My wife Liz and I went to a very popular country fair here in Maine yesterday. A path through the woods links the parking area to the fairgrounds. At midday, the path was heavily traveled in both directions, as the newly arrived sauntered in and the fair-weary staggered out.
As we headed down that path on our way back to our car shortly after lunch, we passed an inbound fairgoer who apparently had forgotten to use deodorant, which was unfortunate because yesterday was an unseasonably warm day in Maine.
I smelled nothing, but the young man behind us did. (I know he was young because, when he passed us a few minutes later, the crotch of his oversized jeans was down around his knees - a fashion statement that you rarely see on anyone over the age of 25.)
“Hasn’t that guy heard of deodorant?” baggy pants loudly asked his companion. “Shit. I don’t want to smell his stink. Shit. How about having some respect for other people? Shit. That’s really disgusting. Shit. I can’t believe that guy. Shit.”
Of course, it never occurred to this sadly inarticulate man/child that ending every sentence in a rant with a profane punctuation mark might also be interpreted as failing to show respect; in this case, for the unfortunate people within earshot of his foul mouth.
Come to think of it, bumping into someone so completely devoid of self-awareness is enough to make you want to shout out . . . well, you know.
No comments:
Post a Comment