We all know that complete and utter idiots exist in our world...and are just waiting, every day, to unload the frustrations of their pathetic existence upon us normaltons. Anyone in New England *also* knows that the overwhelming and caffeine-fueled minions of the Dunkin' Donuts empire are just waiting, on every corner, to declare total coffee domination.
This story merges those two strong and annoying truths.
On the way up to Montréal a few weekends ago, we were driving down a commercial road, looking for someplace "fast" to eat. Our version of "fast" has many limitations:
- Wendy's, no, faux finger
- McDonalds, no, new "Fruit & Walnut Salad" commercials annoy me
- Burgers, no after Cho read a string of books coincidentally about the many gross details of the beef industry
- Taco Bell, no, 85% chance of diarrhea
- Any place with servers wear suspenders, no, obvious reasons.
As such, one of the only choices left was a psuedo-mexican chain restaurant called Harry's.
We pulled up to the traffic light before realizing that, to get to Harry's (or whatever,) we would really need to be in the right lane immediately after the light. Being the 4 whitest whities in existence at that moment (two of us had many freckles, one is retina-burning "Irish white" and I drive a Volvo family sedan,) of course we thought it a great idea to roll down the window and ask the guy in the right lane if we could merge over in front of him when the light turned green. We were outside of Manchester, NH, or as I like to refer to it "The Ghetto of the East."
All heads turned to the car next to us. The combination of what it was and who it was shocked and appalled us. The car, an early 90s model of the white-trashy Cutlas Sierra, contained a man in his late twenties who looked much like the director Kevin Smith, but fatter and more disgruntled. He was reclined in his seat, wearing grey sweatpants and a worn black t-shirt. His hair, long and pretty greasy seeming, was long and pulled back in a ponytail. Over the 'do he wore a black ball cap backwards. In his hand was a gigantic Dunkin Donuts berry Coolatta. The straw was in his mouth and he was sucking hard.
Natty rolled down the window and flashed a winning smile.
"Excuse me, do you think we could get over when the light turns? We're going to Harry's."
The man turned his head and stared, sucking the chub juice, straw never leaving his mouth.
He curled his lip and slowly, silenting, nodded his head no.
Natty tried again.
"Why not?"
Once again, straw never moving, the man regarded us.
"You should be in this lane if you need to be in this lane."
What a linguistic genius.
Slowly a pink started to creep up. Not in the man's straw, but in Natty's neck, then his cheeks. He leaned a bit out the window and grinned in a scarily wicked way.
"Ok, then...why don't you just keep sucking on that drink and getting fatter?"
Stunned silence from both cars. My mouth popped open in surprise. If we listened, we probably would have been able to hear the guy getting portlier as he continued to suck on the massive Coolatta.
I rolled up Natty's windows from my side console.
The light changed.
We ended up going to Pizaa Hut.
wow. my mouth fell open and I'm hundreds of miles away!!!
as far as I'm concerned P-Natty has just won himself a lifetime membership to the Cincinnati "street-fighter" club. (I'm a not-so-proud member for verbally kicking the ass of a street hustler in a bar parking lot.) welcome aboard.
;)
Posted by: polish princess | Wednesday, 15 June 2005 at 01:28 PM