I walked out of the coffee shop in a good mood even though it was raining. There was a bounce to my feet as the rain dripped from my umbrella and I looked forward to the weekend…and then I saw the guy pulling away from the parking space next to mine was rolling up his window. As I approached my car I could see why. There were ugly, large, foaming gobs of spit all over the side of my car still sliding down the door. I’d never seen so much spit. And what was that? Was it a little puff of steam coming from the particluarly thick hunk of loogie on the door handle?
At the request of my dearly beloved I’d just returned from dropping off a large box of clothing at a downtown charity shop. Was this my payment? No good deed goes unpunished I suppose. I am left here quivering with indignation, wishing the anger would subside, and left with this forever to be unanswered question: Dear Mr. White-Jetta-Driver, was that really necessary?