I can’t even have dinner without dealing with the personality disordered!
So my wife and I went to Ruby Tuesday’s tonight because both of us were looking forward to their delicious salad bar. Unfortunately, when it was my turn to fill my plate, I got stuck behind Pokey McFiddlefuck who took forever to make her salad. As far as I was concerned, she was doing it purposely; it was all in the way she took her sweet-ass time.
Just choosing between the spinach leaves, spring mix, romaine, and iceberg was nearly a five-minute ordeal. Now imagine her consternation with the rest of the bar’s myriad offerings! At each choice, she’d dab a little bit onto her plate that look at me out of the corner of her eye, which was hidden behind a tangled mess of black hair. Then, keeping her feet planted to the floor, she continued to ponder each additional choice as if it were a matter of life or death. I could almost hear her thinking, Do I want the cucumbers? Hmmmmm… And what about the carrots? I can’t remember if I like shredded carrots or not.
She even fucked with me when she got to the dressing station.
As if considering the fate of the free world, Pokey could not decide which dressing to put upon her salad. Again, after what seemed like five minutes, she finally decided on Ranch… for half of the salad. With the skill and precision of an artist working on his masterpiece, she drizzled the creamy white dressing into a pattern that would’ve made Jackson Pollack jealous. Then, after another minute, she finally decided to go with French on the other half. Needless to say, it was applied with equal attention to detail. With one more sideways glance to me, she finally walked back to her table… slowly.
I was certain the bitch was fucking with me because I’ve seen this type of behavior before. My friend, The Dude, has often employed similar passive-aggressive tactics to piss people off in social situations where the other person felt compelled not to say anything. One time on our way back from a hunting trip, we stopped at a small party store somewhere in the sticks. I no sooner got one foot inside the door when the backwoods idiot working behind the counter shouted, “You talking to me?” I said, “No. I’m talking to my friend,” but this wasn’t enough to calm him down. His eyes, with their angry, confrontational, I’ll-kick-your-ass-right-here-and-now glare, never left me the entire time I was in the store.
And The Dude made sure we were in the store a good long while.
Seeing that the Backwoods was being a complete asshole, my friend purposely dawdled about to further annoy the asshole. Unsure of whether he wanted Funyuns or Doritos, he carefully read the ingredients on each package, counting both calories and sodium count. He was likewise as careful when choosing his soda and candy bar. By the time we got to the counter, Backwoods was a deep shade of red just shy of lobster and he was shaking as he tallied up our total. I thought he was going to jump across the counter on us but ironically, we walked out with our goods while his mighty stare of impotent rage followed us every step.
The difference between The Dude and Pokey McFiddlefuck is that he had a legitimate reason to pull that shit. Backwoods was a total asshole to me for no reason whatsoever; I believe Pokey did it just to be a bitch. I almost said something to her but held back because I didn’t want to ruin one of the precious few nights out with my wife. She looked like the type who would’ve talked shit back, ensuring that her husband got involved as well. He would no doubt take exception to me “frontin’” on his woman, which would have ultimately led to me knocking both of them the fuck out. And for what? Fifteen extra minutes at the salad bar? Some things really aren’t worth it.
I got back to the table and told my wife about it and she promptly pointed out that I can’t know with any degree of certainty that Pokey was doing it intentionally. Having two Autistic sons, she said that there is a good chance that woman could be Autistic as well – or have a similar condition – where precise order and patterns are a must. I conceded that she was right; I did not know that woman so there’s no way I could know with 100 percent certainty that there wasn’t an innocent and legitimate reason for her taking so long.
The pep talk from the Mrs. allowed me to put everything behind me and enjoy the rest of our evening. I even forgot about Pokey, completely losing track of where she and her husband were in the restaurant. I didn’t see her again until we were pulling out of the parking lot. She and her husband slowly walking toward their car… slowly. Right at the point of us driving past them, she looked up at me and smiled and it was the nastiest, most mean-spirited and mischievous smile I had ever seen.
I knew it. Fucking bitch!