Dear Drunken Convenience Store Patron,
I appreciate that you are trying to make a show of solidarity in echoing my affinity for chips and salsa. Your resounding “Chips and salsa are fuckin’ awesome!” in response to my disappointment at there being no salsa available was very…er, sweet. But your penchant for invading my personal space - and thus stinking it up with your boozy odor - is somewhat disconcerting. Also, the fact that you find it necessary to inform me that you are “so drunk right now” is nothing but confusing to me. Isn’t the object of public (and most likely underage) drunkenness to hide it as best as possible? I always thought that, but I could be wrong.
In spite of your rather unorthodox method of making conversation with complete strangers, I was momentarily charmed by the way you called me “ma’am.” This show of respect, however, was not enough to make me forget that your face was within a half a foot of my face. I decided to flash you the peace sign and immediately exit your vicinity.
When you are hauling your drunk ass around in the future in search of late-night munchies, I suggest that you adhere to one rule, one which we learned long ago as children but seldom remember: don’t talk to strangers. Just don’t do it.
Sincerely,
Heinous Bitch
3 years ago • Notes