Minding My Manners

I almost got into a fight in the parking lot at Rite Aid. I wasn’t even in a bad mood. I was driving slowly looking for a parking spot when this guy in a red van backed out, right in front of me. I stopped and waited. I could have beeped, just a passive aggressive but friendly -Hey Mister who doesn’t look before he zips back out of a space when there could have been a little child, puppy or granny walking by- tap on the horn. But I didn’t. He still had about 4 feet. But he stopped. I think he was glaring at me but I couldn’t tell because I didn’t have my glasses on. He waited. I waited. He was yelling something so I unrolled the window. PUT IT IN FUCKING REVERSE, he screamed. His face was squished down and contorted. His tone was so out of proportion to the situation that I didn’t even really grasp what he was telling me to do. He might as well have been telling me to put a pair of pants on my head and do a cartwheel on the sidewalk. But then I responded without thinking.

NO, I shouted back. If I was in Philly I might have added Go Fuck Yourself!, and then the guy would have chuckled and shook his head (all right, we’re on the same team) but I wasn’t, so I didn’t. I just said, Sir, you still have four feet. He floored it to an inch in front of me and peeled out I front of two Moms carrying flats of Starbucks.

Why’d you call him Sir, Darla asked with that look that 12 year old girls around the world have perfected, the one that says why do you always have to embarrass me you insane moron.

I don’t know, I thought, I don’t think I’ve used the word sir since I was a waitress, I just didn’t know him well enough to call him an asshole.