Scene: A Sonic Drive-In Restaurant, approximately 9:00 on a week night. Our heroine is patiently awaiting delivery of a magical Diet Cherry Limeaide (extra cherries, please) after Roller Derby practice. As is fit, she is sweaty. She is wearing an ensemble consisting of bicycle shorts, a teal T-shirt reading "Bitches Be Trippin'", a purple bandana on her head... and pink KT Tape decorates her knee. Her socks feature C3P0.
In the next car-stall, an older woman is piloting a large black pick-em-up truck whilst maintaining a solid grasp on the chili dog in her right hand. She hits the menu post with her headlight, and rather than stopping and realigning tests the boundaries of physics to see if her F950 (est) can win the battle. It can, but at the cost of her headlight shielding, headlight, and a portion of chrome plating, all of which shatter upon the ground, glistening in the security light and menu glare.
Then shit got real.
Ok, so seriously? This woman (whom I hate for her actions, not for her chili dog) is all like, just going on away, leaving the car debris. So I call out of my window "You forgot part of your truck!" Because I am HELPFUL, you know. So she stops her truck behind me and rolls down the window and says "Oh, it's ok! It's just my headlight!"
OH BUT NO.
So I leap from my car and grab a shard of displaced plastic from where it bounced off of my car and I waved it at her. "This was under my tire."
She sits there....and takes a bite of her motherfucking chili dog while examining the glistening shard in my hand.
So I proceed to pick up all the bits and pieces and chunks of Made-in-the-USA-Pickup-Truck, WHILST carrying on an improv monologue on how SOME PEOPLE just leave their trash lying around to puncture tires and ruin nice evenings and SOME PEOPLE could get out of their damn trucks... and I carried them over to her. At which point she quickly handed off her chili dog to the passenger, which is a damn fine thing because had her hands not been free, she'd have been catching shattered plastic bits in her lap, and probably, that damn chili dog.
She did say thank you, though. I'm not sure if she was grateful because I gave her back her headlight or because I did not punch her in the throat, because I suspect that my appearance was pretty damn frightening... that lighting is never complimentary in those parking lots, you know.
Scene: The carhop arrives with a Diet Cherry Limeaide and a perplexed expression on her face. Was the confusion because the patron was out of the car or because the menu one stall over was askew, unlit, and scratched to hell and beyond? Who knows. Our Heroine was happy to point out that the black pick-em-up truck was getting on about their hitting and running now that their trash had been dealt with. And then there was Diet Cherry Limeaide, and all was good.
---End Scene---
This post not sponsored or endorsed by Sonic Restaurants.
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