Bitching Out Somebody's Grandma = A Smashed-In Passenger Side Window (And Although This Is ALWAYS True, Sometimes You Need to Verbally Assault 81 Year Old Ladies in a Pizzeria)

by

Sir Aloquacious von Wigglesworth

I thought my girlfriend's little brown gloves would be adequate protection for my smallish hands as I tried to pick up the 10 million or so miniscule peices of shattered glass that I used to call my car's passenger side window. However, this was not the case. I would really love to meet whoever invented the futuristic plastic-glass hybrid that used to go up and down at my command depending on the weather and/or my own personal prefrence. I would really love to meet that guy so I could punch him extremely hard in the face. I'm sure there's an excellent reason that the glass, once punctured, begins to evaporate into a gazillion peices; each one programmed to embed itself deep into the tips of my fingers as I try to scoop them out of my cup-holder, glove box, seat cushion, gear shift, vanity mirror, trunk, tire, underpants and socks. But I dont give a shit. I don't give a shit that this faux-glass won't slice my head off if I hit a tree. In fact, I'd rather die a quick clean Braveheart-like death than live the rest of my life with a car infested with little demonglass killers awaiting their chance to contaminate some unknowing body part of mine. I'm sure the guy who conjured up this miracle invention never thought of the poor schmuck on his knees in the mud wearing his girlfriend's danty brown gloves trying to remove the ENDLESS amount of particles while wondering if this all might have had something to with the fact that he called somebody's grandma a whore while working at a pizzeria in New Jersey. What?

I have a problem with people who have a problem with germs. I also happen to have a Honda Accord with a garbage bag for a window to remind me of this problem. I believe that people have the right to do or say ANYTHING they want. Unless those "people" are actually assholes and/or idiots and anything they are doing and/or are saying happen to be negatively effecting my mood during the course of a particular day. With that said...

I (used to) work at a decaying fake mafia pizza shop that makes me think about suicide 83% of the time I am there. I also hate 99% of the customers (save the deaf old man who works at Stop n' Shop and likes the Mets) and 7 out of 9 of the other employess (8 out of 10, if you count the crackhead cook who went back to jail but used to jerk off to cheap porno mags in the bathroom). Needless to say, I am sort of easily aggitated.

But I was feeling good on this one particular Tuesday afternoon when it looked like the heavens had opened up and sent down a sweet little old lady to eat at MY pizza place. I felt like the luckiest boy in the world. Old hags love me for some reason. This one seemed to like me too until...

[Let me preface this by saying that when you cut someone a slice of pizza and throw it in the oven there is a split second when you touch the crust of the pizza to put it on the spatchula. I had thought this act was invisible to the naked eye until I met this mutant granny with glasses thicker than my cock.]

...until I TOUCHED HER FUCKING CRUST. You would've thought that I had strapped her Kermit the Frog face into the contraption from "A Clockwork Orange" and made her watch as I burned her cat alive. She was heated. I was shocked. My hands were clean, for the most part. I'm sure they were cleaner than her poopy snot covered paws. But I took the high road and turned the pizza around and cut her a new slice (making sure that only metal touched her slice). BUT NO, THAT WASN'T FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH. I had to get lectured by an old lady who looked like a muppet on crystal meth for 6 bucks an hour. I'm only human, and I eventually snapped. I'm not proud. Things were said. She told me I should be ashamed of myself and sarcastically I said, "oh yes, I am so ashamed" while actually feeling shame. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

FAST FORWARD TO TODAY, Wednesday: Someone mysteriously smashes in my passenger side window and steals my CD walkman while I'm working. Was it Karma? Maybe, but Karma would be a weird name for a male 18-27 years of age. It was payback and maybe I deserved it. But I regret nothing. The only thing that really pisses me off is that Billy Joel's "River of Dreams" album was in that CD player. And that is a way fucking underrated Billy Joel album.

TO BE CONTINUED...