I'm not sure what is wrong with me.
Yesterday, I thought it was the Ashtanga. I spend the first hour and a half of my day reminding my body what it is capable of, and I feel strong and fierce. A side-effect is that I also feel unwilling to accept any bullshit from anybody. Alas, the world seems more than prepared to divvy out bullshit in epic quantities.
Today, I haven't done any Ashtanga, and today I am out for m-f-ing blood. Today seems willing to oblige, so far.
As I was leaving the grocery, I pulled up to - but not past - the white line and stopped, in a turn lane. I needed to make a left turn and was waiting patiently for the light. On my right, a car pulled up and started honking. Apparently I was blocking their view for a right-on-red.
Let me say this again: I pulled up to the white line, but not past it. A quick glance behind confirmed that I could not back up; there were cars there.
The honking increased in frequency, and two young men who looked like extras from Breaking Bad proceeded to flail arms and shout angrily at me. I pointed to the car behind and mouthed, "Sorry!" despite not being in the wrong.
They honked louder. The goofier looking fellow began throwing himself against the glass of his window, mouthing obscenities and implying he'd harm me. Bird fingers were waving. Ladies and gentlemen, I was not in the mood. I am still not in the mood. I am not sure what is wrong with me, but I will accept approximately no more shit from any more sources.
I smiled broadly and shrugged. There was literally nothing else I could do. At this point, one of the car dudes got out and began stomping toward my car. I took his photo in case of later legal issues. He pounded on the window of my car, all the while hurling insults. I still couldn't back up, and at this point we had an audience.
I smiled again, which seemed to make him angrier. He demanded that I get out of the car and face him. So I unbuckled my seatbelt and I opened the door.
I'm not sure what he was expecting? When you call a crazy person a few obscene names and then demand they get out of their car, exactly what is it you hope to accomplish?
He kept shouting, invading my personal space and practically beating his chest with gorilla-testosterone-enthusiasm, while I calmly walked over and snapped a photo of the license plate. And of him beside the license plate.
He challenged me to a fight, which was a patently bad idea. I'd get my ass kicked and I know it. Wordlessly, I switched the phone from camera to phone mode and dialed the police.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU STUPID BITCH?"
"Oh me? I'm calling the police."
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THAT, YOU STUPID BITCH?"
"I feel threatened."
"I NEVER SAID I WAS GOING TO FUCKING DO ANYTHING, YOU STUPID CUNT."
"No, but you seem pretty unhappy. I figure I'll just have them come over here and mediate our problem."
"YOU'RE SERIOUSLY CALLING THE FUCKING COPS ON ME?"
And like that, he was gone.
When they arrived, the police were more than happy to take the license plate number and the photo of the unhappy gentleman, and the statement of the drivers who were also waiting in the turn lane. It turns out, there are a few other incidences that the police would like to discuss with them.
I hope their right on red saved them an extra ninety seconds or so.
Moral of the story: Let's give FluterDale a wide berth. Who's next, guys? I'm ready.