Yesterday was a lovely day, uh huh. Right.

I woke up in a sour mood, but still went about my usual morning routine all the while dreading having to go to work. And this was the first time I EVER wished my scooter would not start. It's the worst time of the year for me, getting ready for the annual physical inventory. I absolutely hate it. All the orders have to be finished, the books closed and all that goes with it. Then to top it all off the staff politics are running in the background. Petty shit mind you, but aggravating to say the least.

Anyway, the day goes as expected, full of nonsensical bullshit but expected by myself. It is what it is. I walk out of work, peel my shirt off and saddle up to ride home. The bike fires over and I sit there for a few moments listening to the straight pipes rumble, as well as taking care of a "mind dump" to shed the day out of my mind. That's one thing I always do, leave work at work. I always tell people I don't get paid past the front door, and I do my best to stick to that personal rule of mine. I rack the throttle a few times, mainly because it pisses a few people off, so I feel obligated, know what I mean?

I ride the few miles to town, feeling the day blow off of me. About half way home as I'm slowing down to make a stop at an intersection I glance over as a blue Buick approaches in the opposite lane. Just as it passes me I get hit in the face with a spray from a water gun. " AW HELL NO! You little f*cker!"

The car of course heads off in the opposite direction while my instincts kick in and I make a fast turn into a parking lot. "You just made a mistake you little bastard. I'm in no mood for anybody's shit today."

I follow the Buick from a distance, trying to catch up but the car veers off into a trailer court. I wheel into the drive of the trailer park the bike sliding in the gravel and yet the Buick has disappeared. So I ride along the gravel drive looking for the car. Yahtzee! There it is! I stop the scoot in front of the  trailer house, kick the peg down and throw my leg over to dismount. Well wouldn't you know, there the little punk is, staring out the window along with his parents. Judging from the looks on their faces, Id say they wanted to piss down their legs. I could be wrong, but I don't think so. I stand there, my right forefinger inviting them to come out and talk to me.  They apparently weren't going to accept my invite, so I walk to the car, bend the antenna over and clamp onto it with my teeth. I'd say I probably looked like a rabid mutt having an orgasmic time with a favorite chew toy. Several shakes of the head along with some growling I let go of the antenna. I look the car over like it's a big juicy pork chop and then I unroll my Gene Simmons tongue out and lick down the driver side windshield. The fear in their eyes told me all I need to know. They didn't want to come out and play with the big cuddly biker!

After standing there and grinning at them for a few seconds I figured it was probably time I make my exit before they or a neighbor decided to call the cops to have the car licking maniac arrested. I straddle the scoot, rack the throttle a few times to mark my exit, kick her into gear and head off.

So, how was your day?

Respect.

Tags: Scared Punk Water Gun Ride Face Water Pissed

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