Yesterday I had a funny situation happen with Yuppies.
See, I grew up in Marin, and I’m fairly accustomed to the kind of weird mix of ageing hippies and new age yuppies that have infested that once happy playground of my youth, but even so I had to laugh at a funny situation when I pulled in to gas up the truck.
I spent the day building my Dad and Stepmom a new deck and storage shed combination (which would have gone A LOT faster if my Uncle the Carpenter hadn’t shown up and slowed the entire process down, but that’s a different rant), and by the end of it all I was a mess.
Sunburned neck, four days of stubble, ripped jeans, scuffed up combat boots, dirt all over my face, leather jacket, I pulled into the gas station and hopped out of my dirty truck with the dog in the back seat and dents in the bumper to walk over to the automatic payment machine.
As I did, I came up on a Yuppie Dude getting out of the passenger seat of the immaculate BMer. His Yuppie Chick at the wheel. Both of them straight out of a young republicans article in GQ. Dude had fashionably cut blonde hair, slate blue shirt, light gray slacks, loafers and glasses. She was wearing a skirt and a button down white shirt and had her hair pulled back in a bun.
He was at the machine and his face shifted as I walked up.
“You go ahead,” he said, stepping back quickly.
“Thanks,” I said simply and plugged in my number. But as I turned around, I realized Yuppie Chick was watching me carefully, with the slight tinge of fear in her eyes, and he was simply milling about the passenger door, not sure what to do.
As realization hit, I knew… I had to fuck with this shit.
Going back to my car, I pulled out a couple of quarts of oil, an empty water bottle and my buck knife.
I walked back towards their car, flicking the knife open.
Then punched it into end of the water bottle to cut it off and make a funnel for the oil. Oh, the lovely sound of tearing something up with a knife. Tossed the refuse into the trash and popped the hood of the truck.
They watched me the entire time, staring.
And as I closed the hood, put the gas cap back on and walked to the driver’s door, I couldn’t help but wink at her. She looked away quickly.
Giggles on my part, I admit.
The other thing I couldn’t help thinking was, My God, you two must have the most boring sex. But who knows. ;-)
"Why shouldn't truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense."
—Mark Twain
I love that you did this!! Very impressive! Please, continue writing with more, updated yuppie scare-tactics!