Cultural Divides
I can't even describe how happy I am to be sleeping in my own bed tonight.
First of all, right as I was getting out of a cab at Seamus' house, some shithead high school kids threw eggs at me. That sucked, but I was too drunk to be fazed for the moment. Then, neither Seamus nor Day were home, so I went back outside to get in a different cab. Amazingly, the egging bastards were cruising down the street really slowly, looking for the next victim of their juvenile hijinks. Thankfully, some people were taking a really, really long time to get a wasted girl out of a cab, which was parked in such a way that the street was completely blocked. So I calmly walked up to the egg mobile and gave it a solid karate kick right by the gas tank, denting the shit out of the car. The fuckers. I could hear them in the car squealing like pigs off to the slaughter, and I started laughing sadistically. I looked over and saw that, unfortunately, the rear-view mirrors were welded to the body, or else I would have definitely sent one of them flying. The kids didn't appear to feel like getting out of the car for an ass whipping, so I just walked down to Halsted and got in a cab home.
Just moments ago, I screwed a cabbie out of a tip shortly after puking all over the back seat of his car. F that guy. He was a shifty, cheerless bastard, and I'm glad I stiffed him.
I'm normally inclined to over-tip people during the month of December, unless it's some cabbie that I realize is trying to screw me. Even blatantly non-Christian Americans can expect bigger holiday tips from me. I could give a crap about your religious persuasion; that has nothing to do with it. Even if you have Arabic-script postcards taped all over (and I mean ALL over) the dashboard of your cab, first I'll call my G-Man buddy and tell him that I found someone who should appear on some list, but then I'll still throw you a few extra dollars anyway because--let's face it--Christamas stopped being solely about Jesus a long, long time ago. It's not about religion; it's about a feeling of warmth during harsh winter weather. Who cares what the politicians decide to call it, whether Season's Greetings, or Happy Holidays, or Merry Kwanzikahmas, or whatever. Let's all cope with the frost by being nice for a few weeks.
This guy tonight, though, was the Hindu version of the Grinch who stole Christmas, and I left him with some puke, a cry of "You're a dick," and zero dollars. I mean, be Christmas! Maybe watch "It's s Wonderful Life" and let's get with the program, assrag!
Look at it this way: If I lived in India, and the Indians had set aside a number of weeks dedicated to cheer and friendship, I'd be running all over the place dropping off bags of rice and water purifying tablets to friends' houses just like they probably would, if they had any rice and tablets to spare. But I'm not there. I'm in America, where your tight-bodied Hindu-American daughters grew up wanting a new BMW, taking access to fresh water for granted. So, cab drivers of Chicago and everywhere else, let's try to break down the fortress that is being an Indian (not of the Native variety) and try to pretend to have a little fun during Christmas. It's not that big of a deal, is it?
Indian girls: you're so hot, but what's with the stone face all the time? My brother apparently just enjoyed an experience of their pleasure, and I'm rather envious of the bastard for beating me to the punch. (Seamus came up with a great new nickname for him tonight, but I can't remember it. I was about ten beers deep at that point, but it was pretty funny.) The distance Indian-American princesses throw out there is so intriguing; their bodies and facial features are so appealing. Hot Indian girls fascinate me.
Mr. Cabbie Grinch: I hope you remember this next time you want to fuck me over: I'd love nothing more than to dress your hot daughter up as Mrs. Claus and make her feel all sorts of American.
Off to scrub dried egg off of my pants and coat. Bastards.
First of all, right as I was getting out of a cab at Seamus' house, some shithead high school kids threw eggs at me. That sucked, but I was too drunk to be fazed for the moment. Then, neither Seamus nor Day were home, so I went back outside to get in a different cab. Amazingly, the egging bastards were cruising down the street really slowly, looking for the next victim of their juvenile hijinks. Thankfully, some people were taking a really, really long time to get a wasted girl out of a cab, which was parked in such a way that the street was completely blocked. So I calmly walked up to the egg mobile and gave it a solid karate kick right by the gas tank, denting the shit out of the car. The fuckers. I could hear them in the car squealing like pigs off to the slaughter, and I started laughing sadistically. I looked over and saw that, unfortunately, the rear-view mirrors were welded to the body, or else I would have definitely sent one of them flying. The kids didn't appear to feel like getting out of the car for an ass whipping, so I just walked down to Halsted and got in a cab home.
Just moments ago, I screwed a cabbie out of a tip shortly after puking all over the back seat of his car. F that guy. He was a shifty, cheerless bastard, and I'm glad I stiffed him.
I'm normally inclined to over-tip people during the month of December, unless it's some cabbie that I realize is trying to screw me. Even blatantly non-Christian Americans can expect bigger holiday tips from me. I could give a crap about your religious persuasion; that has nothing to do with it. Even if you have Arabic-script postcards taped all over (and I mean ALL over) the dashboard of your cab, first I'll call my G-Man buddy and tell him that I found someone who should appear on some list, but then I'll still throw you a few extra dollars anyway because--let's face it--Christamas stopped being solely about Jesus a long, long time ago. It's not about religion; it's about a feeling of warmth during harsh winter weather. Who cares what the politicians decide to call it, whether Season's Greetings, or Happy Holidays, or Merry Kwanzikahmas, or whatever. Let's all cope with the frost by being nice for a few weeks.
This guy tonight, though, was the Hindu version of the Grinch who stole Christmas, and I left him with some puke, a cry of "You're a dick," and zero dollars. I mean, be Christmas! Maybe watch "It's s Wonderful Life" and let's get with the program, assrag!
Look at it this way: If I lived in India, and the Indians had set aside a number of weeks dedicated to cheer and friendship, I'd be running all over the place dropping off bags of rice and water purifying tablets to friends' houses just like they probably would, if they had any rice and tablets to spare. But I'm not there. I'm in America, where your tight-bodied Hindu-American daughters grew up wanting a new BMW, taking access to fresh water for granted. So, cab drivers of Chicago and everywhere else, let's try to break down the fortress that is being an Indian (not of the Native variety) and try to pretend to have a little fun during Christmas. It's not that big of a deal, is it?
Indian girls: you're so hot, but what's with the stone face all the time? My brother apparently just enjoyed an experience of their pleasure, and I'm rather envious of the bastard for beating me to the punch. (Seamus came up with a great new nickname for him tonight, but I can't remember it. I was about ten beers deep at that point, but it was pretty funny.) The distance Indian-American princesses throw out there is so intriguing; their bodies and facial features are so appealing. Hot Indian girls fascinate me.
Mr. Cabbie Grinch: I hope you remember this next time you want to fuck me over: I'd love nothing more than to dress your hot daughter up as Mrs. Claus and make her feel all sorts of American.
Off to scrub dried egg off of my pants and coat. Bastards.
posted by Pat at 4:52 AM
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