CJB
11-01-2014, 07:11 PM
A splendid day....
Decided to take the motorbike out for a little spin today. Started off goin' to Wally World, not for ammo today, but for some breeks. Ended up getting some Wranglers and decided that my t-shirts with the pits rotted out needed replacing, so I got a four pack of those. Went directly over to the 20 items or less checkout, and ... thats where all my fun started.
Two old farts, that had maybe 15 years each on me, the drooly mouf'd guy declares in Newyawkeez that he "hazz tventy items, but hizz wive hazz only nineteen" raising his forefinger in the air, with uplifted chin, not unlike a theatrical lawyer, making his case winning argument.
The nog at the register could only say "uh ok, I'll ring 'em up seperately". So much for speedy checkout.
So I stood there. Gotta mention, I'm dressed in jeans with various small holes, and a few larger ones fixed with gorilla glue, Redwing wellies, very faded black t-shirt, nice floral hedwrap, sunglasses, eight stainless steel rings, and a patched vest. Behind me were two young ladies. They began to mutter rather disparaging things about my attire, bikes in general, filth pertaining to personal cleanliness, and certain social diseases.
I thought I'd break the ice. I mentioned that bikers were easy to shop for. Couple of pre-washed jeans and a pack of black tees and we're good to go! They seem unamused. So I went on to mention that bikers as easy to shop for as lesbians, who only need flannel shirts and workboots to make their wardrobe.
Now they were REALLY not amused. I did not immediately notice that they had been holding hands. Oh well, if they can't take a joke, fu... well at least WATCH 'em, ya know?
Ok, so much for Wally World. Next stop gazz for the Harley.
Pulled into RaceTrack.... up to an empty pump, and the very young lady on the other side addressed me while she carefully put fuel into the tank of her Dodge SUV looking thing. Nice bike mister. Her father, watching carefully, said "she has to fill the tank after every lesson, I'm teaching her to drive". I asked if he was also gonna teach her not to talk to strange bikers while pumping gas. He was not amused. She blushed. I got on my bike and headed east....
... to the Bank of America.
No parking spots available, so I ease into the drive through ATM, with two cages ahead of me. By the time there was only one cager in front, the outdoor guard came over. "Sorry sir, we don't allow motorcycles in the drive thru ATM line". I heard him, but in disbelief, I asked him what he just said. "No motorcycles in the ATM line, I have to ask you to use the ATM inside the bank."
Now folks, this just ruffled my feathers the wrong damned way. Sorry, but I lost my sense of composure a little bit, and informed the uniformed and armed Security retiree, that I guessed he was really F'd when I came through after hours when he was gone. He was not amuzed, but asked me again, politely and sternly to break out of line. I asked him if he wanted to be the reason I was going to go inside, and inform the branch manager that I was withdrawing my money from the bank, then informed him that I had more in my accounts than he made in five years as guard at the bank, so if that was his choice, I'd be happy to oblige him with my choice.
The cage in front pulled away, and I putted up to the ATM, pasty looking 70 year old guard in my right rearview. The transaction took all of about 90 seconds, and I was out of there without further fanfare.
Just a typical day for a cool Saturday in the Florida swamplands.
Decided to take the motorbike out for a little spin today. Started off goin' to Wally World, not for ammo today, but for some breeks. Ended up getting some Wranglers and decided that my t-shirts with the pits rotted out needed replacing, so I got a four pack of those. Went directly over to the 20 items or less checkout, and ... thats where all my fun started.
Two old farts, that had maybe 15 years each on me, the drooly mouf'd guy declares in Newyawkeez that he "hazz tventy items, but hizz wive hazz only nineteen" raising his forefinger in the air, with uplifted chin, not unlike a theatrical lawyer, making his case winning argument.
The nog at the register could only say "uh ok, I'll ring 'em up seperately". So much for speedy checkout.
So I stood there. Gotta mention, I'm dressed in jeans with various small holes, and a few larger ones fixed with gorilla glue, Redwing wellies, very faded black t-shirt, nice floral hedwrap, sunglasses, eight stainless steel rings, and a patched vest. Behind me were two young ladies. They began to mutter rather disparaging things about my attire, bikes in general, filth pertaining to personal cleanliness, and certain social diseases.
I thought I'd break the ice. I mentioned that bikers were easy to shop for. Couple of pre-washed jeans and a pack of black tees and we're good to go! They seem unamused. So I went on to mention that bikers as easy to shop for as lesbians, who only need flannel shirts and workboots to make their wardrobe.
Now they were REALLY not amused. I did not immediately notice that they had been holding hands. Oh well, if they can't take a joke, fu... well at least WATCH 'em, ya know?
Ok, so much for Wally World. Next stop gazz for the Harley.
Pulled into RaceTrack.... up to an empty pump, and the very young lady on the other side addressed me while she carefully put fuel into the tank of her Dodge SUV looking thing. Nice bike mister. Her father, watching carefully, said "she has to fill the tank after every lesson, I'm teaching her to drive". I asked if he was also gonna teach her not to talk to strange bikers while pumping gas. He was not amused. She blushed. I got on my bike and headed east....
... to the Bank of America.
No parking spots available, so I ease into the drive through ATM, with two cages ahead of me. By the time there was only one cager in front, the outdoor guard came over. "Sorry sir, we don't allow motorcycles in the drive thru ATM line". I heard him, but in disbelief, I asked him what he just said. "No motorcycles in the ATM line, I have to ask you to use the ATM inside the bank."
Now folks, this just ruffled my feathers the wrong damned way. Sorry, but I lost my sense of composure a little bit, and informed the uniformed and armed Security retiree, that I guessed he was really F'd when I came through after hours when he was gone. He was not amuzed, but asked me again, politely and sternly to break out of line. I asked him if he wanted to be the reason I was going to go inside, and inform the branch manager that I was withdrawing my money from the bank, then informed him that I had more in my accounts than he made in five years as guard at the bank, so if that was his choice, I'd be happy to oblige him with my choice.
The cage in front pulled away, and I putted up to the ATM, pasty looking 70 year old guard in my right rearview. The transaction took all of about 90 seconds, and I was out of there without further fanfare.
Just a typical day for a cool Saturday in the Florida swamplands.