Joy of Others

Boyleing Points

I gotta admit, I’m kinda like that comedian who says he enjoys looking at people to get annoyed. His wife asks, you’re gonna end up annoyed, so why do it? Because I don’t want to deprive myself of the enjoyment, he answers.

When I drive into a big parking lot, I park the car away from others, in a spot a million miles from other cars. When I come out of the store, my car is surrounded by other friggin’ cars. And it’s not because other spots were taken. No, these people had to park near another car, near me. They can’t help themselves.

You go into a restaurant that’s almost empty and the waitperson or hostess seats you right next to the only other people in the place. ESP obviously didn’t work since the moment you glanced over the near-empty place you were sending signals, pleading for appropriate spacing. But no. They want to sit you shoulder to shoulder with someone who probably wanted a little space themselves.

Then I gotta be rude and say I don’t want to sit there. I’m sure sitting strangers near each other would save the waiter a couple extra steps, but c’mon.

You just want some space, which was on my mind, on my recent trip down south. I was thinking about living in the middle of nowhere while I was in the middle of nowhere. There are a lot of choices. Once you’re off the interstates, you turn down any road and the dogs outnumber people.

These dogs, by the way, are kinda like me. They enjoy getting annoyed by people. At least that seems to be the effect I had on them. I was minding my own business, just biking through the middle of nowhere. But they didn’t see it that way. I guess the dogs were chilling out, basking in the quiet day, content to be alone. And then some moron on a bike has the nerve to pass by.

Well, they weren’t gonna stand for it. They came after me to give me a piece of their mind or take a piece out of me.

Sometimes there were two or three of them. They’d come barking and yelping in plain English, telling me to get the hell away. Fortunately, they were stopped by a fence. That’s when I got brave and stuck out my tongue.

I passed a trailer and then a quarter-mile later, a ranch home, and then it was a half-mile to the next house. I was just forming the thought, what the hell do you do if you live out here, not in the middle but on the outskirts of nowhere, when I heard the first bark. I looked for the fence. There was no fence. But there were two dogs in hot pursuit.

The first one was no bigger than a rabbit but he had attitude. He was a German Shepherd in a Chihuahua body. Or maybe he was brave because his buddy was a black, overgrown wolf who snacked on old guys on bikes. Big dog was in full killer sprint.

At this point I needed two things I’ve written about: a bidet and an electric bike.

Not necessarily in that order.

To be continued…

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