Are you going to be a good girl?
So there I am, right? At a stop light waiting to turn right on to the highway. I'm the first one at the stop light, so I don't have to wait on slow-asses to turn going 2 mph. I crank my music up a little cause I like the song thats on. Gasolina by Daddy Yankee. I'm sorry. It has a catchy tune. Finally, the light turns green and I begin to merge. I looked behind me to make sure I could get all the way over. When I look back to the front, there it is. It's stopped in the middle of my lane, and I have no choice but to run into the back of it.
So I do. Its a massive ass white SUV. The right front side of my car hits the back left of hers. My legs have gone numb, and my heart is racing at a dangerous pace. I start cussing because I don't know what else to do. Something like, "You stupid, stupid ass bitch!" came out of my mouth. I'm wishing she could her me, but I know she can't.
I pull over to the shoulder and wait for this stupid ass to get out of her car. She got out and walked to the back of her car to look at the damage. I get out of my car with my fists clinched, and i'm still shaking quite a bit. "Where did you come from? You were not there when I was merging."
"I know," she said," A semi was coming up behind me so I got over."
"And you stopped?" I asked
"Yeah, do you need to call your husband or anything?"
"No. I don't have one of those."
"Ok. I have to call the dealership."
It was just my effing luck. I hit a damned dealership car. Apparently this lady was the office manager. Office managers are obviously stupid. YOU DON'T STOP ON THE HIGHWAY, JACK ASS! I stand there as she calls her boss. He thinks she's dying, but she reassures him that she's fine. I know what he's thinking because he's a car salesman, and they all suck. He's gotta be thinking, "This is why women shoulden't drive."
He pulled up behind the SUV and walks our way. She begins to tell him the story. A story that she made up because I don't remember any of it happening the way she said it did, but whatever. I hit the back of her, so it's my fault automatically. I hate the government, office ladies, and salesmen.
He walks towards me with a disgusting strut, and I want to kick him in the knee. He looks like an ass hole, and he's wearing cologne that smells like an ass hole. Literally. It's too windy in Oklahoma.
"Have you been in a wreck before, young lady?"
"No. First one."
"How old are you? 18?"
"I'm actually 20."
"Oh. Well I'm Mr. Shithead."
"Hi. I'm Brittany."
"Nice to meet you. Are you a good girl?"
"Well, I think so. I'm not perfect or anything."
"Do you do drugs?"
"Do I look like I do drugs?"
"No. It's just a question I like to ask."
"Are you going to be a good girl from here on out?"
(is this a joke? No. No, it's not.)
"I can try."
He tells me that he is going to detail my car for me. And then he tries to sell me a new one. What a jack ass, you know? I'm 20. I wash dogs asses for a living. I live with my grandparents. I don't pay for hardly anything. Do I look like I can talk to you about buying a car? Hell no. Idiot.
The highway patrol man pulls up to join the party. He gets all the insurance shit and goes to his car for like 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I'm stuck talking to Mr. Shithead. He thinks I'm cute, and wants to see me go far in life. I'm still not joking.
Finally, the officer struts his little officer strut all the way back over to us and asks me to come to his car. Great. He opened up the car door for me. What a gentleman. So there we are, sitting in silence and he's writing me my ticket. My stress goes away, and I start hearing things that are going on around me instead of whats in my head. Nelly's song Grillz is on and I chuckle. "So, do you listen to this music all the time?" I ask. He's an all-american white boy. I know he has to have a wife and some kids at home. He looks like a Alan Jackson kind of man to me, but whatever.
"Yea. I like this music a lot."
"So, you rap when you are driving by yourself?"
He laughs.
"No. I just turn it up really loud while I drive unreasonably fast."
That sounded about right. I have this strange urge to turn on the siren at this point. You can't make me sit for too long, i start thinking about things I can do to make things more fun. I refrain because hes now telling me why I'm getting a ticket, and how much it is going to be.
Everything is said and done so I get out and walk to my car. I lit up a ciggarette and drove to my cousins. Did I mention that my car looks like shit? Well, it does. And my hip hurts.
Screw you Office Manager,
B
So I do. Its a massive ass white SUV. The right front side of my car hits the back left of hers. My legs have gone numb, and my heart is racing at a dangerous pace. I start cussing because I don't know what else to do. Something like, "You stupid, stupid ass bitch!" came out of my mouth. I'm wishing she could her me, but I know she can't.
I pull over to the shoulder and wait for this stupid ass to get out of her car. She got out and walked to the back of her car to look at the damage. I get out of my car with my fists clinched, and i'm still shaking quite a bit. "Where did you come from? You were not there when I was merging."
"I know," she said," A semi was coming up behind me so I got over."
"And you stopped?" I asked
"Yeah, do you need to call your husband or anything?"
"No. I don't have one of those."
"Ok. I have to call the dealership."
It was just my effing luck. I hit a damned dealership car. Apparently this lady was the office manager. Office managers are obviously stupid. YOU DON'T STOP ON THE HIGHWAY, JACK ASS! I stand there as she calls her boss. He thinks she's dying, but she reassures him that she's fine. I know what he's thinking because he's a car salesman, and they all suck. He's gotta be thinking, "This is why women shoulden't drive."
He pulled up behind the SUV and walks our way. She begins to tell him the story. A story that she made up because I don't remember any of it happening the way she said it did, but whatever. I hit the back of her, so it's my fault automatically. I hate the government, office ladies, and salesmen.
He walks towards me with a disgusting strut, and I want to kick him in the knee. He looks like an ass hole, and he's wearing cologne that smells like an ass hole. Literally. It's too windy in Oklahoma.
"Have you been in a wreck before, young lady?"
"No. First one."
"How old are you? 18?"
"I'm actually 20."
"Oh. Well I'm Mr. Shithead."
"Hi. I'm Brittany."
"Nice to meet you. Are you a good girl?"
"Well, I think so. I'm not perfect or anything."
"Do you do drugs?"
"Do I look like I do drugs?"
"No. It's just a question I like to ask."
"Are you going to be a good girl from here on out?"
(is this a joke? No. No, it's not.)
"I can try."
He tells me that he is going to detail my car for me. And then he tries to sell me a new one. What a jack ass, you know? I'm 20. I wash dogs asses for a living. I live with my grandparents. I don't pay for hardly anything. Do I look like I can talk to you about buying a car? Hell no. Idiot.
The highway patrol man pulls up to join the party. He gets all the insurance shit and goes to his car for like 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I'm stuck talking to Mr. Shithead. He thinks I'm cute, and wants to see me go far in life. I'm still not joking.
Finally, the officer struts his little officer strut all the way back over to us and asks me to come to his car. Great. He opened up the car door for me. What a gentleman. So there we are, sitting in silence and he's writing me my ticket. My stress goes away, and I start hearing things that are going on around me instead of whats in my head. Nelly's song Grillz is on and I chuckle. "So, do you listen to this music all the time?" I ask. He's an all-american white boy. I know he has to have a wife and some kids at home. He looks like a Alan Jackson kind of man to me, but whatever.
"Yea. I like this music a lot."
"So, you rap when you are driving by yourself?"
He laughs.
"No. I just turn it up really loud while I drive unreasonably fast."
That sounded about right. I have this strange urge to turn on the siren at this point. You can't make me sit for too long, i start thinking about things I can do to make things more fun. I refrain because hes now telling me why I'm getting a ticket, and how much it is going to be.
Everything is said and done so I get out and walk to my car. I lit up a ciggarette and drove to my cousins. Did I mention that my car looks like shit? Well, it does. And my hip hurts.
Screw you Office Manager,
B
posted by Unknown at 4:36 PM
3 Comments:
Every time that I think to myself that I might want to stop by OK for a day or two to see what the hell is wrong with it, I get a story like this that makes me think that the amount of bullshit there is more abnormal than the rest of the country, and that if I went there I would actually break someone else's expensive stuff for a change. Also, after being in Mexico for a week, you would never want to hear Gasolina again.
Poor Brit! I'm so sorry. I had an accident when I was 20, too. I still hate to think about it.
We need to find out who that sorry bastard was and go torture him! I hate arrogant bastards like that. (Like you would tell him if you were on drugs - moron!)
I don't even know what to make of cops anymore, I just don't like seeing them. They just suck... sorry, this isn't a very funny comment, I'm pretty brain dead right now
rock
c
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