the championship Saturday.

#-6: Wild (Last Week: -6). Nothing of the suckitude of some past weeks, but they had to come back from deficits both games this week. They were able to win at home against the Islanders, but they pudded out in a shootout loss to Boston. I saw that Bruin loss Wednesday night; still not impressed. And I don't quite understand trading Benoit Pouliot to Montreal for this Left Winger named Guillaume Latendresse. Wild Coach Todd Richards says he wants the team to get faster. People say Latendresse isn't fast, and who says Pouliot isn't? He is one of a huge list of first-round draft failures under former General Manager Doug Risebrough, but I'm not actually certain he was given a chance to play to his full potential. However, I do like the fact that new GM Chuck Fletcher doesn't mind trading, something Risebrough approached as if it had the swine flu. This week: a home-and-home Black Friday and Saturday against the Bastard Quebec Nordiques, then hosting Nashville Wednesday.

#-7: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -5). Seriously, what in the hell is going on here? I don't care if an overtime and a bad bounce cost them two one-goal games to hated UMD. You're playing at home. You're Minnesota. You shouldn't be 5-7-1. Lake Superior St. can be 5-7-1. Alaska-Anchorage would kill to be 5-7-1. The Gophs don't do this. They. Just. Don't. Fucking. Do. This. Ugh, I don't know what else to say. They're in the state of Michigan to face the Michigan and Michigan St. for the College Hockey Showcase.

#-8: Gopher football (Last Week: -4). Guess this was better than the 55-0 shit-kicking they were given by Iowa last year. Still, they haven't scored in two games against the Hawkeyes. 12-0? Numerically they had a chance to win this, but not having watched one second of this game I'm going to guess the offense was not going to score at all, despite the Gophs' defense doing everything it can to keep this team in the game. Great, this means a meaningless trip to Arizona again. Or Detroit. By the way, congratulations to Eric Decker for making First Team All-Big Ten. But the fact that he can be a first-teamer when he missed the last four games -- that's one-third of the season -- is more proof these awards are pure crap. Well, at least they're not the ...

#-9: Timberwolves (Last Week: -7). Just like the Gopher men's hockey team, I don't know what to say. Just look at the Woofie Dogs' schedule and at the long column of "L"'s at the bottom of the page. 0-3 for the week, 14 losses in a row, and if they continue that this week against games tomorrow versus Phoenix, Sunday at Denver, and Wednesday at home against Memphis, they will set a new record for most consecutive losses in franchise history. I'll be there to see the carnage against the Suns tomorrow because a friend of mine has free tickets.

I Hate Holiday Traffic!

Day before Thanksgiving, the busiest travel day of the year, and my parents decide we leave later for the airport than I thought wise. And so we are stuck for the next half hour or more in bumper-to-bumper traffic. All I can think of now is me accelerating to the point where my transmission shifts gears, just before I have to slow down and re-shift my gears. That happened time after time after time; all I can think of now is, my transmission's fucked.

I Have To Talk About This Enterprise Commercial

Guess here is many people are just sick of the Enterprise commercials. I don't find them all that annoying; I remember when I was at college and I needed to rent a car because my friend was coming to town and, indeed, Enterprise came and picked me up. That's a nice touch.

I have a problem with this particular one, which has been in rotation for a year now, just because I've seen it so many times during college football games this season:



The girl's a cutie; check out her website. I just can't get over her now-obnoxious first line in the spot: "Red ... or black?"

It's supposed to be romantic, but knowing this is a commercial for a rental car, it's kind of creepy. Besides, if I were her husband, I'd answer: "Neither."

OK, I'm creepy too.

"I Have My Dignity!"

Another true tale from San Francisco. It's taken me a long time to get around to telling it because it deserves some thought. It was weird, fucked-up, and racist, yet I still can't believe it happened.

We didn't want to deal with a rental car in Frisco, so we relied on public transit instead. The cable cars are a San Fran thing, and from our hotel we found it quite useful to get to everywhere we wanted to go (mainly Chinatown). But we needed to hit the Golden Gate Bridge our second and final day there. The cable cars don't go there, but the dingy ol' bus does, so we started on the two buses (and one transfer) to get to the bridge, hybridizing tourist goals with local transportation.

While waiting for the second bus in an area of the city that no tourists (besides the ones on their way to Golden Gate) see but probably is pointed out in guidebooks for people who want to "go beyond the usual, worn-out places" and "see authentic San Francisco and real San Franciscans" (forgive me for ripping off Zagat, although I think I use phrases that are longer and a little more informative), we ran into these two Chinese ladies. They were dressed better than we were, spoke Mandarin a mile a minute but had conversational English, and were also going to the bridge. One of them was quite; made small talk, but seemed to have a plan and didn't want to waste her time on too much small talk.

The other -- ugh, the other. They were both older (sixties I think?) but this one was not your stereotypically docile and easygoing senior. She seemed friendly at first, sitting down at the bus stop with me and asking me where we're from, etc. But then she started talking about herself, and then other things, and then I forget what specifically was the subject at hand because I started to get a little annoyed. But she kept talking like she'd be shot if she even took a breath.

I was relieved when she suddenly stood up because she was unsure that the stop and side of the street we were on was the spot where the bus that went to the Golden Gate Bridge would stop. I got away from her as quickly as possible and stood by my Mother. I was sort of close to holding her hand; I was that scared.

But this idiot really outdid herself. I look back to the shelter where we were sitting at and she's getting in the face of this townie. He was trying to be nice, but she was saying things repeatedly, like "I know-I know" and "yeah-yeah-yeah." Those are the exact words, spoken in the exact way, that My Fucking Father uses when talking (down) to me, and that is a button that is permanently depressed for me, resulting in so much vitriolic insanity spewing from out of me because of the condescending, dismissive attitude those words signify to me. And she wasn't just being obnoxious; she was touching his shoulder and poking his chest, and it looked like she was getting in his way.

Either he got sick of this physical accosting or having everything he says in order to try and help this obnoxious bitch be ignored by her and her "yeah-yeahs" or "I know-I knows," but he just started yelling at her. He went around her corporeal blockade and pointed to the electronic sign showing that the bus to Golden Gate was coming in several minutes. And then -- and I can't fuckin' believe she said this -- she said something to the effect of, "You're rude."

And that's when he finally lost it, and lost me. "Why can't you Asians go back to where you belong? (At this point, I'm paraphrasing everything he said. I might be making whole phrases up. But this guy was a racist asshole, believe me.) You come to our city and you can't even figure out how to get around this place?!"

Then Annoying Mandarin Bitch says, "You're not nice!"

Him, after some other stuff that would make sense in a segue to this: "Then we should all vote and get [San Francisco mayor] Gavin Newsome outta here!"

And that's when I had to point out what a wingnut he sounds like: "We don't live here. If you don't want to help, don't!"

That's when he said something that I couldn't help but internally laugh at: "I want to help. If someone asks me for help, I give it. I'm a nice person. I have my dignity!!!"

After that he went on his way. I should've taken out my digital camera and shot something more rare than a sighting of Bigfoot: A Republican in San Francisco.

Mother and I also went on our away -- the fuck away from this rude, personal space-invading moron before she got us into more fucking trouble. And yet, with a bus ride and subsequent walk on the fogged-in Golden Gate, she and her friend glommed onto us until they decided they didn't want to walk across a bridge that couldn't see any longer. Thank bleepin' Buddha.