Douchebag sighting!

I've been driving around for two days with the gas light on. Sometimes I like to tempt fate like that, not knowing where or when my car will slow to a halt. Will I make it to the gas station? Will I make it home? Will my car run out of gas on the freeway off-ramp? (Yeah, that totally did happen.) It's how I like to live my life. On the edge.

After work tonight I decided fate had been tempted plenty and I didn't want to piss it off any more than I already am, so I stopped at the Chevron on my way home. And there he was.

Douchebag. Toolbox. Whatever your favorite descriptive term is, this guy fits the bill. He was buying cigarettes with no shirt on, and that right there screams class. I know it's hot out, if it was socially acceptable I wouldn't have been wearing pants for the past 4 days. But I'm a lady and I have been. Well, not pants, skirts and shorts, but it's the principle of it all.

Dbag is now walking toward his car and I can see his underpants. Not just a little of his underpants, like his toolish plaid cargo pants are hanging UNDER his butt and I can see his gray underpants (at least I hope they were gray and not just dirty) and his WHOLE BUTT. Too much guy, too much. He and his girlfriend (!) walk to his car, which, for some reason, has a giant sticker of a hand grenade on the back windshield. I don't understand this at all, and am fairly certain he doesn't know why he has it either.

Then I saw it. The coup de grace. The piece de resistance. His license plate. Are you ready for it? Because I'm not sure you are. All right, if you're sure.

"OH FACE" Yeah. As in, "I'm going to show her my o face." Please. That was when I started freaking out. I knew I had to call someone, but who? Everyone I've ever met needed to hear about this, but I decided to call Allie because I knew she could truly understand the contemptibleness of her new teammate. (Aaand, that just might be my new favorite word.) Unfortunately I had to leave a message, but I tried to stay on point and with no mention of my laundry, overdue library books, or gas problems (my voice mails can last HOURS, beware) told of my glorious find.

I do hope to run into him again someday. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for that license plate.