Amazing turns of fate abound. I'm pulling into my oft frequented gas and go, when a little convertible cuts me off to swing into one of the FIVE spots open. It's a grey haired gent in his 50's I'm guessing, his lady friend, and a yapping pooch in the back seat. I pull beside them into one of the remaining FOUR spots. I get out and go inside before him, because he has to wait for his lady to give him money, and of course open her door (kinda sweet). It makes perfect sense to cut me off. So I go to my fountain machine and begin dispensing my pellet ice(god love pellet ice). Almost as soon as I stop filling the cup to wait for foam to settle, my personal space bubble shoves me aside. They BOTH have invaded my machine and ushered me off to the side. At this point I'm thinking 'what a dick,' but being civilized I wrap up what I'm doing, pay my tab and exit.
I'm driving happily toward a river side siesta, when I see a large funeral procession coming down the other side of the road. I find a safe place to pull over, and pay respects as it passes. I notice a certain convertible coming up into my rear view. I think to myself 'surely not.' Yep he goes blowing passed the procession at 60mph. So, I sit patiently as it passes, grumbling about a fucking mutt. All will be well soon. I'll be at the river in just a few minutes.
Pulling into the gravel parking area, what do I see? That fucking mutt's convertible again. He is parked so poorly he's occupying 3 spaces. They have taken the yapping dog to the park. It is running around off the leash, this is not a dog park, and pissing all over ever other car in the gravel lot. I'm thinking the fn dog has manners as poor as his owners. I sit for several minutes biting my tongue as they pass out of sight. Just as well, I have about 300 unpleasant words for them. Some things are better left unsaid. So, a deep breath to calm my agitated mind.
Unfortunately, the extra oxygen fueled the fire. I know this river well. I know there is a rather rancid bog about 300 yards in the opposite the direction the mutt threesome went. I know I have six or so cloths in the back of my truck I used the last time it had a bath. So off I set to commune with nature two hands full of terry cloth. Yep this bog is still rancid. I soak all the cloths nice and deep in the mud and ooze, and head back with unpleasant smelling cargo in tow. I was half expecting to run into someone on the journey back, but nope it is post lunch on Monday, so no one about.
So, one cloth for the lady who pushed me out of the way at the fountain machine, draping nicely over the back of her seat. One for the yapping dog who is basically innocent, but I'm hoping he will tear the back seat up scratching at stench. The other 4 are for that grey haired mutt who cut me off, pushed me aside, ran passed the funeral procession, parked three different kinds of fucked up, and didn't put his dog on a fn leash! I have one for your door, one for your steering wheel, one for your gear shift, and of course one to drape over the back of your seat.
After trotting down to the river to cleanse my hands. I am feeling remarkably well healed. I hop in my truck and drive off thinking that deep breath really made me feel better. Don't worry about the cloths Mr. Mutt. You can keep them. I really don't think they will come clean anyway. On another note, when you buy a convertible, you really should not scrimp on the price and have cloth seats. | 
