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Bumming A Butt

24 Jun

My new “thing” is trying to intrigue people into clicking links to my blog by coming up with sassy, ambiguous, and provocative titles. You may have thought by “bumming a butt” that I meant something dirty. Get ya mind out the guttah. Pervert. But anyways, onward with the blog!

I discovered my 89,583rd pet peeve this weekend whilst walking around looking for a bar in Quincy Center that made me feel the least like drinking bleach. Side note: a few of my friends and I were supposed to go to a friend’s house to watch the Bruin’s game after work, but he ended up getting out too late so we had to find something to do last minute because God forbid we let our livers rest. I feel the need to tell you this because I feel like there is literally no reason or excuse for me to continue going to Quincy Center. I imagine I feel the way Amanda Bynes felt when she was caught at a Sky Zone in Buffalo New York anytime someone sees me out in Quincy Center.  Or maybe that’s a bad comparison because I don’t think Amanda Bynes feels anymore. But I digress.

…So we decide which bar we are going to check out and head over to it. Upon walking toward the bar, I hear that a cover band is playing Save A Horse Ride A Cowboy. I immediately want to pour gasoline into both ears and light a match. We walk in and my friend and I  decide we need to pee before binge drinking. There is a line consisting of one woman. We get in the line. The door guy shouts in an unnecessarily hostile voice that we need to fix the line. We look at each other, why is he yelling? There are 3 of us in the line. We are blocking no one. He yells about the line again. I look at my friend and say “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.“. She can’t either. So we exit the bar, refusing to be verbally abused while in line for the bathroom at a Quincy Center bar. I am pretty laid back, just like to go with the flow, but when my maximum annoyance level hits, the fight or flight thing kicks in and I either need to say something or leave. We motion our boyfriends to follow us out the door. We stand in front of the bar wondering what our next move would be. Too late to leave Quincy, and paying a cover charge for the Marina would be silly since it was almost last call. Life is hard. As we stand there wasting time, my friend’s boyfriend lights a cigarette. We notice a girl who appeared to be ripping white trash (that’s right, I judged someone without getting to know them) staring at the lit cigarette. She walks closer and tries to look cutesy. We know what she wants. “Excuse me, but if I pay you a dollar, can I bum a cigarette?”. Ah, one of those situations where you can’t lie to a stranger unless the whole “I only have one left” idea pops right out of your mouth. My friend pulls a cigarette from his pack and hands it to the girl, who then asks if he has a lighter. She lights the cigarette with his lighter, thanks him, and walks back to her friends. For some reason, I am enraged. The entire cigarette bumming transaction in general has always annoyed me. I guess it’s one of those Seinfeld things that I think about but don’t say out loud. I don’t smoke, but anytime I am present to see the transaction goes down, I have to walk away. Here’s the thing: 1. You’re not friends. This would be a totally different thing if you were friends. But no, you’re strangers. Stop begging and buy a pack before you go out and mooch off of strangers. Second thing that enrages me is the dollar offering part. Not many of my friends smoke, but the ones who do would never accept a fucking dollar in exchange for one measly Newport. I pride myself in not hanging out with people who accept dollars for spare cigarettes. I told my friend that next time a peasant who can’t afford a pack of smokes comes to him begging for some cancer for a buck, that he should haggle. Make the beggar work for the cigarette. Yeah, you like this neatly wrapped stick of nicotine and whatever else bullshit is in a cigarette? Well then give me $1.53 for it. PLUS TAX! And throw in that necklace you’re wearing, too! That’s right, some random fucking price that makes no sense. Give me the fucking money, and inhale the anthrax that could potentially be in that cigarette you begged off a stranger. Scrub. It’s just funny to me, I mean who is the bigger scrub in the transaction? The beggar who is offering pocketbook change for a butt, or the innocent smoker who was in the place at the wrong time but accepts the dollar? I mean, do people really accept the dollar?! Yes, some people do, and it seems grimey, but you know what? It’s really not. They deserve that dollar. The beggar was at their mercy for 1 second of their life and they need to pay the fuck up and stop bluffing. My dream is that one day these beggars will be denied access into a bar because the cover charge is $10 and they only have $8 crumpled up ones and 4 quarters. Too bad, too sad. No one likes a mooch!

Unrelated: I am beginning to think I’m a sadist.

Namaste.

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One Response to “Bumming A Butt”

  1. William tells all June 28, 2013 at 1:06 am #

    Simple solution: Stay out of Quincy Center, ESPECIALLY after dark. Problem solved.

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