On Edge in America
a SIX-MINUTE SATIRE
Last week I posted a 50-word version of this story. My readers wanted it expanded. It’s a little weird.
“No. I’m not sorry I did it — he needed to be taught a lesson, under the circumstances.”
“Well, what I’m trying to ascertain here, ma’am, is exactly what those circumstances were. Could you just explain that for me, please?”
“He said I was too high-maintenance. But I am not! I just want what I want, and what I want is to be treated with respect. Is that too much to ask?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The interrogation room is small, walls plastered a dull gray. One bright light bulb hangs from a cord overhead, two chairs, one table, no windows. He sits across from her, breathing in the stale air and stares at her a few moments, as if measuring her for an orange jumpsuit. His body cam records her face, her words, her attitude. He sips from a cup half-filled with cold coffee that smells like burnt tires. He’s used to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“No, ma’am, it is not, but …”
“But nothing! Sometimes we just get angry. It’s normal. You know, I’m only looking for a little understanding and little justice and that’s all.”
“Nevertheless, you are aware that you cannot carry a concealed weapon for which you have no license, and you can’t go around aiming it at people and you sure can’t shoot at people.”
“Aw! Stanley wasn’t that hurt, I barely grazed him, the big baby. That little M&P380 could barely harm a cockroach. He’ll be fine. Oh — and by the way, I’d like that little shooter back when I leave. She’s a beauty.”
“You’ve broken the law, ma’am, you understand that?”
“Don’t be so damned condescending! Of course I understand that, but a woman should have the right to defend herself against … against meanness, against…ignorance … and just plain bad manners.”
“Yeah, okay, okay, I hear ya. I am just trying to understand here what caused you to fire your weapon today?”
“Listen, Bruce — may I call you Bruce? This town is full of disrespectful idiots, you know as well as I do. In fact, I feel I actually demonstrated great restraint today. Just let me tell you what happened, okay? You’ll understand where I’m coming from.”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. First thing this morning, on the freeway, a woman in a Tesla, who apparently was not clear on what “merge” means, was talking on the phone and she cut me off at the end of the on-ramp — she forced me right off the road into the damned oleanders. And it was brutal getting someone to slow down for five seconds to let me into the lane.
“Then at the supermarket, as I was just about to park, a guy zipped in front of me and stole the parking space that I’d been waiting for. He shrugged and grinned at me, and walked away. I circled round for twenty minutes and when I finally found another space in the lot, a huge Hummer was taking up two spaces.
“It was chaos in the market. Three kids were running wild, pulling things off shelves, opening bags of candy, not a parent in sight. You know what I think, Bruce? I think parents drop their kids off and just let them play in the market for a couple of hours instead paying for a babysitter? And then, get this — a woman had a large parrot riding in her shopping cart; it was screeching and pooping in the basket. When I politely questioned the sanitary aspect of that she said the parrot was an emotional support animal and she had a legal right to bring it in the store. I told her she was a pathetic moron and needed to grow up.
“Another shopper in the produce section reached into a bag of grapes right in front of me and ate a couple handfuls of them, then walked away, leaving the bag half empty. What is wrong with people these days! You listening, Bruce?
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Then, I went next door for a coffee at Starbucks, and the young clerk, with all her tattoos and piercings, rang me up and had the nerve to ask me if I wanted my change. I said, “Of course I want my change, you fool.” I could’ve slapped her, but I didn’t.
“Sounds like you had one hell of a morning.”
“Well, yeah, and that’s not all. There was a young man panhandling in front of the coffee shop. He looked homeless, except he was talking on an $600 iPhone, and wearing $200 Uggs. He asked me if I could spare five dollars. Five dollars! I told him to get his lazy ass out of my way before I knocked him down.
“So you were pretty upset. Then what?”
“So then I went home and I was just in time to see my neighbors’ dog, off leash and not supervised, leaving a mess on my lawn again. So I had to go get my shovel. I scooped up the poop and left it on her door mat. Again. She’ll get the message eventually, I hope.
“Okay, now, but what happened with Stanley, the boyfriend? How did he come to be injured”
“Well, and here’s the final thing. I was already on the edge as I walked into my house. I found Stanley, the so called “victim”, lounging around with his buddy Kyle, watching some fool football game. I guess he’d taken the day off. They were eating a huge pile of nachos from the Speedee Mart, and drinking beer. He didn’t even look up when I came in. I said, “You know, I think it’d be better if you two guys didn’t eat that crap in my living room. You’re dripping cheese and salsa all over my sofa.” Stan laughed at me and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it, babe — it’s just nachos.”
Then I saw him wipe his greasy fingers on his shirt - the shirt I’d just washed and ironed for him this morning.
“I didn’t plan to do it, Bruce, but I took my little pistol out of my purse and I just shot at him. I wasn’t going to kill him or anything, I swear. I am not that crazy, but suddenly I just wanted him to go away and never come back.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At 11:00 pm, she was assigned a public defender, given a court date for arraignment, and quietly released from custody on her own recognizance. They kept her M&P380 as evidence and she would not be getting it back. She didn’t care. She could buy another handgun in the little shop down the street in the morning. Actually, anyone could, no background check, no license, no questions asked.
Is this a great country, or what?
Ronnie Van Zandt. 1976. Great energy here, whether you agree with his gimme-back-my- bullets politics or not…… ** click three times
**New subscribers, in case you‘re not sure, 🌿Leaves is from California. I wrote this story purely as satire.
A day in the life of Santa Cruz. I think I've run into every knothead your character encountered there. It amazing more people don't get shot. Rudeness seems to be the norm, especially in CA. When I first arrived there, I thought it was funny, but after a few years, I think I would've shot somebody too. That's why I don't carry. A lot of the violent in this country would simply disappear if people stopped acting like the characters on the so-called TV comedies. Thank for this story, Sharron. On another comment page, I said I'd love another of your Metro bus stories. This one will fill that request very nicely ... or should I say adequately?
Great story. Anything that includes video of Lynyrd Skynyrd - even better!