To the Woman I Almost Hit with My Car and Then Proceeded to Bawl out in the Montrose Kroger Parking Lot:
Good afternoon, and I am an asshole.
Now, don’t go taking that the wrong way. This is not an apology. I think it is important that I state right up front here and now that what I did was reasonable – maybe even understated! – given the circumstances. You are a royal fool. Assuming you are indeed licensed to operate that monstrosity I witnessed you “driving” (I use the term loosely), you are my best evidence yet that the licensing authorities of this state are incompetent nincompoops.
So I say that I am an asshole but I do not concede that to be a very bad thing.
|The line between assholiness
and greatness can be hazy.
If I could change anything about what I did in the parking lot, it would be the part where I yelled out my window at your young female spawn, “Little girl, you are going to wind up an orphan because Mommy cares more about texting than where she is going.” The poor thing looked so heartbroken and four is too too young to learn you’re being raised by the dullest knife in the drawer.
That was an asshole thing for me to do.
(Assholish? Assholian? Assholic?)
I have always been this way. This weekend, when not busy cussing out mothers and daughters in grocery store parking lots, I have been digitalizing my youth. Recording old VHS tapes onto DVD for posterity, that is.
Watching those tapes one after another after another, starting with Grammar School Me and moving forward to Me Me, it has been what my people like to call a real eye-opener. As the Eighties become the Nineties become the Decade-That-No-One-Ever-Bothered-Deciding-on-a-Name-For, I see a gradual change come over the faces of my family and loved ones.
When I was young, everyone saw how I was. They put up with it because they believed it to be a symptom or side effect of genius. In their eyes, I was destined for greatness and my eccentricities would make great material for the inevitable future biographers.
|Just because some assholes are famous
does not mean I will ever be famous.
It has taken them better than a quarter century to figure out what you realized in less than two minutes. There is no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. I’m not difficult and destined for greatness. I’m just an asshole.
Maybe I should feel bad about that part.
You see, even though I am an asshole, it does not mean I have no conscience. On the contrary, much thought went into the decision to leave this non-apology apology under your windshield wiper. And up until the last moment, I’d nearly decided against keying your car at all.
Plus, your back passenger side tire was already dangerously low on air when I got here.
Assuming you’ve read this far down in the letter – and if you have, what the hell is your daughter doing while you stand there sounding out the six-letter words? – I’d like to thank you for your time and your attention. I might even get a halfway-to-decent blog out of this screed. Readers always make themselves believe I am using hyperbole to comedic effect, that I am not really as bad as I put on.
Hope does spring eternal, as my people say.
Speaking of hope, I almost wish the rest of your weekend goes better. But keep an eye out. Assholes are everywhere!