Square Pegs and Hidden Firearms

I have always known that I didn't quite fit in. In society, at the Saltmine, in my family...and I wasn't always comfortable with that...until now.

This story starts as so many others of mine have...Setting off on the road.

So I was blasting The Artist In the Ambulance when I started to get thirsty on my ride home tonight after a meeting at the Saltmine. I pulled off the road in a little nowhere town called Hillsborotonville and squealed (only a little) into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot. It was 5 in the afternoon and it never occurred to me that I might be getting myself in trouble, but I had just gotten my license to carry concealed and I was getting used to having a gun strapped in a place that is...well...accessible, but not overly so.

I locked my car. This town appeared to be chock-full of car-stealing-cow-tipping-pot-smoking-wanna-be-gansta types, and I wasn't going to take any chances with the G.B. As I was walking to the front door, about to go inside, just drooling and trembling with the thought of my next iced tea fix, I heard a VERY loud wolf whistle. As per my usual modus operandi, I ignored the irritating whistle and tried to convince myself that I wasn't instantly embarrassed and regressing to the 10th grade. I continued to proceed calmly toward the front door of said Dunkin'. (Sometimes, I call it Dunkie’s for short but only when I'm mocking one of my least favorite acquaintances).

Only a few moments later, while being served by a woman with glasses as thick as the windshield on the president's limo, I hear the door open behind me. The part of me that is still way too curious began to turn, when I smelled it. The odor was something like a combination of wet cow dung and VERY potent B.O. While puking in my mouth a little, I paid for my merchandise and turned to leave, avoiding the smell with the sixth sense of a woman who works with the great unwashed masses, when the source of the odor stepped up and said,

"Hey, I seen you around a coupl'a times this week. You must be new 'roun here."

"Uhh, suure," I said, smiling and heading quickly for the exit...which irritatingly seemed to be getting farther away instead of closer for some reason.

Predictably, this red-neck boy/man must have seen one two many bad action flicks as a teenager, he stepped back in front of me and said,

"What's yer hurry, Baby? You gotta nice rack there."

Seriously. I cannot possibly make this shit up.

Also predictably, I sighed inside and wondered, ‘didn't this guy ever pay attention to what happens to the guys in the bad action flicks who say this crap?’ (Having recently seen the movie Predators, I have this on good authority).

Luckily, though he was focused on me, he wasn't expecting much resistance, so I made my move and pulled the classic basketball defense, the pick and roll, using the equally aromatic buddy standing behind him as my unlikely teammate.

Reaching the front door I burst through into the stagnant but not nearly so fragrant, air outside the vestibule and breathed deeply, hurrying to my car.

You have to understand, it wasn't that I was scared of him, I just didn't want to waste good iced tea by spilling it all over the pavement.

Just as I had set my coffee on the roof of my car and was about to unlock my door, I hear the sound of scuffling feet on the pavement behind me. I turned. Guess who? Oh yeah, it was him....again.

Before he could get any closer I reached down for my Berretta, pulled it out and shoved it in his direction. The second he saw the gun, he froze. (Thank Carlos). And I said, "Listen buddy, I'm a fucking teacher, therefore, I'm totally on edge, I'm crazy as hell, I'm really pissed off right now, I have a fast car, and I'd just love to shoot your nuts off...

I'm sure every sheep, cow, and pig in this little pissant backwater would all thank me. Care to try your luck?"

Needless to say, with no further molestation, I returned the gun to its holster, grabbed my tea and unlocked my car. The mingled shock, disbelief and horror on the townie's face filled my heart with glee.

Sometimes it's pretty good to be me after all.

What a shame I won't have a dancing partner at the next ho-down though.

Oh by the way, I got the guy's license plate down...

Anyone with no sense of smell looking to meet a hairy, buck-toothed local?

I can definitely get you the hook-up!