Hey, you, get off of my cloud (you don't know where it's been!)

Alright, I get it. You don't smoke. You don't like it when someone smokes around you. Fine, I don't do that anymore (only because it's now against the law in most states to smoke indoors in a public place). Including bars, at least in Ohio, which is the dumbest fucking idea I've ever heard. I can't have a "smoky treat," as my friend Joey calls it, after the meal I've eaten in my favorite restaurant unless I go outside, 25 feet from the entrance. Okay, I accept that. I don't like it, but I accept it. But what happened today was so fucking bizarre, I ran right back here to share it with those of you who actually read this shit I write down. It happened at the place I'm coming to believe will be responsible for the decline of modern civilization. Forget the 2012 bullshit, nukes, chemical warfare, the taliban (is taliban capitalized?... I say no, and what I say goes here), George Bush (oh yeah, he's still a threat... he's quietly plotting, believe me...). No, the world will end in aisle 13 of the home of the rollback: WalMart.


I was having a particularly bad day. I had to take off work for the second day in a row. My ebaY biz has hit a snag, so I haven't made a single dime today. That, and the fact it's hot as hell outside and it's still only May have had me on edge all... fucking... day. Those who know me know that when I hang my head, it's time to leave me alone. Of course, not everyone DOES know me. Woe to the fool who unleashes the beast. (That's actually just something I threw in there because I thought it sounded ominous... I'm not, as a rule, a bad guy. But don't poke the bear...) Someone decided to cut the rope, unlock the cage, and open the door, and that was a BIG mistake. (Again, I just thought that sounded cool... it wasn't all that bad. Well, not for me, anyway.)


I stopped at Wally World on my way home to pick up a pack of gum, salsa and some chips. Yes, I shop at WalMart, I fuel the evil machine just like everyone else. I hadn't finished my cigarette yet, so I decided to remain in the car while I pounded that nail and listened to "The Pretender" by Foo Fighters. You know, just calming myself a bit before I had to deal with those "WalMart shoppers" (next post, I promise, I'll explain the term next post). Both the driver's and the passenger's side windows were open because of the heat, a nice breeze was blowing, and I felt just a bit of the stress draining away. That's when the following conversation began...


Asshole: Hey! HEY!

*I turn around and see a man of 45-50 years of age addressing me from the car parked in the space next to mine. His passenger-side door is next to my driver's side*

Pretty Reasonable Individual Casting Killjoy (me): Yes?

Asshole: Would you mind putting that out so my wife can get in the car?

P.R.I.C.K.: Put what out?

Asshole: Your cigarette.

P.R.I.C.K.: What?

Asshole: Could you at least roll-up your window, please? My wife would like to get in the car.

P.R.I.C.K.: How is my smoking preventing her from getting in the car?

Asshole: *sighs* She doesn't want smoke flying in her face, and I don't want it in my new car. Thanks. *He opens his door*

*Okay, to this point I was simply annoyed... now it's full blown anger. I turn the cd player up a notch, lay my head back, take a long drag, and blow it out the window*

Asshole: *voice elevated* Do we have to do this? Either put that thing out or close your window! I'm not asking again!

P.R.I.C.K.: Thank you, I appreciate that.

Asshole: What?!

P.R.I.C.K.: I said thanks. Now why don't you back that fucking thing up and let her get in back there? 'Cause if you tell me one more fucking time to put it out, you're not going to like my reaction! I don't smoke in your fucking stores, your fucking clubs, your fucking restaurants, or your fucking house! If I decide I want to sit outside and smoke in my fucking car, IT'S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, ASSHOLE!

*Asshole gets in the car, puts it in reverse, and rolls down the passenger side window*

Asshole: I'm calling the police, I have your license plate number.

P.R.I.C.K.: Fine.

*Asshole and wife (saved from the very dangerous smoke) pull away*


This story, while not word for word, is how my night went from bad to worse. The police never showed, of course, but I'd lost my appetite. I went home. On the way I pondered what the hell had just happened. I stewed in my anger. I thought if I had those three or four minutes back, the way I felt now, would I have changed anything? It would've been easy to roll the fucking window up so the lady could get into the car. If I'd have done that, things would have been alright... for Asshole. But not for me. The request was unreasonable, and I've heard requests similiar to his in the past. On any other day, I may have done it, to avoid trouble. Just sucked it up and put it out. Not today. Today was the wrong day to ask, and it was certainly the wrong time to assume that, by saying "thanks," this would end the debate and he was going to get his way. I can be a prick.


As he was pulling back to his wife, I stepped out, dropped my cigarette, and crushed it under my shoe.


I haven't yet had another. But now I'm finished writing. And it's high time for a "smoky treat."