In line at the Speedway. There’s only one cashier, helping someone who wants the entire Speedy rewards system explained to her. A line forms behind me, so they open another register. Cashier says, “I can help whoever is next.”
The dude behind me jumps out of line and races over there, leaving me stuck behind the dummy who needs a simple points system explained in painstaking detail. When finished, the line-cutter smugly traipses outside. The nice guy behind me says, “Run up there before someone else steals your spot.” So I did.
Outside with my bag of feelings to eat, I hear someone shout, “Hey, girl, you listen to hip hop?”
Apparently, in addition to his ninja-like line cutting skills, this motherfucker is also an “up-and-coming” hip hop artist and he really wanted me to buy a CD that he was storing in his his pocket. The very nerve. I said no and he asked me what kind of music I listen to. Now I want you to know that I have no actual opinions about hip hop. No matter what his genre choice, he’s a bag of limp dicks. So I half-yelled, “The good kind!” Then I hopped in my car and cranked the radio volume
But I forgot that I’d switched off the rock station. So instead of Gojira or Five Finger Death Punch blasting him in the face, it was Starship. Starship’s “We Built This City.” I pulled away, refusing to change the station, acting as though I always rock out to a song that uses the word “hoopla.”
I can’t even claim a moral victory with this one.