In the DC area, outside the Beltway off of Route 66-West, there is a place called Manassas. It used to be considered the sticks and DC dwellers generally assume the people who live there are red necks. (This is an out-dated assumption, however, as evidenced by the “Northern Virginia Barbie” spoof that hit email in-boxes a few years ago, which described Manassas Barbie this way:
Manassas Barbie
This recently paroled former “Porn Actress” Barbie comes with a 9mm handgun, a Ray Lewis knife, a Chevy with dark tinted windows, and a methlab kit. This model is only available after dark and can only be paid for in cash. Preferably small, untraceable bills. Unless you are a cop, then we don’t know what you are talking about.
Regardless, people who don’t live there find it fun to call anyone who does a Manasshole.
Alan and I passed through there on our way to go camping this weekend, and we’re pleased to report that the locals are doing their best to guard their cherished moniker. As we pulled into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, a Dodge Charger was starting to back up. Worried that the driver hadn’t seen us and might continue to reverse, Alan tapped his horn to make him aware that we were behind him.
When we got out of the car to head into the store, the guy – a thick sort of fella sporting a Nascar t-shirt and flipflops – was standing outside his car, screaming at Alan. It took me a few minutes to clue in on the exchange, but his side of it went something like, “Hey Asshole! Don’t honk at me. Hit your brakes.”
Alan calmly started to explain that he had simply honked to make sure the guy saw us. The guy was having NONE of that, however, so he continued his stream of profanities with his car safely standing between him and Alan. Confused, Alan started to walk over to him to figure out why he was so hopped up and angry… but the guy must’ve thought Alan was en route to hand him his ass, because he quickly jumped in the car and sped off. Sadly, all of this was witnessed by two small girls seated in the backseat of his car who – presumably – have seen showdowns of this sort before.
You know how sometimes after an encounter like that, your adrenaline is pumping and you’re busy trying to think of comebacks you wish you’d said? Well in this case, Alan and I were both just scratching our heads trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, when it occurred to me: the only way to make sense of it was to call him what he was. A Manasshole.
Tags: Driving, justice, Manasshole, parking
It’s no secret that I’ve been sleeping like crap lately. All a person needs to do is look at me and – if the bags under my eyes don’t give it away – the slightly crazed glint in them will. Between a hectic travel schedule, a demanding job and the stress of two real estate transactions looming over me, I guess it’s no surprise that my bed has become a battlefield in recent months.
pithypants 