Just Call Me Reece Bobby
So I’m not sure if I did something awful this weekend, or if it was just strictly badass. I’ll say I’m not entirely ashamed of it, it did feel pretty good, but a part of me says I could have let it go.
I cussed out a little kid at the International House of Pancakes.
Here’s the set up - I went to Indianapolis with a couple friends this weekend to visit another friend, and after a night out we went to the IHOP the next day for lunch. We were leaving straight from the restaurant to return to Columbus, so after paying Garth and I prudently decided to hit the bathroom before the three-plus hour drive. Turned out it wasn’t a large public bathroom - just the type with one stall and a lock on the door. Garth went in and I leaned against the wall, waiting my turn.
About a minute later, this chubby-bordering-on-fat little 10-year-old-boy comes walking up, completely ignoring me, and goes to step between me and the door.
“Hey kid. I’m next.”
So the kid, instead of asking if he could go first (which I’m sure I would have let him), informs me of what’s going to happen.
“You have to let me go first. My family is about to leave.”
I stare at the kid. I’ve got a good two feet on him, probably about 100 pounds, I’m wearing my dirty black leather jacket and sporting my scraggly beard and currently-unkept hair. I’m not in the best of moods, and I give him the flattest stare I can.
“I don’t have to do anything. My group’s leaving too, and I’m next.”
The kid smiles at me like he expects me to find what he’s doing cute, like it’s worked for him in the past. He continues to slide his way between me and the door.
“Look, kid, don’t be a little prick. Get out of my way or I’ll sit on you.”
The grin just sort of slid off his face. About that time the door opened and Garth walked out, catching the tail end of the conversation. The little brat still almost tried to make a break for it, but I took a big step in front of him.
“Get the hell out of my way.”
And the greatest sense of pleasure I took from the whole encounter came next. Visible through the open bathroom door was not just one urinal, but a toilet as well. The kid piped up: “Hey, you can let me go, too! There’s two -”
Slam. Throw the lock.
I took my time while the kid sullenly pounded his head against the outside of the door. He didn’t look at me when I casually strolled out of the bathroom.
Next time I’ll stick the little pot-licker in a microwave.
I cussed out a little kid at the International House of Pancakes.
Here’s the set up - I went to Indianapolis with a couple friends this weekend to visit another friend, and after a night out we went to the IHOP the next day for lunch. We were leaving straight from the restaurant to return to Columbus, so after paying Garth and I prudently decided to hit the bathroom before the three-plus hour drive. Turned out it wasn’t a large public bathroom - just the type with one stall and a lock on the door. Garth went in and I leaned against the wall, waiting my turn.
About a minute later, this chubby-bordering-on-fat little 10-year-old-boy comes walking up, completely ignoring me, and goes to step between me and the door.
“Hey kid. I’m next.”
So the kid, instead of asking if he could go first (which I’m sure I would have let him), informs me of what’s going to happen.
“You have to let me go first. My family is about to leave.”
I stare at the kid. I’ve got a good two feet on him, probably about 100 pounds, I’m wearing my dirty black leather jacket and sporting my scraggly beard and currently-unkept hair. I’m not in the best of moods, and I give him the flattest stare I can.
“I don’t have to do anything. My group’s leaving too, and I’m next.”
The kid smiles at me like he expects me to find what he’s doing cute, like it’s worked for him in the past. He continues to slide his way between me and the door.
“Look, kid, don’t be a little prick. Get out of my way or I’ll sit on you.”
The grin just sort of slid off his face. About that time the door opened and Garth walked out, catching the tail end of the conversation. The little brat still almost tried to make a break for it, but I took a big step in front of him.
“Get the hell out of my way.”
And the greatest sense of pleasure I took from the whole encounter came next. Visible through the open bathroom door was not just one urinal, but a toilet as well. The kid piped up: “Hey, you can let me go, too! There’s two -”
Slam. Throw the lock.
I took my time while the kid sullenly pounded his head against the outside of the door. He didn’t look at me when I casually strolled out of the bathroom.
Next time I’ll stick the little pot-licker in a microwave.
posted by Merlin at 7:53 PM
1 Comments:
I like how the labels go in this order on this post
children, cruelty...
very accurate.
Are you coming home next week? Craig and I will be there sometime on Monday and are staying until Saturday.
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