Last night (as it is now 1:30am the next day), Emily and I swung by our friendly neighborhood 7-11 so I could get some Gatorade. Some white-trash Utah hicks had parked their dirty, hunting/hooker-soliciting pickup truck horizontally across three parking spaces. There was only one normal parking space and a handicapped space left, so we parked in the normal one. With ugly half-grimace/half-smirk looks on their faces, the three rednecks poured out of the store and into their trashmobile. The one sitting against the passenger door opened the door and leaned out so that his plaid hick-indicating jacket hung down and pulled back his lips around his chew-stained teeth to tell us to move so that they could get out of their three-car parking space, seeing as the front of their truck was aimed into one car's passenger door, and the rear bumper was pointed into the driver's side window of our car, where Emily was sitting.
Emily wasn't about to take their crap. "It's not my fault you parked like that," she said, "I'm not going to park in the handicapped space." The guy threw his hand up in the air with a facial expression that said, "Well, you know what that means." Emily didn't, but being the better person, started backing out so they could get out and move on to whatever sheep-raping they had to get done that night. What we didn't notice was that the gesture was a reference to Sgt. Trailerpark, their driver. He had gotten out of his pickup and sauntered around the back in his overly tight t-shirt to try to intimidate my wife. By the time I realized that this was what he had intended, he had gotten back into the Trashmobile and was pulling out. My blood was red hot at the thought that someone would even effing CONSIDER threatening my wife. We pulled back into our parking space - the normal way, taking up only one parking space - and got out to go in.
They had only pulled across the parking lot, choking everyone in the vicinity with exhaust that was 80% gasoline, and stopped in front of a gas pump. With my thumb at the ready on the "send" button on my cell phone with 911 punched-up and read to go, I memorized their license plate number. [Let me mention again that it was a Utah license plate with VERY Utah occupants.] They revved their engine and I raised my arm so that it was quite visible and flipped them a nice, solid bird. They peeled out and screamed off down University Avenue, in typical Utah fashion, disobeying as many traffic laws as possible.
At the register, while purchasing the aforementioned Gatorade, 7-11 employee and friend of the neighborhood, Raj, jerked his thumb over his shoulder at our car and asked if it was ours. We answered in the affirmative, and he told us that he was waiting for the guy to make the slightest hostile move to call the cops and then come out to take care of business. [Btw, Raj is a great guy.] Turns out that Sgt. Trailerpark had come in and pissed off everyone in the store and had been asked to leave, and that this had been the second time he had done this. Also of note: he parked the same way both times.
What a freaking prick. I hate people like this guy, but I run into 100x more of them than I ever did back in the godless, communist state that I come from. This kind of stuff happens all the time. Last week, Emily and I were pulling into a parking lot and some jackass in a truck jacked up so high that its running boards were at neck level came barreling through a red light at us going at least 50mph, accelerating, and we had to slam on the gas to get out of the way. I threw my hands up in a "what gives?!" gesture and the guy leaned over (he had to in order to be seen from his motorized scaffolding of a truck) and flipped me the bird with his teeth sunk firmly into his lip to reinforce the aggressiveness of his "eff you." Wanna guess what state his license plate was from?
All I have to say is that with a handful of exceptions, I hate this place. I never had problems like this back in Seattle. Back home, I never once had to defend myself against the anger of someone whose anger was generated by the very fact that I didn't enjoy being wronged by him. And for the tiny minority of friends and civilized people who live in Utah who might be reading this, I apologize, but if you've ever lived anywhere else in the country, you'd know that the codes of conduct in this state are not normative across the nation. For anyone else from Utah who might be reading this and saying "Well then leave!" I answer, "I plan on it. I'd do it sooner, but my college keeps deciding to make it harder and harder."
And to Sgt. Trailerpark and his inbred friends WHOSE UTAH LICENSE PLATE NUMBER IS 253-ICN, I give you the one finger salute and hope you enjoy the fiery pits of hell. Eff you.
Emily wasn't about to take their crap. "It's not my fault you parked like that," she said, "I'm not going to park in the handicapped space." The guy threw his hand up in the air with a facial expression that said, "Well, you know what that means." Emily didn't, but being the better person, started backing out so they could get out and move on to whatever sheep-raping they had to get done that night. What we didn't notice was that the gesture was a reference to Sgt. Trailerpark, their driver. He had gotten out of his pickup and sauntered around the back in his overly tight t-shirt to try to intimidate my wife. By the time I realized that this was what he had intended, he had gotten back into the Trashmobile and was pulling out. My blood was red hot at the thought that someone would even effing CONSIDER threatening my wife. We pulled back into our parking space - the normal way, taking up only one parking space - and got out to go in.
They had only pulled across the parking lot, choking everyone in the vicinity with exhaust that was 80% gasoline, and stopped in front of a gas pump. With my thumb at the ready on the "send" button on my cell phone with 911 punched-up and read to go, I memorized their license plate number. [Let me mention again that it was a Utah license plate with VERY Utah occupants.] They revved their engine and I raised my arm so that it was quite visible and flipped them a nice, solid bird. They peeled out and screamed off down University Avenue, in typical Utah fashion, disobeying as many traffic laws as possible.
At the register, while purchasing the aforementioned Gatorade, 7-11 employee and friend of the neighborhood, Raj, jerked his thumb over his shoulder at our car and asked if it was ours. We answered in the affirmative, and he told us that he was waiting for the guy to make the slightest hostile move to call the cops and then come out to take care of business. [Btw, Raj is a great guy.] Turns out that Sgt. Trailerpark had come in and pissed off everyone in the store and had been asked to leave, and that this had been the second time he had done this. Also of note: he parked the same way both times.
What a freaking prick. I hate people like this guy, but I run into 100x more of them than I ever did back in the godless, communist state that I come from. This kind of stuff happens all the time. Last week, Emily and I were pulling into a parking lot and some jackass in a truck jacked up so high that its running boards were at neck level came barreling through a red light at us going at least 50mph, accelerating, and we had to slam on the gas to get out of the way. I threw my hands up in a "what gives?!" gesture and the guy leaned over (he had to in order to be seen from his motorized scaffolding of a truck) and flipped me the bird with his teeth sunk firmly into his lip to reinforce the aggressiveness of his "eff you." Wanna guess what state his license plate was from?
All I have to say is that with a handful of exceptions, I hate this place. I never had problems like this back in Seattle. Back home, I never once had to defend myself against the anger of someone whose anger was generated by the very fact that I didn't enjoy being wronged by him. And for the tiny minority of friends and civilized people who live in Utah who might be reading this, I apologize, but if you've ever lived anywhere else in the country, you'd know that the codes of conduct in this state are not normative across the nation. For anyone else from Utah who might be reading this and saying "Well then leave!" I answer, "I plan on it. I'd do it sooner, but my college keeps deciding to make it harder and harder."
And to Sgt. Trailerpark and his inbred friends WHOSE UTAH LICENSE PLATE NUMBER IS 253-ICN, I give you the one finger salute and hope you enjoy the fiery pits of hell. Eff you.
2 comments:
jake, hahahaha. i'm glad i found your blog - you're a stud. As you know, I love Utah (for it's mountains and deserts) but seriously, out of any ethnicity or style of person that I despise more than any other, it's hicks and rednecks. those guys just make me blood curdle. i mean, what gives anyways? i wish you would have gotten in a fight and punched in one of their faces...
you're the best. josh
Thanks for not taking the Utah jab personally! Nothing but love, man.
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