Cruisin' for a bruisin

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Ma'am!"

I turned from my grocery cart toward the clomping of determined shoes coming my way.

"Ma'am. Could I please have one dollar? Just one stinking dollar, please?"

She was practically three inches from my face, which was turning back and forth in a "no" signal. Her heavily-frosted hair was haphazardly tied in a knot on top of her head. She was dressed in what appeared to be early '80s Madonna cast-offs, complete with leg-warmers. To my dismay I noticed some on sale at Walmart recently. This means that the resurrected bell-bottom styles I used to wear in my teens are already out of style again, but I digress. In her left hand was a grocery bag full of (what I assumed was already-purchased) food. In her right, was a jug of milk, its propriety uncertain.

Anyway, as I retreated, she followed, now practically shouting at me. No, not practically, she was definitely shouting.

"Just one dollar! Would that kill you?"
"Absolutely not," I replied. "but I'm not going to give you one."
"Oh, just fine!" she said, "I'm butt nekkid. Completely butt nekkid and the president of the United States."
"I can see that," I lied. "And, I'm sure you are, but I'm still not giving you any money."

Madame President was pissed off, alright, and began winding her way around the produce section, muttering the whole way about being butt nekkid. If that was true, it would probably have gotten her kicked out of the store; I'm pretty sure they don't allow you to shop without clothing at Vons. However, shy of that, nobody seemed inclined to ask her to leave. The produce guy was standing a few yards from this exchange with his eyes downcast, busily stacking the bananas that he had just arranged a minute ago.

"She's pretty aggressive," I said to the banana fiddler. Sometimes, I like to demonstrate my talent for stating the obvious. He nodded in agreement but wasn't going to move a muscle if he didn't have to. Leave it to management; that's their department.

What does this woman know about me, I wondered angrily. She didn't care one bit about my own situation. I could be as broke as her -- broker, even! After all, she was the one with the purchases in the bag. I only had prospective purchases. Where does she get off yelling at me; being so self-righteous while begging?

Evidently, I forgot that she said she was a politician.

I could hear her pounce upon some other innocent shoppers, and heard one of them comment that she must have been smoking something. And, there's another thing: How do beggars afford to smoke? I could get on a real rant here. Readying myself for another confrontation as I rounded each isle, I resolved to kick her ass if she started anything with me. I wasn't in the mood; I've got problems, too, for chrissake.

Okay, I've never kicked anyone's ass, even a naked president. But I was looking for an excuse to get really mad at someone, and there's always a first time. If Hillary Goddamn Clinton showed up right then, she'd be in big trouble.

And, I wouldn't give her any money, either.