Am I never safe from the assholes of the world?
I’m in Tiramisu, a cheap, casual bistro near my house, eating a little pasta. I’m in a good mood since, when I’m done, will be heading to the library for a nice, long read.
It’s Thanksgiving weekend, after all, so nothing is pressing, and there’s a certain amount of peace to that. However, like a sniper packing pizza, this idiot with two lipsticked, heavily mascaraed girls sporting boobs like cannons says to me,” Isn’t it great Castro finally fuckin died?”
Now perhaps it’s because I’m not drinking, or still have decorum so late in life, but this declaration is clearly unacceptable, so on behalf of Fidel and those of us not braindead said,”EXCUSE ME? DID I JUST HEAR YOU RIGHT?”
Now remember, I don’t always hear correctly, so there was a slight possibility I heard wrong.
No chance sparky.
The schmuck with the two Kardashian wannabes, is elated over the news. I know Senor Cuba was a thorn in our side since no one knows history better than me.
Cuban Missile Crisis? JFK hiring the mob to take him out…hey, I could lecture on the man, but to applaud someone’s demise to a girl from Connecticut who’s stoned sober, is a bit risky.
So I pick up the rope, as they say, in 12 Step.
“Let me ask you something, if you don’t mind…were you dropped on your head? Do you think it’s prudent to publicly say you’re happy someone died? I don’t care who it is.”
I realize, at once, he has no clue what prudent means. Then Tart number 1 says, “Can’t we just eat…like whore cazs?”
Tart number 2 with cheese dripping down her chin adds,”Not me mother-fucka. The only Castro I know is in my livin-room.”
See, this is my fault for eating at a place to save a few bucks. If I had gone to my usual joint yes, I’d be in debt, but much less offended. In the future, we will weigh what’s important.
I know this redneck isn’t worth my time and who cazs what stupid thing, cheesy or otherwise, comes out of his mouth.
I certainly have no attachment to the late Fidel, but we’re supposed to be the example, are we not?
I proceed to put my out of joint nose in a newspaper to detach from The Dukes of Hazard, but then encounter Tart number 2 in the ladies room who says, “Do ya recommen ana-thin fa dassert?”
You, on pie.
No I didn’t say that.
I was gracious and just said…
“What an interesting color lipstick. Is it blood orange?