Friday, June 22, 2007

“I work for a living.”

Strange interaction at the Bulldog last night. I’m outside with some friends for a smoke break. A very out of place dude is nervously pacing and looking around. He’s out of place as he’s wearing business casual clothes – part golf/part suburban sales dork. He’s also wearing a pin that celebrates Mitsubishi’s 25 years in America. I assume he works for one of the local dealerships. He asks to use my cell phone. I let him but say something like, “don’t call in a hit or commit a crime with that.” The fuckknuckle says “I work for a living.” I think you fuck -- we all do. It's 9:14 PM according to my call record, do you think we're here all day drinking on your suburban tax dollar? Then we see his “friend” waving from across the street. The Fuckknuckle Mistsubishi sales dude runs across the street – as the “friend” reaches in his pocket, the Fuckknuckle waves him off. They go behind the Lyndale Animal clinic for what has to be a drug deal. Lay off him he works for a living – he can’t buy drugs at the Mitsubishi dealership. Less than a minute later, he jumps in the pictured truck, which had a driver waiting for him. Now I have what I believe to be a drug dealers number on my cell. Do I forward to the cops? Do I start shopping at the local Mitsubishi dealers to find Fuckknuckle and start asking him about drugs and friendship? Fuck, I hate when I’m suckered by dickheads.