Saturday, October 1, 2016

Clowns To The Left of Me

I don't know what or where this clown craze started recently, but I do know it has gotten out of hand. Halloween is still a month away, but there is some sort of social media-fueled nonsense going around about killer clowns, and like all social media-fueled nonsense, a bunch of silly young people have gotten hold of it and started to act out on it. Not killing people, at least to my knowledge, but walking around, generally acting creepy and causing the more gullible and clown-phobic among us some distress.
Well, I have my phobias, but none of them are related to anything human beings do. And I have not had a good week, so my patience with nonsense can be measured in microns at the moment. When these two factors came together--well, some middle-school puke got more than he bargained for this evening. I've got in the habit of getting a Coke or Mountain Dew slushie before work the last few weeks; the added caffeine helps me get through the night shift without falling asleep. And I was on the way to work this evening, after stopping at the Speedway to get my Slushie, when I literally came face-to-face with the so-called killer clown phenomenon.
As clowns go, he was rather uninspiring; this had to have been a kid, no more than 15. And I was inclined to ignore him as I saw him at the curb when I came to the four way stop near my house. But he decided he was going to mess with me, and came running up to my window, with a stupid little look on his face. And something in me snapped. I put my hand on the Slushie, popped the top cover off it, then lowered the window. The fool actually thought he was going to lean closer and say something, but I doused his face in frozen Coke. He backed up a few steps, and I went through the intersection. I saw him gesturing wildly and heard him shouting as I pulled away.
So I went around the block. Sure enough, he was still in the vicinity, a house down from the intersection--and, in a remarkable display of stupidity, in the middle of the road. I flashed my high beams at him; he whipped around, took one step toward me--and then saw it what car it was. And I let the car drift in his direction in a weird sort of chicken.
He flinched. First he walked, then as I sped up to match his speed, he ran. About thirty yards, before he ran up a driveway. I thought to myself, "Fuck it" and I swung in the driveway, too. He ran up on he porch and opened a screen door; I'm assuming that's where the little jerk lives. I honked, then backed out of the driveway, and resumed going to work.
I'm too old for this shit.

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