Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Rude Boys And High Drama In The B Of A Line

More Bank Of America stories (you can tell how much I deal with these guys). So after I pick my kids, plus one of their friends up from their schools, we head over to the B of A so they can cash their paychecks. Both my children teach at my wife's arts school, with my son teaching drums and my daughter teaching the piano. We get in a medium sized line and instantly they all have to go to the bathroom (I wonder if they go at all during the school day). I notice my daughter didn't fill out a withdraw slip and take one step back from the line, to write on one of those little bank lobby tables. Now this Bank Of America is in the corner of a busy grocery store so people are always cutting through the bank line to get to the food court, etc. As I am almost done writing, one foot still in line, a short mans shadow cuts past me and squeezes into line just ahead of me. I turn and facing the little tattooed Jesse James wannabe say, "Are you cutting ahead of me- I was still in line?" He replies, "I'm just rude that way." I was a little confused- this has never happened to me in my entire life (that I can remember). The guy is not intimidating at all- just...just...rude. I look up and see there is a gal in front of him that looks like she could be his girlfriend. She is texting on a black iPhone. He pulls out a black iPhone and starts texting. They don't look at each other, but definitely look like they belong together. Ohh that's it, I think, he's with her. I say aloud, "So your with her?" nodding in the girls direction. He replies not looking up, "Yeah, I'm just an asshole." So I take this as an apology and begin small talk. "We're all assholes sometimes. Hey where'd you get your tat work done?" He looks up from his iPhone and says point blank, "Look- I'm rude and really don't want to talk to you." I was stunned. Was I misreading this guy? All I could say was, "Yeah I guess you are fuckin' rude." Just then one of the Bank Tellers with a clipboard in her hand came through the line, you know when the line starts getting past a certain point they usually send out a teller who asks, "Can I take your deposit so you don't have to be in line, yadda yadda yadda." I know her fairly well and we start talking about my last movie and my new film we are working on. This seems to bother Mini Balding Jessie James, but oh well. Then a tall lanky kid walks up to Mini J.J. (his son I guess) and stands with him and the iPhone gal in the shrinking bank line. My own kids get back from the bathrooms. Just then iPhone gal walks up to the counter, without Mini J.J. and lanky boy. Shit- the bastard lied to me! What a rude little fuck! I throw Mini J.J. my most evilest of stink eyes- but he won't look at me. Him and his boy go to the next teller finish their bank biz and looking down walk past me. Now I am pissed- but it is my turn at the bank teller. Over my shoulder I watch which direction rude boy is going. He is going into the store- yes! So I finish with the banking transactions, hand my kids their money, then rush through the store isles looking for Mini J.J. I want to find him and then bump-smash into him (accidentally of course), knocking his little dew rag off his spanky bald head. Back and forth I cruise, isle after isle- but no Mini J.J. I cruise past the check stands- no Mini J.J.! My kids are getting impatient- so we grab some snacks and head out. I vainly search the parking lot for Mini J.J. Not a sign of the little rude shit! That night I find myself still thinking about the incident. A part of me is still the testosterone driven idiot of my youth. Another part, the maturing part, strives for something much more. The funny thing is how quickly reason gets throw out the window for a good fist fight. Yin and Yang. I know all life experiences have meaningful lessons in the chocolatey centers- the question is how many licks does it take to get to the center of lifes Tootsie Pop?

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