I don't know what's in the water here in Hillmomba lately. Well. Besides meth. But that's an ongoing problem, not endorsed by this Emperor of Hillmomba. You won't catch THAT on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory.
Something is giving the citizens false bravado. Resulting in increased a$$wipery. Or buttmunchery, if you don't approve of my $alty language.
Not only did that man in the post office jump in line in front of the woman in line in front of me...but I had a similar encounter at the gas station chicken store. It's kind of a long story. I know you're shocked by that revelation. Bear with me.
Let the record show that The Pony and I left the Mansion early Saturday in order to meet up with my sister the ex-mayor's wife and finish boxing up Mom's kitchen wares. When last we met, Sis brought donuts for The Pony. Sis commented that The Pony was so much more cheerful that she would bring him donuts the next time, too. Sure, I paid her. But she had the common decency to refuse at first, and in the end ate a dollar of her outlay. She had brought him three donuts. In fact, she giggled like a schoolgirl when he was loading the cars, and told me, "He said, 'Next time you can just bring me two. One chocolate and one white.'"
I offered to take The Pony through Hardees Saturday morning. But he refused. "Aunt Sis is bringing me donuts, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. I hope SHE remembers. Do you want to send her a text and ask if she's still getting them? I can run you by Casey's, and we can pick some up."
"No. She'll remember."
The Pony ate nothing. He was waiting for those donuts. By the time we got to Mom's, Sis was already there, and in the house. The Pony carried in some empty boxes. I hollered, too late, as the door slammed behind him, "Oh! We forgot to pick up a soda for you." He likes a soda with his donuts. Not a milk boy, that Pony.
Well, you must have guessed by now that Sis did not bring any donuts, and no mention was made of any donuts, and The Pony was quite sad but tried not to show it, and was ravenous by the time we finally left at 12:45.
Now where was I headed with this story...oh, yeah. The Pony wanted a Whopper for lunch. I, myself, did not. I was thinking gas station chicken, or Subway. I picked up his meal and headed to my 44 oz Diet Coke store. Oh, who am I kidding? It's all about the chicken! I went in and bellied up to the soda fountain. A man was awaiting his 8-piece box. I stood beside him, trying to discern whether my 44 oz cup had a leak, or if I had just slopped some water from the ice on the outside. He mentioned that they sometimes DO spring a leak, but I told him mine looked Cokeworthy. He took his chicken and bill, and went to the register to pay. I stepped over to his place order chicken.
AND AN OLD MAN RUSHED IN AND SQUIRMED RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME TO LEAN ON THAT COUNTER!
Not only that, he HAD THE NERVE TO TURN AND LOOK ANNOYED AT ME OVER HIS SHOULDER!!!
I muttered, "I guess I don't need chicken that bad." And went to pay for my soda. But here's the kicker. While I was going to be waiting on my chicken, I had planned to get a donut to surprise The Pony, out of their Plexiglas case of pastry that sits between the second soda fountain and the new hot dog roller on the chicken counter. That old psycho scoffliner cost my sweet, sweet Pony a sweet, sweet donut! I confessed to him in T-Hoe. "I was planning to get you a donut, but because of the crazy elderly, and my bad temper, you go without." He forgave me.
And he heartily enjoyed the big chocolate chip cookie I brought out of Subway for him.