Fer Rude

My mom always said that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.  Well – I do have a few nice things to say, but I also have a lot of rude people to report to the rude people police.

Should I start with the nice, or start on the ratting out of the grumpy bastards?  Okay – grumpy bastards it is.  I realize that there is great cause to feel grumpy – we are in a very volatile time in US history, and things feel uncertain and icky.  Not to mention our new and unwelcome companion…cancer.  BUT – STILL - there is no need to be rude.

Let’s start with the guy in the covered parking next to Alex’s home.  I parked there the other day when I couldn’t find on-street parking.  As I pulled in, he met me by yelling, ‘Do you realize I have given you a break every time you’ve parked here? And you’ve never helped me out! Not one time in 2 years!”  I said, “uh…okay.  Back in 4 hours…” and left, to return 4 hours later, took my car and left, never to return again.  He literally was losing his shit, and I have no idea what he was talking about.  Did he expect bagels? More money? Peanuts? I already pay $28 for just a few hours, I mean, seriously?

Then there was the parking police who nailed me for parking on a NYC street for 15 minutes, and gave me a $100 ticket!  Rude!!

Also, I’d like to report my new furnace as a grumpy shit.  It sounds like they took an old, phlegmatic, corpulent, gaseous, asthmatic man and shoved him into the 3 by 4 foot space where my new heater lives.  When it clicks on, there is a big moan that sounds like a giant release of gas, followed by a long, slow groan as it gets up to speed, and then it grumbles and growls until the hissing starts, and then it merely hums until it warms up enough and then shuts off again, ready to start over its bitching all over again.  But it is warm.  That’s a happy thing.

Next up.  The guy who lives above me and smokes his cigarettes on the balcony, until they are tiny little butts, and then thoughtlessly flicks them off his balcony onto mine, my downstairs neighbor’s, her downstairs neighbor’s, and so on??? Rude.  Seriously rude.

Today we went to a grocery store in Queens, which was one of the rudest places I’ve ever been.  Someone had the audacity to ram into my daughter-in-law’s cart at full speed, and just continue on, thoughtlessly.  Rude city.

In front of my son’s house the other day, some little dog had left a plip…three feet later…a plop…three feet later…plip…three feet later…plop.  And the owner didn’t have the common decency to pick up the plip plop – preserving it for an unsuspecting flip flop!

I think that’s it.  No, wait.  You wanna know what’s rude?  Cancer.  Big, nasty, yucky, fucking, rude cancer. 

But today, there was a huge highlight.  Alex and I were sitting in the car waiting for Lilia to finish up in the rude grocery store.  We were sitting by a Korean barbecue shop, watching a diverse parade of grumpy people go in and out of the store. 

As an aside…the focus of the last few weeks, in Arthur-land, has been encouraging him to use words instead of just sounds.  It is time.  My daughter-in-law has been working with him on specific sounds, and Arthur is beginning to mimic, just like he should.

Now back to the rude-people store and the Korean barbecue shop.  Alex and I were sitting there, watching the customers file in, and one really scraggly, arty, hippy guy went in to get his chicken.  Alex commented, “gosh, that guy looks like a bum.”  Then, from the back seat, we heard, as clear as a bell, a little voice say, “BUM”. 

And now it starts!  Gotta watch what we say because the words are about to come pouring out!  I can’t wait!