Sooo…batch-ing it tonight…and in kind of a funky mood.
I headed out on the bike to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place.
Shrimp quesadilla, chips, salsa, and iced-tea. Mmmmmm…
I was mostly done polishing off the excellent meal when a 40-ish guy approached my table.
“Stop looking at my daughter.”
I almost choked. “Excuse me?”
He motioned toward his table. “Stop looking at her.”
I hadn’t been, actually…their table was off my line-of-sight, but more or less between me and the window…which I had been looking out.
Nope, hadn’t given her a glance…but of course, I did NOW. It’s like asking somebody NOT to think of an cat-girl on a trampoline. With tits. A cat-girl with tits on a trampoline.
The table held wife and daughter. Daughter was a 20-ish looker…and wearing tiger prints.
Hmmm…now I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t been looking.
Anyway, he then leaned in and said, “I don’t mean to be rude…”
My experience is that somebody that says that is about to be intentionally rude…I was not disappointed.
He raised his voice so pretty much everybody could hear, “…I don’t want some fat, biker-trash messing with my daughter.” He was trying to impress I guess…it apparently was working. “Wife” was looking at me like I’d just bitten the head off a live wombat. Personally I’m thinking he was overcompensating for something. Maybe his Viagra is losing its punch.
Cat-girl…with tits. Sorry, but yeah, now I was looking. “Cat-girl” was looking anywhere but at the spectacle her dad was making.
I have to say…this kind of thing is pretty rare…I’ve not seen this sort of deliberately rude, confrontational-for-no-reason behavior more than a few times in 35 years on the road…so I was sort of at a loss of how to respond.
Anger? Laughter? A punch to the face? Smacking him upside the head with a headless wombat?
Now, lately…frankly, I’ve been hated on enough for simple things like…being male…simply existing…that I was in absolutely no mood for undeserved snark…and I was having NONE of it.
Since I didn’t have a wombat handy…headless or not…I was actually figuring I could wipe the table with him and was pondering how much of a mess to make…
…and my evil brain kicked in…
Yep, I did it.
I went full-on Jake Blues, complete with the goofy accent.
“How much for the wimmen?”
“The wimmen…the girl…sell them to me…how much for the wimmen?”
Apparently he wasn’t a Blues Brothers fan. I only wish I’d had the hat. I DID have the sunglasses.
Shortly I was escorted from the restaurant. I had a nice conversation with an officer of the law who was kind enough to summon at my request, “Somebody that’s old enough to know what the Blues Brothers are.” That’s when we finally got to laugh about it.
These kids…man…where do the get ’em…and are they really old enough to carry a gun?
Seriously though, there wasn’t much possibility of any law problems…dickless, his wife, and daughter all left just after the cops got there (avoided speaking to them) and the restaurant had no interest in trying to file a complaint.
Insult to injury for dickless? As they were edging by the cops and I on the sidewalk, the daughter blushed and waved at me…I blew her a kiss. “Dad” witnessed the exchange.
Even better…nobody bothered to charge me for my dinner.
I was still channeling the Blues Brothers when I rode off. Elwood this time.
Muhahahaha! I’m having a good night.
I’ll see you on the road.