We Don’t Need No Water

I pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall the cigar shop is in around noon and the first thing I noticed was that a minivan had pulled into the fire lane directly in front of the door. This really pissed me off for a few reasons and, I’ll be honest, the first was not a reason involving fire trucks. It had more to do with the driver’s sense of entitlement. There was no disabled hang tag displayed and he didn’t have one of those license plates with the little wheelchair guy pressed into it – so I was pretty sure he was just lazy. I was completely sure when I saw him hop out of his car and bounce into the shop. Dude was probably in his mid 50’s but you could tell he didn’t care what people thought about his age. His grey, wiry curls were sprouting unkempt from his horseshoe and the few hairs he was saving on top of his head were just sticking up every which way. I drove on and parked the behemoth of a vehicle I’m driving while my precious Evo is being repaired in a proper parking spot.

I think the true reason I was so surprised and angered is because I haven’t seen anyone commit this act in such a long time. I suppose that’s actually a bright spot.

By the time I made it to the front door Mister Fire Lane was done with his purchase. I opened the door and was a little surprised that he didn’t say something like “after you.” I don’t expect people to hold open doors for me but the truth is that it usually happens, especially with older gentlemen. This was no gentleman, though and, also, no fashion expert. While holding the door open and with the guy directly in front of me the first thing I noticed was the he was wearing boat shoes with no socks, sweatpants and a polo. These sweatpants were the bad kind, too. They had the elastic at the bottom – and he was utilizing those stretchy bands to hold the bottom of his pants about 3 inches above his ankles.

I noticed his shoes first because I was looking down trying to avoid eye contact. This sounds terrible but I was actually kind of miffed about the fire lane thing and I didn’t want to convey that with a disapproving glare.

As he walked out the door he pointed at my feet and said something to me. It took me a few seconds to process it but as he climbed into his car cackling like a wild man I realized what he said.

“You have a hole in your shoe.”

I was wearing my favorite Crocs – the Mary Jane variety – and I did, indeed, have a hole in my shoe. Several, in fact and on both feet.

He thought this was the funniest thing he had ever said. He probably says it every chance he gets.

Now I’ll never forget this guy – but he’ll never know how pissed I was about the fire lane.

Published by Denise

I'm the one referenced in the domain name. You know, as opposed to all those other Denise Siskos making claim. Lay off, jealous Denises!