This Leopard Will Never Change His Crooked Spots

Sunday, I had the misfortune of walking into the Gas Station Chicken Store and finding myself behind Public Rumpushole #1. He's the guy with the red pickup truck who parks regularly in my rightful handicap space. And has also been warned by Man Owner (like a lash with a limp noodle) about blocking the gas pumps when he parks there without getting gas.

I even know this guy's real name now! Not that I would type it here to publicly shame him. He is beyond shameless. Anyhoo... his picture was posted one week, because he won the $30 weekly gas drawing. There he was in full glory, smirking smiling, with his name typed above his head. AND, an article in the local online newspaper had mentioned that name one time as a function of his job. Which is something with the local fire department. I guess that's why he feels entitled to park his personal vehicle anywhere he pleases.

Anyhoo... my skin crawls when I see him. I don't care how many times he's held the door open for me (ONCE), I can't even maintain a neutral opinion of him. I think his picture is probably in the obsolete dictionary beside GOOD OL' BOY. He expects favors, and probably bestows them upon others of his kind as he sees fit. We will refer to him as Public Rumpushole #1. Or PR#1. Which is not a cutesy term of endearment.

Anyhoo... I waited my turn. Nobody else was there besides Fave behind the counter. She was printing out his draw tickets. He plays the Cash Pop game, which has drawings several times a day. It's too invovled for me, though I tried it when it first came out. Some people who play a lot do pretty well on it. The game involves picking sequences of three numbers per play, if I recall correctly. PR#1 was spouting off his numbers to Fave, who typed them into the lottery terminal, then printed his tickets.

That in itself was no reason for me to be annoyed or repulsed. He was there ahead of me, and entitled (for real) to use his time for whatever transaction he desired. He was buying a soda and those Cash Pop tickets.

Fave rang it up. It was $21.03. PR#1 gave her a twenty and a one. Then he said what raised my hackles:

"I'm good for the three cents, right? I'll bring it in next time." With that, he reached into the coin dish beside the register, took out three pennies, and tossed them on the counter.

Fave picked them up. And said, "That's what you told me last time. And several times ago."

"Oh, well. You have plenty there."

With that, he walked out. Perhaps strutted would be a better verb.

I really can't stand that guy.