Xander Vale

TftDS – The hipster handjob – reworked

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Part Two:

The Hipster Hand Job.

 

The next day I drove up to the big city to drive for the night.  Bigger cities had more people, more events, more business and more rides.  Which meant more money for this guy.  I had probably completed 10-15 more rides since last night’s fiasco.  All of those rides were without incident or anything worth noting.  I did get called gay because someone didn’t like my shoes.  Like it has any effect on the world whatsoever.  Right after that, I received a request from a newer trendy bar just outside of downtown.  It was the kind of place frequented by sorority girls and the walking Izod ads that are trying to get into their skirts.  It was the kind of place that I couldn’t walk into without getting hives and an assault charge.  I’m starting to itch just thinking about it.  Everything I hated in high school came rushing back to me.

 

There was zero parking around the bar.  I went through this shit every time this address popped up.  I circled the block a time or two to see anyone would flag me down.  Or at least looking confused and pointing at me as if to say “is that a reasonably priced import?”  I rolled up to a stop sign and my back doors were opened.  I didn’t see anyone around and was about to pull away.  I think that would have made for a more interesting story.  A young man poked his head in and asked me if I was me.  I assured him that I was me, or at least I thought I was, and they took their seats.  I looked in my rearview to see the quality of people I was dealing with so I could get a feel for how the ride was going to go.  Strike one was that they matched.  They were both clad in dark flannel shirts that covered classic rock t-shirts from bands they don’t actually listen to and had matching classless piercings.  The dude stood out a little more because his facial hair was shaped in old fuck boy and his hair was up in an unkempt man-bun that showed off his 50’s style glasses.  They were hipsters.  Fucking God damn hipsters.

They sat quietly in the back and interacted with me very little.  I was okay with that.  Mainly because they were fucking hipsters and they probably just want to tell me how they liked everything I like before it was cool.  But a quiet, uneventful night was sounding good to me.  We had barely made it a few blocks when the shit show started.  I started to notice odd movements between the two of them in the mirror which piqued my curiosity.  The woman didn’t really say a word the whole time but was giggling and kept shaking her head “no.”  I was intrigued as to what she was refusing when I saw the guy pointing down towards his general crotch area.  This kid needed to pump his brakes.  My car was still a virgin.  I had never fooled around in this car and I was going to be damned if anyone else got to first.  Then fate and this douchebag decided that it was time to include me in the conversation.

 

Hipster Doofus: “Hey, man, have you, uh, have you ever hooked up in here?”

 

He kept giggling through his words and was unable to form a coherent thought.  He probably dodged a coat hanger in utero.  I was trying to telepathically let this zero personality piece of shit know that he wasn’t doing a damn thing in my car.

Me: “Nope, can’t say I have.”

 

HD: “Do you get girls taking their clothes off in here?”

 

Me: “Not usually, no.”

 

I proceeded to tell them a story about a ride who mooned me once on accident and the events leading up to that.  The response I got should have sent up a red flag in my consciousness.  I was too busy thinking about how this guy’s giggle is making me want to throat-punch him.  He asked me if the mooning incident was recent, and I responded in the negative because it happened about three months prior.  It seemed that the hipster was too good to continue his conversation with me and he went back to nudging his girlfriend.  I was pretty sure the girl was deaf or mute because she has not made a noise above a giggle this entire trip.  Logic would dictate that she would have to be deaf to put up with this guys voice for long enough to carry on a relationship.  Man-bun continued to pointing towards his crotch and his girl slid closer to him. My head was screaming on the inside “This is not fucking happening.”  If I heard a zipper I was ready to slam on brakes and smash his fucking goatee into the headrest.  I’d chalk it up to a dog running out in front of me.  It’d be cool.  Even hipsters wouldn’t dare hurt a puppy.

 

Lucky for me the ride was short and ended before fuck boy started to rock out with his cock out.  I dropped them off at some overpriced apartment building filled with old cat ladies and college students.  I pulled up with the apartment complex on the left, but both of these fucks got out the right side of the vehicle.  Nothing was blocking the left side so this immediately struck me as odd.  To make things worse, the self-righteous, entitled little brats left my fucking door open!  What has society come to?  Do people do this on purpose or are they teaching people in school not to shut fucking doors?  I’m sure there’s some mid-40s father of three somewhere losing his mind over his electric bill and cranking the thermostat.  I got out and walked around the vehicle.  I slammed the door loud enough to get this asshat’s attention.  He was already headed up the stairs to his place so he shouted down towards me.  Advantage, me.

 

HD: “Oh, did I leave that open?”

 

Me: “Yeah, you dumb twat.”

 

HD: “What was that?”

 

Me: “I said ‘Yeah, I got it.’”

 

HD:“Oh, okay.”

 

Me: “I hope you die.”

 

HD: “I’m sorry?”

 

Me: “I said ‘Have a nice night.’”

 

What a waste of good air.  It was like a scene out of a bad sitcom.  I’m glad I mumble a lot and have a shit accent.  God forbid I offended him and he had to go hide in his safe space with his teddy bear.  I was pissy that night and was kinda hoping that he would get all uppity. Then I would’ve had to make him cry.  If for no other reason than principle.  It would have been interesting to see which would have hurt him more; the physical beating I would mercilessly inflict upon the frail result of having a sheltering over-protective mother, a vegan diet, and never doing a push-up in his entire life he calls a body; or the emotional pain he’d feel as I made him watch me fuck his girlfriend after the epic ass beating was concluded?

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