What I wanted for lunch.
What I had:
- chicken parmesan sandwich on a kaiser
- 3 dill pickle spears
Who I saw: JERRY FALWELL.
Live and in person, people. I looked up for one reason or another and saw him sitting katty-corner to our booth and did a quite visible double take. “Oh my god, is that JERRY?” I hissed. “Where? Where?” everyone said. I motioned. “Up there. That booth right there. Talking to that woman.”
I had my chance to do something truly horrible and I didn’t do it. I wasted it. Even if I didn’t go up to him and say “Hey, how ’bout the Massachusetts court decision?” or spew Satanic nonsense in his general direction, I could have at least slashed his tires. For heaven’s sakes, it would have been so easy!
I hate that man so much that I was actually physically tense just being in the same room with him. But as it turns out, I’ve been too well-raised. Even the purest white-hot hatred can’t overcome my parents’ advice:
- It’s not okay to attack other human beings (or slash their tires).
- If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.
So I paid for lunch and followed my friends out the door.