Bitch

It seems as though when the real estate prices of an area reach a certain level it creates a vacuum into which assholes are drawn. Mountain View, California, is filling up with assholes.

These assholes act in much the same way as the assholes I've encountered in nearby Los Altos, like the woman who, as I was unracking my bicycle with my wife sitting in the driver's seat of our Honda, asked in a scandalized and condescending manner "Are you going to park your car here?" Now, to my way of seeing things, a non-asshole would assume the best or, at the very least, do a little investigation before concluding the worst. If this woman had fired a few neurons before opening her mouth, she might've noticed my wife and been able to concoct the likeliest, best-case scenario: bicycle commuting man being dropped off by his significant other. The only trauma she would have suffered would have been the knowledge that a '88 Honda had been in her neighborhood. As it was, she realized her mistake immediately and stalked off. I asked her quickly receding back if it would've mattered if I'd parked a Jag, BMW, or Lexus on the street and wished her a good day. Maybe I was missing some context. Maybe she'd had to deal with people treating her small lane as a parking lot. Maybe she was repeatedly butt-raped by her neighbor's Irish wolfhound as a child. Even so, she was an asshole.

The latest asshole interaction occurred recently in Mountain View in front of the Baskin-Robbins on El Camino and Shoreline/Miramonte.

These are some of the things that I wish I had said to the nasty, elitist cow who nearly had a conniption when she imagined that we had opened our car door against her Mercedes convertible:

1. Is your car damaged? No. And why is that? Because I'm very thoughtful and considerate whenever I open my car door… something you should try whenever you open your mouth.
2. Man, you really blew it. You had a chance to disprove the stereotype that only insecure and nasty people drive brand new Mercedes.
3. OH MY FUCKING CHRIST! Call the police! Call the paramedics! I think we just disturbed the dust on a Mercedes!
4. Oh, our car door touched your car? Well, that's the reason my father-in-law has added these handy plastic strips to the edges of all his doors. You see, he, unlike some people, is able to acknowledge reality and recognize that, due to certain circumstances, it is going to be necessary to carefully rest a car door against an object to allow for ingress and egress of the car. At times, this object is going to be another vehicle. In order to virtually eliminate the chance of scratches or other damage to the door itself or to the object that the door rests against, my father-in-law has been careful and thoughtful enough to install soft plastic strips on the edges of all his doors. Instead of complaining, you should be down on your knees, groveling in an ecstasy of gratitude.
5. [To the woman's companion] Hey, lady. Aren't you embarrassed to be seen with this rude person? Isn't it devastating to be associated with a complete boor? It's like having your dad rip a fart in front of your friends. You just want to crawl into a hole and disavow all relationship to the slob.
6. You know, if you're really that uptight about your vehicle, you could remove a lot of stress from your life by driving a '77 Plymouth Volare station wagon. You could probably pick one up in running condition for around 50 bucks. Then you wouldn't have to go into hysterics whenever it looked like someone might have touched your car.
7. COW! BITCH! WHORE! CUNT!
8. I happen to know that you paid only around $60,000 for that CLK430 Cabriolet. Driving a Mercedes of that caliber only allows you to ignore speed limits and take two or more spaces in a parking lot. If you want to rightfully bitch and moan the way you are now, you need to spend $80,000, which means laying down the cash for a CLK55 AMG at the very least. Missed it by that much.
9. Is it true that people buy expensive cars in order to compensate for some perceived lack in their life? Are you worried about your age or your weight? Are you not getting any? After having plowed so obviously and ungracefully into middle age, are you worried about your own mortality? I'm sure that your overpriced Teutonic Vanity Wagon assuages all those fears. How lucky you must be.
10. Oh go fuck yourself, you nasty bitch.

Pakeha

Columns by Pakeha