stereotypical single woman

Dear blonde bitch that tried to start a fight with me at the Meijer gas station,

I will try to use short sentences and small words because it is obvious that someone with your mental capacity can’t comprehend (that means understand) anything else. After all, anyone with even the smallest amount of people skills would have been able to tell by looking at me that I look like shit and should not be messed with at the moment. Right now I have the type of look that comes from weeks of enduring intense emotional, mental, and physical stress. The look of someone bordering on losing it. And when you see someone that looks that bad you leave them alone, because chances are very high that they will snap, and your body will end up in a ditch somewhere. But you, dumb bitch that you are, still chose to pick a fight.

In case your mind needs refreshing here’s how the situation played out. I had just gotten out of work and was forced to follow your meandering ass down Coolidge Hwy. for about two miles. You were driving erratically, switching lanes, speeding up, slowing down, and hitting the brakes for no apparent reason. You annoyed me greatly, and I was not happy that you were also turning into the gas station, but as I was running on fumes I had no choice but to follow you in there. I cursed myself and my aversion to filling my gas tank until the last possible moment. I then went straight to the pump, pulling all the way through as a courtesy to whoever would be pulling in behind me. I turned off my engine, opened the door, and then your car appeared in front of mine.

The standoff commenced. But it was horribly one-sided. At this point I was already swiping my credit card, opening my gas tank, and selecting my fuel type. It’s really more like you decided to park in front of me, get out of your car, and yell at me. You then stood there, loudly complaining that I had seen you drive all the way around, and you needed me to back up to the other pump, and stop being such a bitch.

I’m sorry, but I wasn’t paying attention to the direction your erratically driving ass had taken. I was simply happy that you were no longer in front of me, wanted to get my gas quickly, and get home to finish some homework and possibly take a nap before the season finale of Project Runway. I can assure you that foiling your cunning plan of approaching the gas pump backasswards was not on my agenda that afternoon.

I may have stood there, smiled, and said “I’m sorry, but I was here first” and then went back to calmly pumping my gas, ignoring you while you stood there throwing a temper tantrum in your high-pitched squeaky voice, calling me all sorts of names, including the c-word. But I wanted nothing more than to reach over and punch you in the face. I didn’t because I am a good person, and I don’t feel that it is right to fight with someone who’s mentally impaired; as it was painfully apparent from the start that your head is so far up your own ass you couldn’t see the reality of the situation. Also because my mother, wonderful woman that she is, had bought me the beautiful new gloves that I was wearing and it’s practically impossible to get blood stains out of leather.

What should you learn from this experience?

1)You are not the center of the universe. On your planet things might be different, but the citizens of earth have much better things to do than sit around all day and come up with ways to fuck with you.

2)Sometimes things just doesn’t work out in your favor. Life sucks and you just have to deal with it, preferably without a temper tantrum. Seriously woman, you made yourself look like an idiot in front of a lot of people.

3)If you ever see me at a gas station again you better run like hell, because, spotless criminal record be damned, I will mess you up. I wouldn’t want to work for an employer that wouldn’t understand my need to break your nose anyway.

sincerely,

Sara

p.s. You might want to schedule an appointment with your hairdresser. Your roots look horrible.