In line at the post office yesterday, I was taking in my surroundings....and let me assure you, there was plenty to take in. At the counter, I could only see the backside of what was clearly a streetwalker. Tall black boots with buckles made out of foil (it looked like foil), fishnets with holes, a piece of fabric that was supposed to be a skirt, a pleather black jacket, some teased out, stressed out, dyed-to-hell "blonde" hair, and a pick. Hot. She was about my height and easily double the weight (that's 5 foot and I wouldn't tell you the weight if you paid me, but I don't think the BMI scale even goes there).
Ok - then, someone line jumps in front of me and I didn't want to mess with her. Touche crazy bag lady.
Next, the metal detector goes off and no one does a thing about it. I feel safe.
So, I am patiently waiting in line, and crazy bag lazy turns around to me and says, "It smells nice in here doesn't it?" I just smiled at her as I was holding back a gag because it obviously smelled like vomit or rotting food.
No wonder these poor people at the counter are rude. I would be. Or drunk. Or both.