Ah, Road Rage

"Watch were the hell you are going, bitch!" the woman yelled at me from the open window of her blue Buick.

"What the hell are you talking about!? The damn light was green! Try looking up every once and a while...we call those things stop lights you dumbass!"

The road rage had begun. It was Tuesday afternoon and I was on my way back to school. I had just taken an hour break to enjoy some Subway with a couple of my girlfriends. The weather was nice out and I was in a fairly decent mood. I was sitting in my crappy little Cavalier listening to some All American Rejects. I was at the light on 17th and Medford, just waiting patiently for my chance to turn left onto 17th Street and head back to Henderson. The light finally turned green for me and I started to go. Halfway through the intersection, I heard the loud screeching of tired against the pavement. I turned to my left just in time to see a large woman with three young children in the car screaming obsenities at me through her open window. As an automatic reaction, I immediately started screaming back at her, loudly explaining what a dipshit she was. It was a bad call on my part to stoop to her level when there were small children witnessing the confrontation, but I almost seem to develop turretts in these types of situations.

It's amazing to me how a person can be the sweetest thing in the world, talking to you about world peace, and the minute someone cuts them off, they have begun World War III. A complete stranger can become a worst enemy just by making a small mistake on the road. I have absolutely no room to talk. I could quite possibly have the worst road rage in the world. My friends love to laugh hysterically at me as I lecture people from my car on how to drive, as if they could possibly hear what I'm saying. I'm not so sure why I do that. I think maybe in my own twisted mind I feel like I have told them what's up, so therefore I feel better about the situation. I also hope they can read lips.

To conclude, I hate Topeka drivers. Even in the busiest California rush hour traffic people don't make the stupid moves that I see some people make in Topeka. Yes, it's true...I am a Topeka driver. Maybe I'm a hypocrite. Maybe people see me as a stupid driver, but until I agree with them, I will exclude myself from the population of Topeka drivers.

Are you talking to me?????

I'm a busy person. I don't have much free time, and the free time I do have is occupied by homework. I have classes all day Monday through Thursday, including a night class on Wednesdays. I work on Monday and Thursday nights from four o'clock until eleven o'clock. On Friday's I work from ten in the morning until at least ten at night. I play tennis on Tuesday nights from six until nine and my weekends are almost always spent in Wichita. I do my best to balance school, work and a social life, although the social life has been lacking quite a bit lately. I do everything in my power to not let one interfere with the other.

A couple of Monday's ago, I was called into work early. I didn't get out of class in time to make it to work, so I had planned to leave my class ten minutes eary. That would give me just enough time to run home, change my clothes, take the dogs out and get to work. Dinner would just have to wait until another night.

So, three o'clock rolls around and I packed up my things to leave. I made sure to sit by the door that day so I could quietly make my escape without interupting the class at all. However, when I stood up to leave, I was brought to an abrupt stop.

"Excuse me, where do you think you are going?" said my professor, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
"I"m going to work," I replied in complete shock.
"You mean you are leaving before my class is over?"
"Yes, I'm leaving before your class is over."
"Well is this going to be a regular thing, or is this just happening today?"
"Well, I'm not sure. I'm hoping that it just happens today."
"Well the next time you want to leave my class early, you need to let me know."

After that, I just walked out. I was pissed! I couldn't believe she confronted me like that in front of everyone! Why did it matter if I left ten minutes early!? I'm paying for the class. I'm paying her salary. I should be able to leave whenever I feel like it. She isn't paying my bills, so work had to come first that day. I just couldn't understand why ten minutes was such a big deal. And another thing, she never comes to class early anyways. She always walks in late and immediately starts lecturing. I wouldn't have had the chance to tell her I had to leave early even if I wanted to.

I was so mad. I just wanted to go back in there and tell how rude she was. I was thinking up all these mean things to say to her in an email or the next time I saw her, but then I realized one very important thing....she controls my grade. Doesn't that suck? So now I'm left with nothing to do about it except talk about her in my blog. When next semester rolls around, remind me to not take any communications classes. Or at least not with her...for a communications professor, she really sucks at communicating.

It was Monday night around eight o'clock. The restaurant was dead. There were hardly any people in there eating at the time. A tall, heavy-set man walked in the door and headed straight for the bar. He leaned over the counter and waited. The manager, who had been behind the bar cashing out a server who was anxiously waiting to go home, turned to the man and greeted him with a hello.

"The bartender will be right out to help you sir," he said, returning to his screen where he had originally been. Not two seconds later, the bartender came walking into the bar and went straight up to the man.

"Have you been helped yet, sir?" she asked.

"No, not yet," the man said in a disquisted voice. That comment alone was enough to suggest the man wasn't going to be easy to take care of. She headed to the other side of the bar and grabbed a menu for the man to look at. As she turned to place it in front of him, she was stopped dead in her tracks.

"I don't need a damn menu," he said. "I know exactly what I want."

"Ok then," she responded, still trying to be somewhat friendly. "What can I get for you?"

"I want all-you-can-eat shrimp. I want all of them fried. I want a baked potato with just butter on the side, half of a salad with no cucumbers and thousand island dressing, also on the side. I want you to bring me two biscuits and I want a diet coke to drink...but I don't want you to get it from the fountain you have behind the bar. I want you to go to the soda fountain in the back and get it from there. And while you are back there, fill up a pitcher of diet coke as well. I drink a lot when I eat."

"Are you sure that's all you want?" the girl responded.

By now, she was beyond the point of being nice. She just wanted to get him in and out, with as little conversation as possible. She took the man's order and rang it in, then immediately went to the back to get his salad. She made the salad herself, making sure she accomplished his every request. She grabbed his two biscuits and headed back up front. As she approached the bar, she noticed her manager was back up there once again. He was wiping up a water spot that had been left on the bar.

"I would have just asked the bartender to do it, but she hasn't been up here for quite a while now," said the man.

The bartender took a deep breath, and placed his salad in front of him. She set the bread down to the right of him and immediately walked away. She was minutes away from exploding on him. She desperately wanted to mention the fact that the water spot had come from the entire of pitcher of diet coke that he had previously requested, and if he wouldn't have been so picky, she probably wouldn't have been gone so long. Instead, she turned to the pile of dishes that she had left behind. As she started to watch each glass individually, the cranky old man critiqued her work.

"How can you possibly be getting those dishes clean?" the man asked. "All you are doing is running them over that brush and then dipping them into a bunch of different sinks full of water."

"Trust me, they're clean," she responded. Normally she would have gone on to explain how each sink was filled with a different sanitizer and by doing that, they get cleaner than if she were to run them through a dishwasher. But she felt it was best if she just left it alone.

By now the man was starting to get a clue. He remained quiet for the remainder of the meal. He eventually asked for his bill and pulled out his credit card. The bartender ran his credit card and placed the slips in front of him.

"Have a good night, sir," she said before returning to her dishes.

He signed both copies and started to head for the door. "Thanks for putting up with me," he said with a chuckle.

After work, the bartender headed straight home and pulled out her bookbag. She spent the next few hours doing homework. She studied harder that night than she ever had before. It was people like that who motivated the girl to get done with school. Bartending was definitely not how she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

Getting old

I always thought getting old was such a horrible thing. I would even say I've always kind of had a fear of getting old. But I've realized that's ridiculous! Getting old isn't as bad as I thought.

I mean, think about it. When you get older, you automatically get respect. You don't have to earn it and you don't have to work for it. It's an unwritten rule that you respect your elders.

Another perk is the fact that you can act however you want when you get older. You don't have to be concerned with being friendly at all. However, if you are, that's just an added plus. For example, as well all know, I work at a restaurant. I have a lot of elderly couples that come in during the day to eat. They have absolutely no problem telling me exactly what to do, and not in the friendliest manner. They don't mind sending me on 20 different trips to the kitchen until they get exactly what they want. They're always quick to tell me when I've done something wrong, even though half the time I didn't do anything wrong, they just got confused.

My favorite part of getting old, however, is the fact that I will be able to say absolutely anything I want. Here's a prime example:

The other day I was at Michael's with Tyler. We were in the check-out line waiting to pay for a picture frame that I was buying. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted an elderly woman staring at us. I started to wonder what we could possibly be doing wrong, but before I could figure it out, she was on her way over to fill me in on it. She walked right up to me and grabbed me by the arm.

"Ya know, honey, you should really tell your man here to invest in a belt," she said with a perfectly straight face. I smiled, although in my head I was thinking, what the hell is she talking about?

"All I would have to do is give his britches a little tug and his pants would fall right off," she continued.

I couldn't help but to laugh. I didn't know what else to do. How do you respond to that? Luckily before I had to say anything, her daughter came rushing over and pulled her away from us.

"Come on mom, leave these kids alone," the lady said, flashing us the "I'm sorry" face.

The look on Tyler's face was priceless. He looked half embarrassed and half confused. It was hilarious!

Anyways, the point is that I'm no longer afraid of growing old. In fact, I'm getting to the point where I can't wait!