Welcome, Fellow Gnerds!

A gnerd [pronounced, "NER-dh"] is a noun.
It is used to name someone who both reads Asimov and can fix a computer virus.

We know every line from Dr. Horrible and the subplots
and backplots of Who.

We lurk around bookshelves.

We listen to Josh Groban and Chameleon Circuit.

We are every Judith, Max and Russell.

We congregate conventions.

We are the next generation.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Gas Station Blow Up [not really]

    Today, I needed gas. So I made my daily visit to CircleK, where I was immediately accosted by a very nice lady who struck up a conversation about my shoes [I’m trying out clogs today. They were apparently the style of an old lady, a woman with no life, and a creepy truck driver. Nay on the clogs]. I replied graciously while simultaneously making the required hand gestures to convey that I needed to leave and start pumping my gas now. We were having the socially acceptable dance of a conversation, when she threw a brick at me. Not literally, of course, figuratively. She asked me for a donation to the Haiti Relief fund, but didn’t give an organization she was doing it through. I politely [restate: POLITELY!] declined, explaining that at the current moment, I was short on cash and excused myself from the situation. 
    Now, normally, a woman outside a scummy gas station asking for money for a national relief effort without the backing of a certified organization would not bother me. It would only reinforce my opinion that wandering people have no imagination. But the thing that really got me was that as I was walking away, I heard her mutter obscenities about me and something along the lines of “somethingsomething racist bitch...dont trust black folks...”eff” off mofo.”
    Lady, I wish I had the guts to confront you then. But because I bought my cajones at a half-price sale and they only work between the hours of 11p.m. and 7a.m. I didnt. So I’m telling you now, from behind the safety of my 8x12 computer screen, back the hell off. I am entitled to the right to deny you anything I want as long as it isn’t rightfully yours. My money is mine to spend it as I will, and as I explained to you, I don’t have any. Do you want to know why exactly it is I don’t have any? My paycheck was 160. I owe my dad twenty dollars because I texted “haiti” twice, once to 90999 and once to 50555, I donated money to the Josh Groban fund, church, and everything my school is doing now is being donated to the Haiti Relief. This includes Winter formal tickets which are either 8 or 10 dollars, depending on when you buy them. Now, Im not going to winter formal, but I donated as if I was. Also, they’re having a raffle which I put five dollars into for an iPod that I fully do not expect to win. So you factor that in, add the cost of gas for a month and put some in savings and there's my paycheck.
    So I reckon I’ve donated about 50-80 dollars to Haiti. I’m not bragging about this, by any means, but I really can’t donate any more! I’m not even apologizing, because I did what I could, short of actually going to Haiti, which I wouldve done in a heartbeat if that was at all plausible. I even went up to the hospital to inquire about volunteering there.
   And by the way, lady, if you had accepted that and moved on, coming out of the gas station I remembered that I had a buck or two in my center console. [The following is said in a sing-song voice--->]That could’ve been yours [end sing-song voice]. Instead, the guy at the drive-thru window at Burger King’s who handed me my very coincidentally priced large diet coke smiled and told me to have a nice day.
So up yours bitch!
Twinkies are 90% air.

1 comment:

Lauren said...

"So up yours bitch!"
Yeah gurlll