Kings to you Rodney

"I am not at all intimidated by you!" I thought loudly to myself as I stood behind the thuggish looking gentlemen in front of me in line. I put my hand in my pocket and fit my car key between my index and middle finger and formed a fist. If things took a turn for the worse I would probably only get one punch in, but it would have some sting to it.

Statistically speaking (and statistically, I'm almost always speaking) they were much more likely to leave the store directly, get in their car, and go get high or drunk somewhere than to perpetrate any violence on my person. In fact a person in my demographic has a better chance of being killed by another middle class, drunk driver than by a gang member.

At this thought I shifted my focus to the middle aged woman with a bottle of wine behind me. She was my greatest threat. I needed to get her before she got me. But I couldn't do it alone. I would need to enlist some help. As if on cue one of the hoodlums said, "Yo dawg/dog, where'd you get them coconut drinks. I ain't seen none them when we was looking round." (I should point out that three of these young men were Caucasian and 2 were hispanic. My proof reader thought this would be a helpful note. The dialogue was between me and a tall skinny Caucasian)

"I'm so very glad you asked my friend. And I would be happy to tell you, in fact I would like to give you these coconut drinks as a gift, because I need a favor from you."(People who know me know that I wax loquacious when I get nervous)

The young man looked puzzled, but the idea of the elusive coconut drink intrigued him.

"Yeah man, what you need?"

"Do you by chance have any family or friends who work in road-way construction."

"Yeah man, my sister's baby's daddy does. So does my uncle."

"Did you know, that apart from work related accidents the biggest killer of road workers are middle aged women in cars?"

"What?"

"A roadway construction worker has a better chance of being killed by a woman in a car than any other person."

"Yo Rodney, you hearin' this?" (most people rarely pronounce the 'g' in hearing but you'll note that I chose to remove it in his line because I like to perpetuate stereotypes)

"Yeah man, my dad works construction."

"I can't give you the exact figures off the top of my head. But to summarize, that woman behind us in line will almost definitely kill you or someone you love."

"Shoot dawg/dog course they do. Britches (sp?) that's how they do. When you die for sure it's gonna be because of one of them."

"So, what might you propose we would do about it."

"Slit (sp?) dude, ain't nothin' to do. Just enjoy em' til they kill you."

My anxiety began to dissipate as I pondered the wisdom in Rodney's words. Perhaps preemptive strikes against anyone fitting a key demographic in grocery stores was not the right way to go. Perhaps my time was better spent enjoying the present instead of dwelling on future possibilities.

As I watched my new heroes walk to the back of the store in search of coconut drinks, I wondered if the next great piece of new wave feminist literature would be "Enjoy Us Til' We Kill You". Rodney should write the foreword.