So where did we leave off? Oh yeah, right before the fight…
Harsh words.
Chicken sandwiches.
Beer bellies.
We were in line to get lunch when this guy who was slightly intoxicated cut to the front of the line. Players in this story are: Suit Guy (not sure why he was wearing a suit but OK), Kid (about 15 yrs old or so), Gator Belly (the drunk guy, who was wearing a Florida Gators shirt), and me. My sister Shannon was safely off to the side under a decent shelter. Order after order had the staff in the trailer/kitchen backed up so it was more tense that it needed to be. Of course, getting rained on didn’t help either.
Suit Guy was the first to confront Gator Belly. He was quite articulate in his stance against this guy cutting, and I was in full support. But Gator Belly wouldn’t back down and leave. He just stood there like he was making some sort of civil rights statement. But he was white, he was wrong, and he was rather annoying.
Suit Guy said his piece and all remained quiet on the western front. As Kid and I moved up to order, Gator Belly again tried to jump in front of us. The kitchen staff handled it poorly. They should’ve made the guy leave with threats of calling authorities but they just smiled and tried to wish it all away. Gator Belly wasn’t leaving. They say to pick your battles, and I guess this is one Gator Belly chose in the moment. Well, guess what? So did I. Picking up where Suit Guy left off, I confronted the line-breaker by telling him he needed to leave. I kept thinking of all the folks in line behind me who’ve been waiting for half an hour, and the Kid who was sort of shuffled off to the side, perhaps not even getting a chance to get his order in. My anger rose. I wasn’t going to let this guy win. Not today. Words were exchanged and all I can specifically remember is saying, “You have an ugly shirt and an ugly attitude!” Nice one.
I’m not proud. I wish I’d thought of something more clever but the truth is he did have an ugly shirt (remember, it was a Florida Gator shirt), and his attitude was poor. Then at one point I put a hand on his shoulder and told him he’s not going to order before us. That’s when he bowed up and said something to the affect of “Touch me one more time!” I didn’t touch him one more time.
I won’t even get into the fact that while this was happening, the guy behind me ordered his food and left. That was a cold thing to do, sir. But the story ends better than it started. My sister got her chicken sandwich and so did the young Kid. Plus, I managed to get my cheeseburger without a side order of a black eye.
And if you can believe it, there’s more to tell from our first NASCAR race ever! Check out part 6!
-Out of the Wilderness
Out of the Wilderness 