Hellmart is bad enough any given day of the week, but on the weekend before a big blizzard-like weather event is forcasted to hit our area, the crazies are out in full-force.
Me: (to a man who smelled like a bar and looked like he'd just come from one at 2:00 Sunday afternoon and who was buying up a cart full of ice scrapers) Excuse me. I need to grab one of these.
Him: Oh. Hey. You need a scraper. I can scrape ice for ya, baby. Whatcha driving?
Me: (breathing through my mouth because I'm pretty sure his blood was about 50% Jeremiah Weed) I drive a minivan. And if I have one of these, I can scrape my own ice, honey.
Him: A minivan? Those are rocking cool. You must be a rockin' cool momma. Minivans rock.
Me: They do! I've been preaching that exact message for about six years now. (I hand him one of my blog bookmarks because you should never miss an opportunity to make a fan--sober or shit-faced.)
Him: Cool. Preach on, baby, and call if I can scrape ice for ya. I dig minivans.