Tuesday, January 06, 2009

i should have known not to sit there.

his enormous, eighties trench coat was taking up its own seat and he didn't move it until i stood and pointed. he had frat boy hair, smelled like an idiot and sat with his legs spread wide. i very carefully chose a man to marry who crosses his legs when he sits - since the cowboy, bulge-visible-to-all stance makes me dry heave. these things are crucial to life long happiness.

but back to douche bag. he was also jabbering, much too loudly for san francisco bus ettiquete, on his cell:

hey hey hey! yeah yeah dude, it's the WAGS! so just wanted to let you know i'll be in tahoe on friday. and i'm bringing the FUN! and by FUN i mean LIQUOR! i can guarantee you won't be sober THIS weekend! what's that? you've gotta go? okay! see you on FRIDAY!

at this point, i've moved my body so far away from him and towards the window it looks like i'm ready to propose.

he sits still for 30 seconds, taps his foot. thumps his leg. dials phone again.

hey hey hey! yeah dawg, it's WAGMAN! dude, how messed UP were we last night? in the past 72 hours, i've slept like 6. i mean take THAT '09! oh - what's that? you've gotta go? oh - okay, dude! LATER!

i slowly swivel my head to the right and stare. i send thoughts of evil and death and spitting. i think he starts to feel them. his leg is tapping, but he's not dialing. i think i see a rivulet of sweat descend his cro-magnon brow. suddenly, the phone rings in his hands. he's ecstatic.

WAGGY here! oh. oh hello. yes, this is matthew waggerston. oh. oh i see. seven thousand you say? um. let me - let me get right back to you.

hangs up, hangs head. dials phone.

hey mom? i - i need to talk to dad about his credit card.

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