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Today begins "interestingly." Last night, I notice that the little signs are back on the side walk. NO PARKING 7AM-5PM JANUARY 21, 22, 23 they say, with the sweet sweet promise that the repaving, only half completed in November, will finally be finished... but it means I need to wake up in time to move the car, so I think I'll go out for breakfast instead of doing my normal oatmeal at home.
Castro Valley is an adorable little enclave here in Alameda County, and has several good breakfast spots, of which I pick the one by the Albertson's, because when you order bacon there, you get BACON, thick meaty slabs of it, and not the 2 or three you'd get at Denny's, but 6.
About 15 minutes in, two old farts plop down at the table right next to mine. This is 'open seating,' mind you, they could take any place in the nearly empty dining are, but they plop down right next to me. I have a waffle to conquer, so I pay no attention to their chatter until one fart asks the other, "Did you hear that asshole on the TV last night?"
(For non-Americans, last night was Barak Obama's State of the Union address.)
"Yeah, disgusting," says Fart Number Two. "Bastard just giving everything away to poor people." I contemplate the hours of stimulus-response therapy that the Fart endured before he learned to say "poor people" instead of "the coloreds," and I smile inwardly.
"Geez, yeah," ripostes Fart Number One. "What, now if you're poor you don't pay ATM fees? I swear, poor people have it so easy." I laugh inwardly, as Mr. Obama's speech challenged idiots like these to try being poor themselves if they think it's so easy, but the Farts clearly are not content-oriented.
This was free entertainment for me, until their conversation changed. "You saw about the San Mateo Bridge, right?"
(For non-Bay Area people, there was a protest on the San Mateo Bridge a few nights ago; the protestors parked their cars to block the bridge, the protest being against police violence and societal acceptance of same.)
"Hell, yeah, those creeps. Police went too easy on 'em. Shoulda just thrown 'em over the side of the bridge. Or shot 'em..." I forget if this was Fart Number One or Fart Number Two.
Something snaps in me then; I could enjoy their stupid, nasty blather, but now they are advocating murder, they are seriously loving the idea of killing people for dissenting. I call the waiter over and asked if I could move to another table farther away. "Sure," says the waiter, and carries off my waffle plate. I pick up the other plate (eggs and precious bacon), and do something I rarely do. I do under no obligation to explain the reason I wanted to move, but I do it.
To the Farts I say, "I really don't want to start my day with your hatefulness." They look a little taken aback. I'm pretty sure they spend the rest of the morning talking about the horrible dirty hippie. I have an impact!
Three points I really need to add to this sad but inspiring story:
Castro Valley is an adorable little enclave here in Alameda County, and has several good breakfast spots, of which I pick the one by the Albertson's, because when you order bacon there, you get BACON, thick meaty slabs of it, and not the 2 or three you'd get at Denny's, but 6.
About 15 minutes in, two old farts plop down at the table right next to mine. This is 'open seating,' mind you, they could take any place in the nearly empty dining are, but they plop down right next to me. I have a waffle to conquer, so I pay no attention to their chatter until one fart asks the other, "Did you hear that asshole on the TV last night?"
(For non-Americans, last night was Barak Obama's State of the Union address.)
"Yeah, disgusting," says Fart Number Two. "Bastard just giving everything away to poor people." I contemplate the hours of stimulus-response therapy that the Fart endured before he learned to say "poor people" instead of "the coloreds," and I smile inwardly.
"Geez, yeah," ripostes Fart Number One. "What, now if you're poor you don't pay ATM fees? I swear, poor people have it so easy." I laugh inwardly, as Mr. Obama's speech challenged idiots like these to try being poor themselves if they think it's so easy, but the Farts clearly are not content-oriented.
This was free entertainment for me, until their conversation changed. "You saw about the San Mateo Bridge, right?"
(For non-Bay Area people, there was a protest on the San Mateo Bridge a few nights ago; the protestors parked their cars to block the bridge, the protest being against police violence and societal acceptance of same.)
"Hell, yeah, those creeps. Police went too easy on 'em. Shoulda just thrown 'em over the side of the bridge. Or shot 'em..." I forget if this was Fart Number One or Fart Number Two.
Something snaps in me then; I could enjoy their stupid, nasty blather, but now they are advocating murder, they are seriously loving the idea of killing people for dissenting. I call the waiter over and asked if I could move to another table farther away. "Sure," says the waiter, and carries off my waffle plate. I pick up the other plate (eggs and precious bacon), and do something I rarely do. I do under no obligation to explain the reason I wanted to move, but I do it.
To the Farts I say, "I really don't want to start my day with your hatefulness." They look a little taken aback. I'm pretty sure they spend the rest of the morning talking about the horrible dirty hippie. I have an impact!
Three points I really need to add to this sad but inspiring story:
- The Farts had also been talking about their union benefits, benefits they would lose should Republicans get their way, benefits that Barak Obama is protecting. Such is life in the irony-free zone.
- Fart Number Two, commisserating with Fart Number One's litany of Obama sins, nods and says, "We got a revolution coming, that's for sure." Oddly, he's right.
- The bacon really is incredible. All stories should end with bacon being incredible.
