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 J’Accuse!

I’m not sure why I haven’t written about this yet. It should have been one of the first posts I wrote. Basically, I did my job, did a good deed for the day, got spit on, and didn’t kill anyone.

Let’s dive in.

Gallup, NM. The dead of winter. Strong wind, snow, 6 degrees, and hard work. I have 4-foot manhole covers open, large orange cones everywhere, I’m a large guy in a bright orange work shirt, jacket, and safety vest. All fuel dispensers are bagged off in bright yellow caution bags that say “OUT OF SERVICE.”

Enter Karen. I’m using the name Karen because everyone knows a Karen, and knows that Karen is a terrible person. Karen drives a white 2016 Honda Civic. Karen has a “let me speak to your manager” haircut. Karen is roughly 65 years old. Karen hates the world, specifically, hard workers named Michael.

Michael, the hero of our story, is diligently working in terrible weather and trying to stay positive. All of a sudden, a white 2016 Honda Civic speeds through a section of large orange cones that are surrounding 4-foot manholes.

Any vehicle, especially small, white 2o16 Honda Civics, don’t do well when driven through 4-foot manhole covers. In fact, they do so poorly that they can even get a flat tire.

Karen now has a flat tire.

This is very clearly my fault, as my large, brightly-clothed frame and large orange cones don’t scream “DO NOT DRIVE THROUGH HERE, YOU MORON.”

Karen decides that the only way to diffuse and correct this situation is to get out and yell at Michael. “You don’t have the right to shut down a whole gas station! I’m on empty, and now I have a flat tire! I want your name, company name and phone number, and your boss’s name!! I’m going to call and report this!”

Naturally, Michael gives her all the information she wants, knowing full well that this is entirely her fault. The cones, cameras, and witnesses were proof enough.

In an effort to calm Karen down, Michael offers to change her tire for her and apologized for the travesty she has experienced, because Michael is a nice fucking guy. Changing a tire is easy enough, but still a frustrating task. Added insults and rants from bitchy old women like Karen don’t help.

The tire is changed, all is well, and Karen is back in her white 2016 Honda Civic without so much as a “thanks.” The store employees and manager even come out to offer help and ask what happened. Karen very eagerly explains in full detail what transpired and why she is so upset. The store employees and manager, who witnessed everything from inside the store, have been on the side of our hero from the beginning and just shake their heads in disbelief.

Karen, either exhausted from this catastrophe she has experienced or anxious to berate some other poor human being at another location, decides it’s time to race off and test that new tire.

Our favorite 65 year old degenerate circles back around the fuel pumps to find an exit and pulls back around next to me as I’m kneeling down besides a 4-foot manhole to yell at me one last time and remind me that I must not know who she is, she can’t wait to call my office first thing Monday morning, and that she’s glad she doesn’t to do such a lowly job and work with the likes of me.

Then, the climax of our story occurs. Karen musters up a tiny bit of spit from her dusty, wrinkly old mouth, and launches it right into the side of my head.

Michael, the super heroic and hard-working man that he is, is ready to lose his shit. This is the first job of the day, he hates the cold and snow, New Mexico is one of his least-favorite states, and he has a low tolerance for rudeness, especially since he almost always respects his elders.

Karen speeds off immediately after her display of emotion, never to be seen again. The store manager watches this go down and comes back out to see if Michael is okay after what Karen did.

Honestly, this is a fairly normal day in Michael’s life. People are rude, have bad days, want to take frustration out on the guy messing up their routine, and are usually not awful people. Michael drinks a coffee and goes on about his day, and cut it a couple hours short to find a hotel.

Don’t be like Karen.

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

The Gentleman

Respecting your elders is a rule that should always be followed. I don’t fall under the term “elder” by any means. But when a 10 year old boy in Starbucks says “Hello, sir, I hope you have a great day,” it puts a smile on my face. This same kid pulled out the chair for his mother when she sat down and opened the door for her when they cam in and left.

Chivalry is not dead. Gentlemen do exist if given the opportunity to prove it. A large part of it is going to come from parents. Raise your children correctly. Teach them proper manners, how to respect EVERYONE (not just their elders), and to think of others first. It’s not difficult. Say “please” and “thank you.” Open building doors and car doors, pull out chairs, random surprise flowers don’t hurt. Flowers for no reason at all will win someone over every time. Do things without having to be asked. Listen, communicate, help.

Try to think of things in advance. Make plans. Be spontaneous. The 10 year old at Starbucks told his mother they should probably go get groceries now instead of after her hair appointment so she won’t be rushed and stressed out tonight trying to get everything done. The smile on her face was so big I didn’t think it would fit in the building.

And women, let men do these things. Men want to be good to you, to surprise you, to dote on you, make you happy. Don’t take any of it for granted, but don’t take it as him not thinking you can’t do anything. Every woman should know how to change a tire, but shouldn’t have to do it. Of course you can get your own door. You’re a strong independent woman. We want to make your life easier. Let us. You will be happy. We will be happy.

One last thing, as our favorite 10 year old boy held the door open for an elderly couple, he coughed AND covered his mouth. Anyone who has ever seen a child knows that they are little germ factories. I was amazed, and grateful. I know adults who spray their DNA all over the place every time they open their mouths. No one wants your nasty germs. If this kid can cover his mouth then so can you.

Be a gentleman.

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