DIE BITCH DIE

That’s seriously what a guy yelled at me about an hour ago. 
Die. Bitch. Die. 
(not from tonight but illustrates the story well)

I was walking down the side of the road, it was dark out, and, I’ll be honest, it scared me a bit.

Until I got mad.

I got so mad. Who does that? Who yells things like that at strangers?

Die? Bitch? DIE? Really?

I stopped in my tracks to really hear what they said. I mean…I get yelled at a lot but that? Bothered me. As I was standing there I was somehow able to see beyond the confusion and the red haze of rage that they pulled into the gas station/McDonalds parking lot like half a block up from where I was. Before I even thought about what I was going to do I was running that way. I was going to GET THEM.

I was hoping they’d be stuck in the line-up for the McDonalds drive thru, and then I could run up on the car and bang on the windows. I am wearing all black and my hood was up, I think I could scare them like they scared me. Just run up and be like “HEY! WHAT? WHAT NOW?” all agro and gangster.

I slowed to a jog and then maintained a purposeful stride when I reached the parking lot. I had like, laser mind. I was the terminator, on a mission to terrify some dudes, or at least make them think about what they did.

I scanned the parking lot and couldn’t see the car…well maybe…was that it? They had been driving some innocuous brownish dirty sedan. And that is exactly the type of car like 45 percent of McDonalds patrons drive so…I wasn’t sure.

It had only been a few minutes, they couldn’t be far. They definitely weren’t at the gas station and they weren’t in the drive thru line-up (darn it), so I figured they must be inside the actual restaurant.

I kind of half jogged up to the McDonalds window and put my face right up to it. The plan changed to just them seeing me staring creepily through the window and then me doing that action where it’s like you’re pretending to cut your throat. Or maybe I’d do the two fingers to my eyes point to them thing that’s the universal sign for “I’m watching you”. Something. I don’t know.

When I looked in the window all I could see was just one teenage boy at the counter ordering food. He looked pretty young. Could he even drive? He had really saggy pants and a backwards hat and oh, this is good, a crappy silver chain that looked ridiculously large over his t-shirt.

Was that him? I had no idea.

Then another teenage boy came around the corner. He was gawky as hell, his neck was so long it probably belonged on a cartoon vulture, not a human boy. They were both real dorks, to be honest.

I thought about how to proceed. They weren’t seeing me there, and a car full of like, families or whatever had pulled up and were looking at me strange. At least they were creeped out. That’s something.

I eventually just left, having done nothing at all. I figured going through puberty was probably enough torture for those kids anyway and there was nothing I could really do that would get through to them without making a ridiculous scene, which I was just not prepared to do.

These are the days of my life.
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