The B12 (XII) Forum, home of the 'Front Porch, y'all' at College Football Fan Site, CFB51!!!

Today I was reminded of something I hate: poky a-holes.

Poky a-holes sounds like poking a-holes, but that’s a horse of a different and... (drum roll please) we’re not going to get... in... to that, right now.  SWIDT?

Poky a-holes is the ax I want to grind.

In life we go at different speeds.  Sometimes in a motorized vehicle or on foot we have to slow down to accommodate the slower (aka poky) ones.  It’s ok.

And sometimes in life we encounter a-holes.  It can be disheartening or entertaining.  Thing about a-holes though is that they’re honest with their feelings.   It’s ok.

But poky a-holes.   The mix is too strong and too hurtful.  Let me tell you what I mean.

A car pulls out in front of you and slows you down while there’s no room to pass.  They’re poky but they’re not actually a poky a-hole until you see them look right at you in their review mirror and take thir foot off the accelerator to go even slower.

Or you’re coming out a door of a business as someone else is coming in.  You step aside to be a gentleman.  There’s a smile on your face and no malice in your heart.  But the the recipient of your kindness perceptibly slows down.  Now they’re not only large but they seem to have acquired a temporary limp.  Poky a-hole.

You’re driving home through your neighborhood at 25 or 30 miles an hour.  You don’t want to run over anybody.  A couple in their 60s are jaywalking so you ease to a complete stop as they slow their pace and give you the stink eye.   Poky a-holes.

Where do these people come from?  Why are they so hateful and ugly?

Back in the day, back on the Easide, young brothers would occasionally strut slowly across the path of traffic.  But they always had big shit eating grins on their face and a ready laugh when they made you chuckle.  You could tell they meant no harm they were just having fun.

Now it’s folks of all colors.  Milfs in Hondas, elderly people, middle aged folks young couples.

Rude, poky a-holes angry at people just like themselves for just doing the same thing in the same place at the same time.

What has this world come to?

this is why I could never go back and live in Nebraska...  everyone seems to have more time than I have.  And it's not about going 60 in a 55.. at least go 55.  

And what about the 17 people in America who still write checks.

Get behind one of those dinosaurs at the grocery store and you might as well just drop your groceries and leave.

so... you're the problem

so... you're the problem

only if you're behind me

May have shared I took a part time job at Home Depot a few years ago to pay off some debt and buy a bunch of used vehicles for the ninos without incurring more debt.
Most people paid with credit but there was always a Mr Clever Change Maker.
Total might be $32.78.  Mr. Clever Change Maker would give you two twenties, three ones and three pennies and act like he had cracked the DiVinci code.
They were always middle aged Midwestern guys who talked like William Macy in ‘Fargo.’
They’d be like, ‘Do yooo see what I did thar?’
I’d nod and say, “That’ll do, pig.”

I would have given him a five, five ones, and five nickels.

I went up to the local barbecue place (Smokey Mo’s, Junior, the one in Leander across from the boneyard on Bagdad) to get a couple of pounds of chopped beef to slap on hamburger buns and there was an old geezerly dood in line in front of me afflicting everybody in the place with his unprovoked, unsolicited and unappreciated friendliness like inconsiderate old bastards like to do.

When they rang up his order, he asked twice how much it was and started getting real excited practically jumping up and down on one leg.  Then he said what I knew he was going to say - “I believe I have the exact change.”

So dood unloads everything from his pockets.  A key ring holding every key he had ever used in his life, a very fat wallet containing every business card, receipt  and photo anybody had ever given him, a peppermint, a pocketknife, a tire gauge, a spark pluge and $11.78 in quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies.

I know for a fact it was $11.78 because he painstakingly counted it out four times and his order was $12.78.

When he finally pulled out the old debit card he was a whupped pup who probably hated everybody in the place for not saying something like, “Here pop, have a dollar.”

But hell, I only get dollars when I want to tip the green van driver at Fast Park or the egg cooker at Embassy Suites.

This ain’t 1964.  Who the hell carries money?

I rarely carry cash.   it's a hastle