Monday, 20 June 2011

Chester the Molester

Okay, so last Friday, I was heading out of the house to pick up the Little Hunnydoo from work. As I was going towards the car, I saw a colourful local character coming towards me on his scooter.

Now, I have always hated this guy. I don't know why, but the sight of this crazy old fart on his tricked out scooter with his little dog in his lap--and the little dog wears a ridiculous hat--just drives me nuts. For one, I have to admit--and this does not make me look good, I realize--I hate those friggin' scooters. I am happy not to be in one and I generally have sympathy for those who are, but I hate 'em. (I used to work at a place full of intellectually impaired adults, and one of them lacked bladder control. I can assure you that you have probably never smelled anything as rancid as hot, rotting urine mixed with scooter battery acid in your life, unless you are prone to sticking your head into dead things.)

And it's not JUST that he drives in on the street rather than on the sidewalk which is a fucking asspain for those of us in cars THAT BELONG ON THE ROAD. No, I can't tell you why I've always hated the sight of this stupid old asshole, but I did recognize that

a) I am a bitter twat with a sizeable streak of misanthropy, and
b) some of my feelings of mistrust and disdain are unreasonable.

Therefore, when I saw the old fucker driving towards me without his tricked out little dog, I thought I would push my own boundaries, step outside my nasty, embittered, homocidal self.

So I said, "Hey, where's your little dog?"

He pulled up and said, "Oh, my scooter broke down, so I'm using this one and there's no place for him to sit. So he's at home crying."

"Oh, that's too bad," I said, and then we shot the shit for a few minutes about the weather and aren't we glad winter is finally over, blahblahblah.

A car was approaching as our conversation reached a natural conclusion, and the old fucker said, "I'll just wait for this car to go by and head off." (He lives on my block on the other side of the street, which just fucking figures).

So as we waited for the car to pass, he said, "Give me a hug."

And (yes, I can virtually see all of your eyebrows raising up into your hairlines), because I was trying to be a better, more compassionate person, because I was trying to step outside my misanthropic ways, I thought, "Aww, poor old crippled guy. He's probably lonely and without his dumb little dog to boot."

So I hugged him (oh, stop it!), and as I was pulling away, his hands groped my breasts. I couldn't fucking believe it. I straightened up and looked at him.

"They're just my hands," he said.

"They're just my breasts!" I said back, which was all I could manage due to my overwhelming shock.

What I SHOULD have said was, "Yeah, and you touch another woman with those hands like that, and I'll reverse your kneecaps so that you walk like a fucking ostrich, you old pig."

And that's what I get for trying to better myself: groped.