Ah perhaps it is a regional thing. At five in the evening on any given Friday in the small town of Front Royal, Virginia, one must interact with hordes of humanity escaping Washington DC and suburbs. It is an extremely eclectic mix from the human detritus (also know as the "Great Unwashed") from the surrounding mountains who are compelled to "go inta town fer eats" to the pampered, powdered well cared for rat bastids who live on the federal dole and must escape their hardship filled lives and spend the weekend getting back to their roots... that is a weekend in their 10000 SF country houses and alternate wait staff. These people, all of them, head for the store to stock up on various edibles, liquor and beer... lots of beer.... at 5:00 PM on Friday evening. The front of the store is completely clogged with this flotsam of humanity who are invariably angry, in a hurry, rude, hacking their lungs out with the flue, have 1.5 to 7.5 snot nosed children hanging off their carts in various stages of undress and screaming, with absolutely no regard for anyone around them and are intent on cursing the poor soul presently checking out 6 carts in front of them who is in desperate need of a price check for a single donut. The hostility one can experience here at 5pm on Friday is usually enough to get one "het up", start the old blood pumping, put a little starch in yer shorts, the old ticker clicking, and for me... well... an unsurpassed sense of superiority and joy in the knowledge that not one of these bastards is gonna live forever.
It just tends to get me in the mood for battle... didn't work though.
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