The Swag

I see all kinds of different people in my travels. The best part of that is seeing what those people wear. Unfortunately, that’s also the worst part.

On one particular site, I saw a young man, in his early 20’s, walking across the parking lot in an outfit that all of us have seen before. Fancy sneakers, a hoodie, chains, and jeans that were low enough to see his entire ass. The hoodie didn’t go down far enough to cover it. His pants could have easily covered it, but then he wouldn’t have been able to make his fashion statement. I’m not sure what kind of statement it would have been considering the fact that half of the population has the same fashion sense. It’s just like all the goth kids that all wear the same stuff and look exactly the same but their whole thing is that they never want to conform. doesn’t make an sense.

The main thing I don’t like about this look is that this guy was wearing a belt, a big showy belt, to hold his pants in place below his ass, and he had to keep his pants firmly held in one hand to keep them from falling. MAKES NO SENSE.

To complete the look, he had AirPods in and was holding his big fancy phone in the other hand, which was adorned with a big beautiful watch that he probably didn’t know how to read. Atop his head was a baseball cap, which is a term I use lightly, since the bill was super flat and the whole thing was sideways.

I watched Thugnificent walk out of the store, adjust his hat to make sure it was still in the sideways position, hold his hand up over his face because the sun was in his eyes and it’s not like there was a device of some kind readily available specifically invented to block out the sun, LIKE A FUCKING HAT. He then waddled back to wherever he came from with his pants in hand.

Why is it so damned difficult to dress appropriately, comfortably, and with some grace? Clothes are made to fit a certain way for a reason. Don’t be like Gangstalicious.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Apology

This post is going to serve as an apology to my readers and followers. I haven’t posted in way too long and I promised to try to write at least once a day. Well I fucked that one up, it’s been a week or two.

Work has been insanely busy, I’ve been exhausted, and I’ve found the love of my life. Then again, she’s been on me to do some writing. So this is entirely on me.

Today I am rained out. Normally I go ahead ahead and work in whatever kind of weather is present, regardless of how terrible it is. But the jobs I’m working on now are going to be extra dangerous in these thunderstorms and lightning and hail and whatever else the heavens throw down.

So, here I am, in my hotel room in Temple, TX, apologizing to all of you. I’m sorry. There you go. Now I’m going to do some writing and see if I can’t get caught up. I have seen a lot in my absence, so keep a lookout for my next posts.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Werewolf

I don’t know much about body hair on women, so this is mostly geared towards men. Every once in a while I’ll wake up in the morning and walk to the restroom. I’ll take a quick look in the mirror to make sure I still look somewhat human and notice a dark black hair sticking out of my shoulder or neck or chest or any other random place. What’s odd is that I know the hair wasn’t there the day before and now it’s 2 inches long. Clearly I’m turning into some kind of monster.

This has been going on since puberty. Sometimes I have 2 or 3 at a time, sometimes I have none. I’m not sure how long this is going to keep up but for now I’ll have to put up with it and keep pulling them out.

I’m fully aware that I could do a short Google search and find all the answers I need. It probably has something to do with testosterone and other crap like that. But that wouldn’t be any fun. Besides, this way lets me think I’m a werewolf. So that’s pretty great. If I start growing fangs and a tail I’ll let you know.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Blob

There exists a particular chain of convenience stores in the western part of Texas that makes a beef and bean burrito that I can’t get enough of. That and their own taco sauce to top off the wonderful burrito. I know, I know. Gas station food is awful. But I live on gas station food and I’ve learned what’s good and bad. So stuff it.

I was standing in line patiently waiting for the chance to pay for my two beef and bean burritos, that’s right, two, and then and incident occurred.

I felt something brush against my back. That’s a lie, something pushed up against my back hard enough to force me to take a step forward. I turned around to see what it was and was shocked.

A man of epic proportions had “nudged” his way past me. Allow me to paint a picture.

This man was extremely obese. Gym shorts. Flip flops. A very large shirt that still didn’t cover his stomach hanging below it. Long, greasy hair. Some kind of body odor that I’ve never had the misfortune of introducing to my nostrils before.

Now, I don’t have a problem with people based on their size. A lot of people have thyroid issues, addictions, maybe something passed down through the family, or any one of a myriad of perfectly legitimate reasons for being the size of Moby Dick.

What I DO have a problem with is people who are the size of Moby Dick, don’t keep up with basic hygiene, and push people out of their way with their stomach without at least a short apology.

Adding to my frustration, this guy shows up in line with a 3-liter of Coke, 2 family-sized bags of chips, several different kinds of candy, and a bag of beef jerky. The part that really got me was that he paid for all of this with food stamps. (I know this because I stayed in the store to eat since I was working on their pumps). The food stamps thing is a whole topic for another time.

I don’t really have any way to end this. Or any kind of moral to add to the story. But it frustrated me and caught me off guard and I needed to get it off my chest. So there you have it. I was attacked by the blob, and I’m a victim/survivor.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Karen: Evolution

I’ve recently posted about a certain type of woman. The name I gave this woman is Karen. The name is a catchall for the women who think they are better than the average person and treat those people as such, for absolutely no reason. Karen has an average job, an average car, ill-behaved children, a let-me-speak-to-your-manager haircut, can’t get through the day without Starbucks before work and at lunch, and goes to church every Sunday just to show everyone there that she showed up. Karen is no better than anyone else, but likes to pretend she is even though she is the same as your average human being. This is a story about an evolved form of Karen: Sharon.

Sharon is a name we are going to give to the Karens of the world who, instead of treating people like garbage for no reason, do so because they actually are of a higher stature than the rest of us. Sharon has the let-me-speak-to-your-manager-so-I-can-get-you-fired haircut, drives a luxury SUV that is way too big for her, has very spoiled children who get everything they want, doesn’t have a real job but makes turquoise jewelry to sell at local markets, gives back to the community by writing a check, knows all the local politicians but doesn’t actually know anything about politics, and wouldn’t be caught dead in a Starbucks even if her cappuccino machine at home was broken.

The easiest way to spot a Sharon is by her bracelets. All of them are shiny, all of them are too big, none of them actually go together, and they are the loudest bracelets on the face of the planet.

I had the misfortune of meeting a Sharon around 4 o’clock this morning. I was just wrapping up a site and was inside the store when Sharon walked in.

Gas stations that are open 24/7 are not usually the kind of please you want to be. Sharon is the last person who wants to be there.

Sharon had been driving her Audi Q7 for the last few hours on her way to a Mary Kay sales convention and needed to use the restroom. The clerk directed her to the restroom in the corner of the store. About 2 seconds after the restroom door closed it opened right back up again and Sharon stormed to the counter.

How could that clerk expect her to use such a terrible facility?! Not only is it unisex, but it was filthy. Clearly some man has sprayed his DNA all over the place and she would be calling the district manager to let him know how she was being treated.

I was the last person in that restroom, it was spotless before and after I used it. Very clean, smelled good, and was fairly spacious. So I don’t know what the hell Sharon was talking about, and seeing as how the clerk was the one who cleaned it, he was as perplexed as I.

Not only did Sharon display her disgust at such treatment, but she exclaimed that she will never visit one of these gas stations again. As she walked out the door she could be heard muttering that she should have just flown to her conference.

Good riddance.

Karens are awful people to deal with. Sharons are worse. I have dealt with many Karens and Sharons in my day. This particular Sharon was on the tame side. I’m sure it won’t be long before I get to experience another. Can’t wait.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Tourists

Traveling for work means dealing with tourists on the road. Sooooo many tourists. Young and old, every time of day or night, every day of the week. It’s as if no one goes to school, has a job, a life. Or everyone I come across is super rich and has no need for any of that.

I end up traveling down a lot of 2-lane roads when I drive. Lots of curves, no room to pass, low speed limits, and tourists. There is no frustration greater than being stuck behind a tourist going 5 or 10 miles under the speed limit when you can’t pass them. The reason they drive so slow seems to be so they can look out every window except the windshield to take in the scenery, completely unaware of anyone around them. Or they don’t care.

This is something that happens several times a day. This is something that happens regardless of location. This is something that happens no matter what time it is. This is something that happens even if I beg God to run either me or the tourists off the road.

These same tourists don’t appear to have ever eaten in any restaurant anywhere, ever. They don’t understand pictures, lines, how to order food, how to be polite to those in front of or behind them, or that they are the only ones who are not under a time-constraint.

My favorite tourists are the ones who stop in doorways to chat to the other tourists whether they know them or not. These same tourists also don’t know how to park, but I don’t have to patience to get into that right this second.

I love traveling and looking at the scenery of new places I’ve never explored. I do the speed limit, or more, I use the mirrors in the vehicle, I pull over safely to allow others to pass me so I can stop and look around. I order quickly when in a line and I don’t stand in doorways to talk about the fucking roadrunner I saw run across the road last week. We get it. It was a roadrunner. It ran. It ran across the road. Get out of my way, Dr. Seuss, I have things to do.

If you’re reading this and you are not a tourist, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’re reading this and you ARE a tourist, I absolutely mean no disrespect. But that means you should be respectful as well. Be mindful of those around you on the road, in restaurants, in doorways, and in parking lots instead of parking so close to my vehicle that you don’t know how to get out of your car so you stare at me until I move because you screwed up and don’t understand how to back up and park again without taking 20 minutes to get the car in gear.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

The Know-It-All

I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent guy. I can be a bit pretentious and cocky as well. One think I don’t do is talk down to people just because I have a small inclination of an idea of what they are talking about.

As I sat at a Starbucks the other day, I had the chance to eavesdrop on a conversation at the table next to mine. This story involves 3 people: a Catholic priest, a 19 or 20 year old girl who happened to be Catholic, and the fiance of the girl. The 3 were having some kind of session regarding the upcoming marriage and how it works in the Catholic church. Several other topics were brought up as tangents during the conversation. Throughout all of this, the girl kept saying she knew this or that already, because she was Catholic. She was clearly showing off to her fiance and the priest and they both appeared to be put down whenever she said it, which was often.

First of all, this girl is about to get married. Probably not a good idea to put down the guy you’re about to spend the rest of your life with, especially since he seems to be converting to Catholicism for you. Secondly, don’t put down the priest, your own personal conduit with God.

The priest kept pressing on. He kept saying, “Well, yes, but…” every time the girl opened her mouth to try to expound on his points, only to be interrupted again. Her poor fiance just kept nodding his head and throwing out a few questions now and then.

This girl was also very loud, and seeing as there was nowhere I could move to get away from the conversation, I was growing more and more frustrated. I was trying to put out more posts for you guys and this girl is teaching everyone in Starbucks that she knows things because she’s Catholic. There are a few problems with that. If you’re sitting down with a priest to discuss upcoming marriage arrangements, you need to show some respect to him and those around you. If you have to tell everyone how much you know, you probably don’t know that much to begin with. And pardon my French, but if you think you know more than an ordained priest in the religion of Catholicism just because you are Catholic, then you can Catho-lick my balls. You’re wrong in every way, you’re obnoxious, and you’re incredibly lucky to find a man who can not only put up with how loud and annoying you are, but who will spend the rest of his life with you.

That’s really all I have to say about that.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.