Crazy Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Mental Tree

Last weekend my parents came to visit.

Every time they come my mom has a new present for Sena. This time it was a little pop-up thingy with numbers and animals. Little buttons to push or turn and up pops a panda or lion from their hidey-hole. I was just happy it didn't have any blinking lights, noises, or other epileptic fit inducing stimuli.

So I need to go to the store to get something to make for dinner. My dad stays to watch Sena, who is taking a nap, and my mom decides to come with me. It should be a simple trip.

But something always happens. It just does. It just has to, I don't know why.

I pull out of the alley and drive down the street to get onto Cedar Avenue. To go south. As I approach the intersection I see a guy walking the same way. He is not walking on the sidewalk, however. Even though the sidewalk is about 5 feet away. He is walking in the street, like a dip shit.

You ever just see somebody and your inner bell goes off. I mean, you see someone in a group of people and think, "I bet that guy is a total freak. A real fucking weirdo. I bet he humps farm animals. He better not try to talk to me or I'm gonna kick him in the shins." He could be dressed like everyone else but somehow you know he just isn't right.

I do.

So I immediately see this guy and think, "Oh Jesus, problem person twenty yards ahead."

He's wearing regular clothes. I think he has a back pack. He is listening to his ipod. He has really long dreads. But he is white and skinny and looks like one of those dirty hippies you see milling around the outside of a Phish concert. The ones who smell like patchouli and have B.O. that smells like old bologna and Fritos and are always pestering you to see if you got any "good bud".

But somehow as I approach I still know he's an asshole. Very assholey. If he wasn't he'd be on the sidewalk.

So because I'm trying to turn right onto Cedar I can't. Because dirty hippie asshole dreadboy is standing in the way. He sees me, too. He is trying to cross Cedar and he turns his head back and forth watching the cars. He sees me behind him with my blinker on. He knows I want to turn. But he doesn't move.

Because he's an asshole.

I debate several things at once; the things I could do.

Honk.
Honk and creep forward.
Honk, creep forward, wave him to the curb.
Honk, creep forward, wave, hit him with my bumper.
Honk, creep, wave, hit him with my bumper, run him over, and flip him the bird.
Honk, creep, wave, hit, run him over, flip him the bird, get out of the car and use my car's cigarette lighter to burn off his nasty dreadlocks.

These are all the things I think as I sit there not doing anything. I have bad thoughts but I try not to act on them. I need the karma points for all the stupid crap I did as a kid.

But I forgot one thing.

My mom is sitting in the passenger seat.

As I'm thinking how much fun it would be to blowtorch this dude's hair and give him an atomic wedgie, my mom rolls down the window and calls out in a very aggravated voice. The voice I heard so much growing up when I was doing something I shouldn't. Something that warranted that voice.

That voice makes me flinch.

I flinched good. About .2 seconds after she yells, "Excuse me! Do you mind? We're...." My hand shot out and whacked her arm. "Don't!" I hissed. "He's wearing headphones. He can't hear you."

That wasn't why I said that. It was because all of the inner bells that this assholey dude has a bone to pick. Of course he does. He wasn't oblivious to what was going on. I knew he knew what he was doing. He wanted to be in the way. He wanted to make me wait behind him. It was his little power trip of control. There are some people in the world that are just looking for a reason to go ape-shit. And all the behavior I was seeing told me that he could very well be one of those people.

Plus, I didn't want anything to happen to my new car.

I don't know how many people think like me, but I don't think my mom does.

My mom will say anything to anybody, consequences be damned. You can bet she would have told this dumbass to get back on the sidewalk where he belonged. My mom is not one of those passive-aggressive types; she could be a taxi driver in New York City. She doesn't swear at people, however. She just shames them into proper behavior. With that voice.

But I didn't know what dipshit hippie was going to do. And I really didn't want to find out. So I whacked her arm.

Sorry, Mom.