Roast Beast extra Rare

I love Massachusetts.

The state is now completely lousy with moral rejects from GLAD. Every single one of them has this big moby chip on their shoulder. Last night, around eightish, I was in our local Stop and Shop supermarket, at the Deli counter, waiting with my ticket.

"Number 54." Chimed the delightful cherub behind the counter.

"Here." Your's truly said, placing his ticket in the small plastic receptacle.

"I have been waiting here way longer than you!" An angry voice belts out to my side.

Frankly, I didn't see her at all. Apparently the staff didn't either, since they did not rush to her defense, as they usually do. This woman looked late fifties, early sixties, short hair, bottle bottom spectacles, no ring on her finger, male attire, male voice. You are beginning to get the picture. She was probably browsing blue cheese or something equally moldy.

"Sorry, But I didn't see you." I said with raised eyebrows.

"Well I was HERE." She spat.

"O .. K ... But there is this ticket vending machine."

"There were two of us here, I was waiting."

"Look, I grabbed a ticket ... the girl called the number."

"Awright, go ahead A$$HOLE!" Loud. So everyone gets the love note.

Now, she might have been there. I probably would have relented, in a friendly fashion, had she asked nicely. Insolublog's formula for embarrassing public nuisances like this obnoxious bitch, kicked in immediately. What is my first rule of thumb?

Calmly gather data. You will need it.

I cannot place enough emphasis on the importance of this. If you have an age and gender match, circumstances like this might entice you to deliver immediate physical justice. Even if this is true, don't bother. What does that get you? A visit from your local Wyatt Earp, who might have to clean up a dead body, which he hates to do.

Secondly, never use the ugly language you will be so tempted to use. You have another audience to entertain, namely the store staff. So, I strongly insisted she go ahead of me. This means I will have all they time in the world, to work my magic, on her impending deli transaction.

"By all MEANS!, Don't let me stand in your way!" I strongly gestured with the sweeping posture of a theatre usher.

The poor counter girl was nervous. I was going to make her day. Our protagonist had to be asked three times what type of roast beef she wanted.

My silent, towering, burning stare probably didn't help her composure.

"Carando rare, one pound."

I delivered the insolutip: "There is some dish detergent in that aisle over there. You should wash your filthy mouth out."

"Shut up a$$hole." Nice big coke bottle bottom amplified orbs, flashing at me. Obviously a repeat offender.

The staff looked pallid. You would have thought they had a bloody torso up on the slicer. The last customer snuck in to grab some pita. He had that grimace you get when you are playing "Don't break the Ice" and you are at the precipice of mechanical failure.

"You might need straight bleach. Do you kiss your life partner with that mouth?" I quipped, using my first round of data.

Of course I did not know her gender preference with absolute certainty. It was an educated guess. I looked over at the girl who was juggling that 20lb rare Carando slab. I winked. That did it. She smiled with clenched teeth and tiptoed to the slicer.

"F%@#k you!... a$$hole!" Ms. Manners purpled.

It looks like we have a one word wonder here. I detected a little NYC (perhaps) in the accent. With that extensive five decades of accumulated vocabulary, she was probably a tenured public teacher.

"Here you go. Will there be anything else?" The counter girl managed to blurt out.

"I don't think so; It stinks of a$$hole around here."
Nice. Now she is spraying the counter girl with her oral diarrhea. I was smiling now. Time for another piece of data.

"Miss." I addressed the counter girl with a chuckle, "You should check that beef for hormones." Add a brisk nod of affirmation, loud whisper with "I think her dose is a bit high."

"Oh, you think you are just the biggest smartest a$$hole in the world, don't you?!" Straight from the sewer pipe, to you.

I am beginning to think some court ordered medication has been skipped. I point both index fingers, gun style, to the repeat offender, as I rebound with a nice recycled joke from high school.

"You see what I mean Miss? Whore... moans."

Dusty van Dyke snorts like a bull and starts to circle the deli. I was not really fair to the staff. They were heroic in their attempts to keep straight faces. I figured they did not want to deal with management, should my nemesis raise any personal objections to their behavior. The girl filled my order for roast beef and Hoffman's sharp cheese. I suspect that Dusty was waiting for me to move my smelly a$hole away from the counter, so she could bring the rest of the bacon home to the wife.

As the cute elfin counter girl passed my wrapped cheese, She leaned forward, down patted the air, like a conductor, with her other clear plastic glove.

"Oh..(pause)..my..(pause)..GOD! That was ... awesome!" she whispered.

"Just upholding civilization, M'am." I winked again. God bless the new generation.

Now is the proper time to plant that seed of an implied threat, in the virgin soil of truth.

"(Sigh) I guess I will now take my deli wares to the parking lot."

Place loud emphasis on the last two words, so they may be heard by the intended party. Of course you just drive off, letting any potential fear and imagination work wonders. Given the hormone induced beef aggression, it probably had little effect.

It is just another wonderful evening in Mr. Roger's liberal Massachusetts neighborhood, where the neighbors love mankind, but generally hate men. I am enjoying my portion of that rare roast beef, with some fresh tomato, right now. Yummy.