Steve and I stopped at Chipotle to grab dinner after doing our Christmas and grocery shopping. When I came out with Steve’s piping hot burrito, our car wouldn’t start. So I asked a stranger for help. Just a quick jump, we have the cables, you just need to keep your car running. He said no. Well, he said it was a rental car and he wasn’t sure where everything was on it…and if you can imagine a human voice trailing off, imagine that now. What an asshole. Go home and watch tv with your hot burrito, you insensitive smurf of a man. And when I see your white Chrysler stalled on 680 in the snow, don’t be surprised when I don’t pull over to help you. Or if I yell out my window, “I thought it was a rental, prick!” and zoom by, because that would be more accurate. I love to have the last word.
Just before I gave up all faith in mankind, I decided to try again. After all, this next man exiting had held the door for me not five minutes earlier, so I knew he at least had manners. He said sure he would help, and within mere moments we were all on our way. Faith in humankind restored (at least for now).
Then we stopped at Qdoba for my dinner. I go to Qdoba quite frequently, and always go alone or with girls from work. So Jose jumped the gun by asking the man in front of me if we were together. Perhaps he wanted to be happy for me and think of me as someone other than a woman who enjoys her nachos in front of the tv with a Smirnoff in hand. Perhaps he wanted to think of me as having a relationship outside of the one I have with his staff. Of course, since he had asked if we were together, I had to scope out what this man looked like. He was about my age, maybe a couple years older, wearing a pretty ugly half-zip sweater (navy blue with orange and cream stripes around the cuffs and waist). He was taller and heavier than me, so admittedly, we did look like a match. I answered “no,” that we weren’t together. Jose gave me two dollars off my order. As a result? perhaps, quite possibly, most definitely.