I Won’t Dance, Don’t Ask Me
I offer up last Sunday as a prime example.
On just about any Sunday as soon as church services are over the people are out of there like the place is on fire. BUT… You mention that there is some free ice cream being served in the kitchen and it quickly turns into a prairie dog killing stampede. I almost got run over. I don’t know if it was the words “ice cream” or the word “free” that got them all moving. I suspect both.
I never saw a wheelchair “pop a wheelie” until last Sunday. NASCAR could start a whole new racing circuit paying off the winners in ice cream.
Just about every day I see some human being do something that makes me stop in my tracks. It was just a couple of days ago and I was down at St. Arbucks in the afternoon sitting outside enjoying the sunshine when some doofus in a huge, bright yellow, pick-up truck comes into the lot heading for the drive-thru window. He sat there in line for a couple of minutes and then he apparently changed his mind because he put the truck in reverse gear and starts driving through the lot backwards. It was like watching a lone salmon going upstream in a creek full of trout. Cars were swerving like mad to get out of his way. When he came to the exit he kept right on going. He went around the whole building and disappeared into the Kroger parking lot.
The whole thing was entertaining only because I was just watching it and not part of it. It was kind of like those TV shows – “Survivor” and “Dancing With The Stars.” It’s more fun to watch them than it would be to be a contestant. They are essentially the same show – perform or you get tossed. The only real differences between the two shows is that “Survivor” uses less eye shadow and the contestants on “Dancing With The Stars“ rarely have to eat bugs.
I would not do well on either show, but the guy driving the yellow pick-up truck might. He had the moves to avoid bumping into anyone and the determination to get out of there alive. Of course, he may have just been stoned and lucky. Just as good.
Yes, people are the strangest creatures. I see them do things that mystify me to the point that I’m afraid to find out why they do what they do.
Example: There is a chap who comes into St. Arbucks (The Patron Saint of Jittery People) almost every day. He sits there with his computer and doesn’t interact with anyone else. The odd part of this caffeinated diorama is that about once a week he comes in wearing a red skirt – not a kilt, but an ankle length bright red skirt.
If you’re going to be a cross-dresser you need to commit to it. One day a week is telling me that you’re not really serious about it all.
I’ve never been able to detect any pattern as to what day is “Red Skirt Day.” It is just as likely to pop up on a Thursday as it is on a Monday.
Being the nosy sort that I am I would really like to know the skinny on this, but I’m not going to ask him about it. I learned my lesson years ago when I questioned a defrocked Russian Orthodox Priest about why he was wearing an off-the-shoulder evening gown.
But that is a story for another day.