European Shoulder Bag

*I’d like to note that this blog was written several weeks ago. I never got around to posting it.* - Mike The Janitor

I like to drink. I really do. I do it alone, most of the time. It’s probably better that way since I can be erratic and emotional. Not to where I’m a violent drunk, mind you. But more of a person that shuts down and gets lost in a sea of memories, turmoil and regret.

Generally, this doesn’t happen when I drink with others. Actually, it NEVER happens in the presence of others. When I’m with people, I’m a fun drunk. A “class clown” kind of drunk. At least, I think so. These emotional fits I speak of only occur when I drink alone. Which is 90% of the time. Like now, for instance.

I’ll openly admit that I’m working on my fourth screwdriver. And when I make a screwdriver, it’s more vodka than anything else. At the rate I’m pounding these things, I might as well get a straw and drink straight from the bottle. And I’m doing this on a Sunday night, no less. I have to be to work at 6:00 AM tomorrow.

So what? I’m hardcore like that. Bring on the booze, yo!

But doing vodka shots is a hard thing for me to pull off without gagging. Come to think of it, ANY shot of liquor is hard for me to pull off since the Great Puking Incident of 1998. I can still do shots. But any hard liquor going down the ol’ chute reminds me of a time when it all came back up. Some shots have that effect on me far worse than others.

But I digress.

On Friday afternoon, I went to the liquor store for one thing and one thing only... VODKA. I love a good screwdriver. However, an incident occurred that killed my buzz. Sadly, I wasn’t even drunk when it happened. Had I been intoxicated, I think I wouldn’t have even given the incident another thought.

Hell, with my luck, I would have been arrested for a D.U.I. or public intoxication or something of that nature before even getting to the liquor store. As it stands. I was completely sober when I decided to open my mouth.

In the back of my mind I was telling myself to just shut up and let it go. And I came pretty close to succeeding. But my “smart-ass” gene kicked in and I went full boar with my anger. Anger that led me to hold my bottle of vodka in a way that was strictly meant to knock someone over the head with it.

I know, shocking, right? I thought so, too. But I can’t deny the thought crossed my mind of using my 750ml bottle of vodka as a weapon to lay down the law with some coked out douche bag.

What could have turned out to be a full-on brawl started out with a traffic incident.
I was heading to my local state owned liquor store just before 5:00 PM this past Friday. My intention was to get some vodka and then head out to Big Lots and Family Dollar to pick up some items for my apartment. After which, I’d head over to my local grocery store and get some orange juice for previously purchased vodka and drink the rest of my Friday evening away into oblivion.

On my drive to the liquor store, I was abruptly cut off by someone driving a Volvo S70 sedan. They pulled right out in front of me after pulling out from a local shop. But I didn’t honk nor swear. I just breathed a heavy sigh and let it roll off my back.

I proceeded to follow this Volvo as I made my way to the liquor store. Then, quite suddenly, the Volvo stopped in the middle of the road as it appeared to be making a right hand turn down the same I road I was going to make a right hand turn on to get to the liquor store.

This time I honked.

A lot.

I also swore in the confines of my car while flipping off this Volvo driving douche bag for stopping instead of continuing on with their right hand turn. That’s when I realized it wasn’t necessarily the Volvo driver’s fault. But, rather, the person driving the opposite direction that turned in front of the Volvo.

As I quickly surveyed what was going on after blowing my horn numerous times and throwing a tantrum behind the wheel of my pimp 1990 Buick Century, I saw a Toyota Land Cruiser coming from the opposite lanes of travel abruptly turn left in front of the Volvo in front of me.

The asshole in the Land Cruiser just went for it. The dumb fuck turned left in front of both lanes of southbound traffic cutting us all off and not thinking twice about it. I honked thinking that the Volvo had already cut me off once and deserved it. I was of the opinion that the people in the Volvo were not only bad drivers but clearly lost and causing traffic problems behind them while they tried to figure out their destination.

I would have even gone as far as to call them tourists but they had Utah license plates on their precious Volvo sedan.

Once I honed in on the Land Cruiser, I turned my road rage onto the fucker driving that land yacht. As it turns out, he too, was going to the liquor store. And so was the driver of the Volvo in front of me whom I had just honked and swore at.

Awesome.

But I no longer cared about the bad driver of the Volvo. I wanted the head of the Toyota Land Cruiser. As we all pulled into the PACKED parking lot of the liquor store (this is one of the busiest liquor stores in Utah, I swear!), I watched where the Toyota Land Cruiser parked. I then parked my own car not too far away as a space became free from someone leaving.

As I got out of my car, I kept my gaze upon the Land Cruiser. I wanted to see the motherfucker who had such balls as to cut off TWO heavy flowing lanes of traffic to get to the liquor store.

And when I saw him, I made a sinister face of contempt that would befit a dramatic role or horror movie. And what made my anger towards this fucker more fueled was the fact that he was wearing (or carrying, I should say) what some in the fashion industry call a “European Shoulder Bag”.

Or, MALE PURSE.

I think I would have had just as much contempt for this blue-ribbon-beef cocksucker had he been wearing a goddamn fanny pack and muscle shirt.

I locked on my target and gave the best death stare I could muster. I locked on this guy and walked straight at him. I never broke my gaze upon him, either. I said everything I needed to say with my look alone. This piss ant knew when he saw me that I was the guy about to make things real unpleasant.

Oddly enough, I wound up right behind him and his date/friend/girlfriend as we all walked into the liquor store. What’s interesting is that I was well aware that he knew he had fucking cut me and the Volvo (and everyone else) off while driving into the liquor store parking lot.

I know this because he kept looking at me looking at him. He knew I was death staring him down because of his inability to drive a motor vehicle correctly. I also know that he knew that I knew he was a fucking bad driver because of the conversation he was having with the young woman he was with while we walked inside the liquor store.

Their conversation was about near-miss traffic accidents that each one had encountered at one time or another. But all I could do was stare, stare, STARE as this fuckstick and his goddamn man-purse.

I stared at him all through the store until I had to divert my eyes to the selection of vodka that lay before me. Once I made my selection of vodka, my rage melted into the bottle of booze I’d soon be consuming to wash my troubles away.

Until...

This same asshole cut me off IN LINE!

Oh no you didn’t.

Oh no, no, no... you did NOT just do that.

Oh, why yes he did.

While I was in line, I turned around momentarily to look at an end cap of flavorful flavored liquors that were on sale. I was debating on grabbing a bottle of Apple Pucker when I decided against it. When I turned around... TA-DA!

Guess who?

I gritted my teeth and rolled my eyes. I breathed in a way that you can only breathe when you’re trying to calm yourself down from a building rage. I squinted my eyes at the back of this dick’s head and told myself to take it easy. Just let it go and don’t worry about it.

Just breathe.

You’ll be out of here in no time, Mike. No worries. Fuck this guy.

I started to feel very Zen as I talked myself out of causing a scene.

But then...

“Why are we all standing in this one line? Why are we standing here? Would you look at that guy up there?! He’s holding this whole line up? There’s three cashiers! What’s going on?”

These were some of the sentences uttered by the “King of Cut Off’s” as he tried to figure out the line in the liquor store. Which, I will admit, was very long. But everyone else was waiting patiently much like myself.

European Shoulder Bag continued his tirade in front of me while I tried to hold my breath.

“Shit like this pisses me off, ya know? (He’s directing his comments to the girl he is with) Why is it that everyone has formed this line and can’t choose for themselves? I’m going up there right now. Fuck this ‘one line’ shit.”

And with that, I opened my mouth very angrily but quietly.

“Yes, good for you, sir. You should do that. Why don’t you cut off this entire line with your impatience like you do while you’re driving.”

“Really? Who? That guy cut you off while driving?”
“Don’t be coy with me, asshole. I’m talking about you and your inability to be patient or respectful to others around you.”

“Excuse me? What? What are you saying? Do I know you? What is this all about? Are you for real?”

“Do I look fake to you, sir? Do I sound like a figment of your imagination? I assure you I’m very real and I’m very angry.”

Now, keep in mind, this conversation is fairly low key and somewhat in hushed tones. But male-purse douche gets agitated at this point and decides to raise his voice.

“Who the fuck are you?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?! I cut him off? I cut you off? What the fuck?! Life is too short, man. Life is too short to be so petty. Life is too short! Who the fuck are you to talk to me like that?”

“I’m the guy who you cut off outside this liquor store a few minutes ago. Actually, it wasn’t just me, but the person driving the Volvo in front of me. And not even THAT person but the two lanes of southbound traffic you pulled in front of to get in the parking lot, you inconsiderate fuck.”

“What Volvo? What are you talking about? You come at me with this in here? Jesus Christ! Life is too short to give a shit, man!”

“This coming from a European Shoulder Bag carrying dick who almost caused a serious accident to get to the liquor store a few seconds quicker.”

“Man, how old are you? Really? I mean, REALLY? Did you lose a fight or something tonight? Huh?”

“Oh no. But I assure you I’m more than willing to get in one.”

It was at this point that I felt my hand reversing the way I was holding my vodka bottle so that, instead of gripping it by the neck, I had turned the bottle upside down to hold it very much like a blunt object. Like a bat.

What’s even more scary is that I had every ounce of my being wanting to knock this guy across the head with it. When that thought popped in my head (and I wasn’t even drunk), I knew I was about to cross a line that would be with me forever. I also realized that it was disturbing I was feeling this way.

He continued to berate me loudly for being so overly critical of him and his poor driving habits. He kept saying that “life is too short” to be such an ass and confrontational. I finished up my end of the conversation with:

“Yeah, whatever, man. All I’m hearing is ‘blah, blah, blah’ and you not manning up to being a douche bag driver and apologizing so I’ll just leave it at that. I’m sorry I even brought it up.”

“Yeah?! You should be sorry. You should be sorry, man! What the hell?! I mean, really, how old are you? Seriously?!”

All I could do was stare at him. I just shut my mouth, eased my grip on my vodka and stared at him. He finished his side of the word fight by turning his back on me (with the assistance of the girl he was with because she could see the tension coming from my side of things) and mumbling under his breath that I was “childish” and “immature” and that this country “was going down the toilet because of people like me”.

The redeeming thing about this entire situation was the girl he was with.

When he turned his back on me and continued to bitch and moan about the confrontation, the girl changed the subject and got him on a different topic of conversation.

Well played.

As the line started to move, she turned around and looked right at me. She mouthed “I’m SO sorry” while pointing her thumb and rolling her eyes at the European Shoulder Bag ass-hat she was with.

But she wasn’t quite quick enough to pull that off and he caught a glimpse of her looking back at me. It was all I could do but laugh at her reaction to the whole situation because I knew, right then and there, she totally agreed with my argument and probably even yelled at him in his fucking Land Cruiser for the stupid stunt he pulled on the street outside that caused the whole mess to begin with.

When he caught her looking at me, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. So he turned his doubt into more anger towards me and said:

“What? Did he say something to you? What the hell, man? Now you gotta pick on her, too?!”

She immediately told him I had done nothing while I laughed at the back of his head. She had to hold onto his windbreaker to keep him from turning around again. I walked around them to get to the next available cashier. I bought my vodka and left. I never looked at them again.

But as I did my shopping, I did think about them and the situation. Once the anger and testosterone rush subsided, I felt embarrassed and bad for my actions. I felt more awful when I realized I was about to cross a bridge of simple arguing to a full scale assault.

For the briefest of moments, I was ready to clunk that dummy across the skull with a weighty vodka bottle. Why? What the hell is happening to me? Is this normal? How stressed am I? What’s wrong? How far gone am I mentally? Is this early signs of me turning into a total crazy person? Jesus Christ.

As much as I hate to admit this, had this happened while I was drunk or slightly intoxicated, I’d have something to blame it on. I could use the excuse that the booze clouded my judgment.

But I can’t say that. And I’m glad I can’t say that. I happy to report that, as I pointed out earlier, I was completely sober when I instigated this situation. I knew I just needed to keep my mouth shut because the guy I was dealing with was showing signs of drug use. He was really wired and chatty and in such a hurry for no apparent reason. This is indicative of people on meth, speed or cocaine.

My guess was he was on cocaine. I’ve been around people using coke and they show this exact behavior. I saw the warning signs yet I still chose to initiate an argument with someone who I knew had total disregard and just didn’t give a shit.

He cut off traffic, he cut me off in line and even cut me off while trying to one-up me in the argument. People who become defensive and know they are in the wrong like to raise their voices. My communication with him always had the same normal, speaking tone. He never got me to raise my voice.

In the end, I won. But, ultimately, he beat me because I gave in and started down a path I didn’t need to in the first place. And I feel really shameful because of it. There was nothing to accomplish with what I set out to do. I just wanted to lash out at him and let him know he was a douche bag. End of story.

But what was I trying to accomplish, exactly? Was I wanting to whip out my cock of superiority and publicly belittle the guy? Well, YEAH! But then what? How does this action benefit the greater good? How does it reflect on me as a person? As a human being?

You know, as you get older, you really start to think and analyze shit like this. I have to smirk to myself because no matter how coked out the guy appeared to be, he was right. How old am I?

I do know that I can take solace in the fact that the behavior he displayed will come back to bite him in the ass (and tear the gay-ass European Shoulder Bag from his person) in the form of karma.

Karma works every time. I should know, it’s worked FOR me and ON me. Both good and bad. Mostly bad.

-Mike The Janitor
©2009
Millenoma Publishing