Short Temper; that's my thing

Before I begin, I want to thank The Mrs and Out of Focus for the superb driving/bird-flipping/maniacal ways of getting from point A to whatever comes next.

I like to think of myself as a generally calm and collected guy. But let's be real. I am not a saunterer. When I walk, I walk with a purpose. I am not one who will throw my arms to gain momentum like speed skaters, but if you are out for an afternoon stroll, GTFO. I have somewhere I need to be and I don't want to deal with your pathetic meandering. The only time you should be walking that leisurely is if you physically don't have the capacity to move that fast. In such a case, drop the crutches and get a motorized wheelchair.

Driving is very much the same. If you fail to proceed through a controversial yellow light, expect a few honks. If I am behind you at a stoplight and see you on your phone while the light turns green and you just sit there, expect a long angry honk meddled with a beautifully formed middle, left hand finger and a blatant strand of [often unintelligible] profanities.

Where does this all stem from? Well I was driving to work today and decided to stop at the post office to buy a stamp and mail a letter. Even though the yield sign was for people opposite my lane, the jackass on his phone in front of me sat there, yielding and WAVING people through for the other lane! So I see this and start honking. As he looks in his rear view mirror I see his cell phone tucked between his chin and shoulder, and he throws his arms up like, "what the hell" style. I smile, roll down my window and yell, "You have the right-of-way, dumbass!" I take my middle finger, which was firmly vertically erected at that point, and use it to point at the backside of the yield sign.

So we pull in, and of course the only two spots open are right next to each other. I get out of my car. He's still on the phone. He looks at me and I reciprocate with a stare so dumbfounding, so demeaning, so outwardly disappointed that I think I saw a tear slide down his cheek just before he turned to look away.

I left. Already pumped up from the morning's activities, I decide to go to Satan's Crotch (AKA Wal Mart ). Trying to hold my breath to ward off the pungent aroma of stale french fries and week-old body odor, I give the token 84-year-old Welcome Man a tear-eyed smile and fought to clear the stench. For the record, I'm convinced that the only thing missing in the entrances of Wal Marts is a baby diaper changing station. That is THE missing link to make people jump from thinking-about-vomiting to all-out yak-factory. But anyhoo, I am a pen fanatic. Very weird about my pens. Almost like each one has its own personality...more on that at some other time. So I try to get to the pen aisle, as Wal Mart is the only place in town that carries a certain refill. Low and behold, families - some numbering in the dozens - in wheelchairs and cutoff tee shirts alike blanket the aisles. There is no getting around masses like these. So I tried to weave in and out of the children's clothing racks, ducking left and dodging right, and just when I see the opening to the aisle, squuuish. I look down to find my foot taken prisoner by a mutilated cheeseburger smothered in ketchup. [Profanity]!!!

Finally I make it to the pen aisle. Its not there. My f#@*%ng refill isn't there. All that boot camp bull crap for an anticlimax. Stupid cheeseburger.

Anyway, I made it to work and continued to hate life. The end.