Notation
In line for ice cream. Before us, a large cluster of tourists--several children for each distracted parent. The adults are debating what to get. Flavors, sizes, cups or cones, dietary restrictions, etc. come up. The kids run around, scream, twirl on the pavilion poles. Clogging up the line. I just want some ice cream.
I grab my partner's hand and make us budge them. I'm hoping they won't notice and hoping they will. They do. "Aren't we in line?" one announces. "I thought we were in line." They continue discussing the matter. I pretend not to hear, order our ice creams, give my name. "Zach just had to get his ice cream," another reports. "Zach was in a big rush."
The kids start scaling the poles. When the server calls out for me, the tourists do too, "Zach, your order is ready."
We eat in the car as we drive home.
Abusive
Jesus there must have been twenty little shitheads in front of us. And not one of their half-drunk parents would tell the little snots to stand still or shut up or stop climbing the damn poles of the pavilion, you’ll bring the damn thing down on us you little bastard—no, the drunks were all gawking at the menu like it was written in code, mooing over what they were going to order.
I knew that I had found them: the least considerate humans in the world and that this was going to take for-fucking-ever so I squeezed my partner’s hand and yanked her and myself in front of them. I didn’t give a shit if they saw I was budging them—they deserved to be budged.
Then the assholes starting hurling insults. They mewed about how we’d budged a bunch of kids for ice cream, a bunch of whiney, screaming shits who didn’t even know they’d been budged or give a rat’s ass. Who cared?
When our overpriced order finally came out they started up again like a bunch of crows—and just as brainless. They whined about how they had to wait for their orders longer now because of us. Stupid assholes made me feel bad about it so we went to our car to enjoy the ice cream. It was too hot out anyway and the AC was nice. My partner told me I shouldn’ta done it but that they were jackasses and deserved to get budged. I still felt bad about it and couldn’t watch the little shits smear ice cream all over their own faces so we drove home.
Double Entry
Before us, waiting in line and queued up for some ice cream, ahead of us, loaf twelve kids or so—about a dozen—and their inebriated—that is, from Long Island—parents and guardians. The kids and little brats keep screaming and running into people, and pissing everybody off. The clueless adults and uncertain supervisors ignore them by pretending not to see them or hear them. This builds up such a rage and fury of resentment and injustice in me that I hate them and deplore them immediately and from the very start.
So I decide and determine I can exact some justice and mete out a small punishment for this terrible group of humans, this cadre, by lurching in front of them while they stare and gawk at the menu; I budge them. “Aren’t we in line?” one queries and asks aloud, passive aggressively and not to me, “I thought we were in line.” I ignore them and don’t hear what they say, or act so, but my heart starts fluttering fast by beating quickly and my palms are sweaty and I’m nervous. I don’t do bad things and am generally good. I feel guilty and I feel remorse but I also feel the keen sting of injustice and the sharp bite of resentment still in my blood and in my veins, so I stand my ground and stay put, ignoring them and not hearing what they say.
They jeer more and a second time when I place our order, and I get another earful and more mockery from them when I receive our order. Humiliated, ears red and embarrassed, I sulk over to the car and we eat our ice cream in the car, that is in solitude, away from the rude people I feel bad for, and icky about, being rude to.
Negativities
The ice cream shop was neither mobbed nor vacant, but had a line. Before us was not a school nor a single child, but many. They were neither calm nor crazed, but rowdy, their parents neither busy nor idle, just distracted.
It was not illegal or polite, but I cut them in line. It was not calumny nor praise, but sarcasm. It was not deafness or the plugging of ears, but a refusal to hear. It was not a robbery nor a handout, but a purchase. It was not the screams of wild children or the roaring of drunks, but mockery.
They were not howler monkeys or spider geckos, but children. The order was not dissatisfactory or incorrect, but fine, if expensive. There was not peace or forgiveness, but more of the same. We did not march away proudly nor stay to gloat, but slunk away in our car.
Anagrams
Ni ieln rfo eea cicrm aadeh fo su reew a essm fo licdhrne tno inbge ovgndere yb iehtr arptens. Ruiotts. Heyt erew ginginor eirht ilhcernd nad bedtatngi hwat ot tge. I wenk ti swa ioign ot ktae hemt ovferre to drero, os I nstachde ym s’rntpear ndah nda udgbed hmet.
Eyht reew shassoel nad I ymeemidital tlfe fluwa. Tbu heyt rwee drue oto!
Nayway, hwne uro rrode maec, I bragbde ti dna kluns fof ot het rca sa htey eeerjd su. Ew tea our cce mreai sa ew roved moeh, sintdae fo jgennioy ti ta het mre caeic lapce.