What a… Nice Man

Would you like to know something about me that a lot of people don’t know?

I’m a really good liar… when I want to be. The reasons why not a lot of people know this are twofold. Firstly, I very rarely use this superpower of mine. I don’t use it professionally or in relationships. In fact, I only really ever use it for self-preservation. The second reason you don't know this is… well… because I’m a really good liar.

(Before I progress further, I should say that there will be an element of strong language in this post so take a view on that, eh?)

But, getting back to the self-preservation thing, it’s definitely something I do; lying to survive. And, mostly, it relates to cars and driving.  I get shirty, you see, when it comes to cars and driving. I say things that I probably shouldn’t say or, more pertinently, that I shouldn’t be heard saying. Sometimes, people hear me saying them and get a little belligerent. That’s when I break out my little talent. I don’t know Kung Fu and I can’t give off a bad smell like a skunk (well.. Friday nights, perhaps…) so I use what little talent God gave me. I lie through my teeth.

You need a ‘For Instance.’ I can tell, even from here. Okay, I’ll tell you one but, I warn you, you won’t believe it. You’ll say, “He’s embellished that story. That dude never bought that line.” But, if you think that, you’ll be wrong. Because I didn’t and he did.

I was walking through the TK Maxx car park one day, heading to meet a good friend.

(Shoop da doo)

When I stopped to watch a car drive along, across the roadway I was about to traverse.

(Cross la rue)

Sorry. Sorry. The story just sounded like it might fit into that ‘Da Dooh’ song from ‘Little Shop of Horrors.’ The one where Seymore finds Audrey II. I’ll stop it now. Sorry.

So this car was coming towards me, and it was going very, very slowly. So slowly that I could have probably stepped out and crossed in front of it and been halfway to my appointment before it got to the place where I was standing. But I didn’t think that was right. In fact, I became rather convinced that the car would stop for me and wave me across, given how slowly it was going and all.

I waited and waited. The car eased on through. Slowly, slowly, it came up alongside me. The driver and front seat passenger gave me no acknowledgement whatsoever.

As the car passed me. I clearly uttered the following opinion:

“What a Fucking Asshole.”

The car went on and I started over the road behind it but not before noticing the driver’s window had been opened as the car had passed. I had crossed the road and was making my way on through the large car park when my peripheral vision informed me that the car was describing a very large, very slow, circle around the outer reaches of the parking area. It was working its way back to me.

I kept walking. The car closed in and eventually pulled up in front of me. Second time lucky, I guess. Peering in the open nearside window I saw a little old lady in the passenger seat. The driver was across the way. He was lurking in the gloom over there, but I could still tell that he was an enormous tattooed man with a long grey goatee.

“Hey,” he said, across his purse-lipped old Mum.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Don’t call me a ‘Fucking Asshole’,” he said.

“Sorry?” I replied, he was a long way into the car and he was also a little quiet. I had reckoned I had got the gist of his statement but wanted to be sure.

Granny piped up.

“Don’t call him a fucking asshole,” she said.

I remember that scene in the first Terminator movie where there’s a guy at Arnie’s door asking questions and Arnie/Terminator has to come up with a reply for him. You get to see his mind processes flicking through the various options available to him.

I did that. When Granny said ‘fuck’ to me, I did that.

Here’s what I came up with.

I laughed at both of them. I laughed warmly and with some enthusiasm. I could feel them both looking at me in disbelief. He with all the brawn and Granny with all the outrage and the cute linguistics.

“You thought… you thought…,” I laughed some more. “You thought I was calling you a Fucking Asshole?”

They looked at me some more.

“That’s so funny. What on earth would I call you a ‘Fucking Asshole’ for? I mean, what did you do?”

They were clearly at a loss. In their little world, they hadn’t done anything.

“I was talking to myself,” I said, “I just remembered that I forgot to lock the office door and I called myself a ‘Fucking Asshole.’ I do it all the time.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You thought…” Then I laughed a bit more. 

Then the man laughed and then Granny sort-of laughed. I was kind of hoping she swear again ‘cos that was kind of cool. “Man, you’re fucking crazy!” or something like that. But she didn’t.

I smiled some more and pointed at them with the gun-fingers of both hands.

“Fucking assholes!” I said, in a poor New York accent and with a big smile.

Then they drove away.

As they went, I gave them a warm wave, solely for the benefit of his rear view mirror. As I started once more on my way to my rendezvous, I reflected on the interaction that had just occurred. 

“Fucking Assholes,” I said.