The Long Walk Home (plus Skateboarding is TOTALLY a crime)

so I'm standing at the register waiting eagerly to help the next polite customer when in walks a very short and angry looking puerto rican guy age 18-25 dressed to the nines in the ultimate ghetto outfit - complete with huge crisp white sneakers, baggy designer jeans hanging over those sneakers, an oversized sports jersey or designer t-shirt with a least 1 other shirt underneath it, matching hat with perfectly flat brim tilted to the side on top of the always fashionable du rag. He had a really bad looking pencil-thin goatee, and I'm not sure, but there could have been some bling in there somewhere too, but I'm not sure. Tre Stereotypeque.

I greet him, he walks up to the counter holding in his hands a half-smoked cigarette and a mighty chip on his shoulder. He was only a few inches taller than the counter so I was already chuckling to myself in my head. Without saying anything he pushes foward a piece of paper across the counter and then says
"Eey, uum, how you get der?"
"WHAT?" I say, already annoyed as I always am at people who insist on speaking in either a tone of voice or some kind of style of speech that is completely unintelligable to anyone trying to listen.
Then he points to the piece of paper which is a Mapquest printout of directions to a certain point in Westport.
"I need to get thurr" he put his finger on the line of the paper with the address, as if he couldn't have just told me, like I need to read his fucking paper.
"OK, well, you gotta get back on 95 and go south... " as I'm saying this i realize, wait a minute... He has directions from Mapquest that are telling him exactly what I am saying.
"Nah nah nah, I'm WALKING, yo" he rudely exclaims.
"Yeah, well, that's a pretty long walk. Go straight on post road for like 7 miles" I tell him.
"Yeah it's long. How about you just give me a ride?" he says while glaring at me.
"Um.. well as you can see I'm at work, duh" I say.
"Take a break." he tells me with absolute seriousness. He was beginning to really freak me out. When he finally understood that if he didn't leave I would probably kick his ass he walked out. I Then, in the doorway I hear a rattlin'. I turn and see him ripping down a poster that someone had put up to advertise.
"HEY. I think whoever put that there might appreciate if you didn't rip it down"
"AIGHT, whuteva" he said and then tossed the torn poster on the ground and shuffled and pimp-walked his way out the door... and out of our lives forever.


What a little bitch, huh? What kind of a person acts like that? I swear... these days! Right?
I had a good mind to run after him, offer him a ride, take him to my car, drive him to wear he was going and then right before he got out of the car just shoot him in the face. That would really show him, I thought.
On a sociological and cultural sidenote, I would love to think that your clothing doesn't dictate your behavior but I have yet to be proven wrong. It's not that he was puerto rican (or whatever..haha), A white punk bitch would act the same way, but odds are that in this area a white punk bitch wouldn't be walking to his destination, he would be driving the BMW he either bought with his parents money or with money from his small time drug ring in high school.

Speaking of punk bitches, a bunch of punk bitch skateboard kids wrote, in the ultimate statement of defiance, "Skateboarding is not a crime" on our store wall. (Paul painted over it before I could get a picture)
You know what is a crime, Scrappy? Writing stupid shit on a businesses wall. You know what else is a crime? Skateboarding. so fuck off.

-Jordan