Pirates Don't Cry

I was in a foul temper when I exited the store.

Again, it's only a Tuesday and it's already been a long-ass week. Though I've still managed to be pretty chirpy at the Saltmine, if it weren't for the kindness of inmates, I'd likely be in a home. So let's just say, I was in no mood to be trifled with.

NO MOOD.

The honest truth is, I have never been good at maintaining a poker face. Apparently I wear my emotions like a neon sign, unless I'm really working to appear happy (hence the CHIRPY- Saltmine face). So I always assume that people will know, when the Pirate Queen is PO'ed, DON'T MESS WITH HER.

I guess that's why I was so shocked when the guy with the shaved head and Mr. Clean earring barred my way as I stalked toward the waiting G.B...

I had seen him while checking out, noting him as merely a hulking figure with possibly nasty intentions toward a rack of magazines. He gave off an aura of anger that was nearly visible it was so obvious.

People of this type make me uncomfortable...They remind me of a certain mercenary I once knew (see the archives for details...it's a long story). Anyway, I didn't know him and I didn't sense any hostility directed toward myself or any of the other patrons, so I tucked away my paranoia and paid for my purchases...Of course, not without reaching down just once to make sure I still had a knife in my boot (better to be safe than scurvy is the pirate motto, I always say...).

As I exited the store, purchases in hand, I bumped against the bald-headed bully with a mumbled, "excuse me," (he was blocking the exit with his large and unpleasantly angry presence) and continued about my merry way.

No big deal, right? Of course it wasn't.

Upon reaching my car however, I realized that I must have left my keys behind on the counter-top in the store. With a muttered curse, I returned to the retail establishment from hell and recovered said keys.

That was when it happened.

As I turned, intending to exit the store, the Hulk blocked my path.

Now that I had a good, up-close, unimpeded view of the mammoth, I was even less impressed than I had been previously.

In addition to the shaved head and the silver loop earring (gauged of course), all of the following were also true about this miscreant:

His eyes were the mud-brown of a backed up cistern and shot through with lines of red...There was also a bit of yellow in there...as if his mother had been a bit too fond of a Rottweiler and he'd ended up with some of its DNA...

He was wearing a wool peacoat that had obviously had a confrontation with a dumpster at some point and managed to come out of things on the losing end...It (and by extension, HE) smelled like a racoon that had been dead in a ditch for a few days...

His feet, clad in black motorcycle boots were the size of sampans, and looked capable of stomping anything from small defenseless children to tiny European countries in a single tromping step.

In short, he would have been a figure to inspire terror in anyone but a Pirate Queen... I work in a Saltmine, NOTHING scares me anymore. I have seen the face of terror, and it is a 6 hour meeting...not some guy in motorcycle boots with a shaved dome.

Anyway, this monstrosity blocked my view and my egress from the store.

He loomed above me, his head swooping down from a great height until he was breathing noxious fumes directly into my airspace. He stared hard at me with his crazy eyes before saying, "Did you PUSH me when you walked out of this store a minute ago? DID YOU? 'Cause that's RUDE...I don't tolerate RUDENESS in my women... Didn't no one ever teach you better than to push people?"

Of course, I realize that I could have avoided this confrontation... Even at the point when he was bending over me, preparing to strike, I could have dodged him.

I could have scooted away.

I'm quick.

I'm flexible.

He wouldn't have had a shot in hell of getting me.

But I was, quite frankly, heartily miffed.

I have been pushed around, taken for granted, and used more than enough for one week, thank you very much, and all it took for me to "go off" was this one guy...ONE GUY with a big attitude and HUGE, RUDE, feet.

I dropped my purchases to the floor, threw myself into the mass of smell there in the doorway before me, lifted one booted heel, and stepped down with all my might on his boot.

I don't care how great your boots are... Nothing can withstand a 5 inch Pirate Queen boot heel.

From a great distance I heard something snap as my weight came down in a compact little package on that one spot. The snap was like a starter pistol, jolting me into adrenaline overdrive and as the behemoth screeched like a cat whose tail had been closed in a door, the endorphins poured out of my addled brain...

I reached down, grabbed a RedBull, pulled it out of my discarded bag, and conked the guy over the head with it, putting him out for good.

Then I opened the darn thing and drank it.

After checking the safety of my remaining purchases and brushing some of the residual smell off my person, I walked out, unlocked the car and drove on my merry way... Only once more stopping by the side of the road to do a little snow dance.

As you can probably guess, I need a mental health day.

Though breaking most of the bones in a bully's foot was certainly a killer way to end a day of tedium, it didn't exactly relax me...

Good thing I've got a vacation coming up...

Here I come.

Watch out.