No Fair

As Sarah Silverman once said, when life gives you AIDS, make lemonaids.  And that sort of maybe describes yesterday.  Or maybe it doesn't.

Short story even shorter, we didn't go to the Utah State Fair because it rained like a mother. 

However, the weekend wasn't a complete wash when it comes to human spectacle.  On the way home from work on Friday, we saw one of the most redneck displays of humanity ever to grace the earth.  Let me preface by saying that we have noticed a preponderance of Rascal Scooters*/Jazzy Power Chairs on the street here.  They are seriously all over the place.  One time we saw a caravan of three or four people on their chairs, out for a Sunday roll. 

Rascal Scooter - source

Jazzy Power Chair - source

 But I digress.  Friday we saw a young guy rolling down the street in his chair (clearly this was the JPC variety, because it lacked the signature Rascal Scooter steering column).  Normally, a Jazzy Power Chair doesn't attract much notice in these parts.  But this warranted a second, and even third glance.  This was no ordinary chair.  It was a chair with flare.  This boss had himself a mossy oak camouflage pattern power chair.  Clearly this aesthetic finesse was representative of his overall animal magnetism and masculinity, because it seemed perfectly natural that he was not alone in this chair.  No.  Sitting side saddle on his lap, arms flung romantically around his neck, was a lady friend of considerable girth.

source

This isn't the chair.  But aren't you going to sleep better tonight knowing that something like this exists?  This chair probably has more horsepower and towing capacity than my Civic.  Who else thought, at first glace, that the steering button coming out of the arm rest was a mounted bayonet?


You can choose not to believe me, but I assure you this is true.  I wasn't quick enough on the draw with my iPhone, so there is no photographic evidence of this encounter.  I tried to whip it out and take a discreet picture from behind, but the traffic was moving too quickly.  Because there remains one tiny chamber of my heart that isn't made completely of ice and condescension, I couldn't bring myself to take a picture of them from the front, lest they realize that some heartless asshole thought she was so much better than them that she had a right to take their picture AND make fun of them on the Internet.  So there's that.


*Full disclosure:  The summer between freshman and sophomore year of college, I sold these scooters over the phone.  Not in a call center where potential customers contacted us.  No, this was the worst kind of telemarketing.  I don't know where our call lists actually came from, but it was not unusual for me to call someone who was incredibly senile or even dead, and sometimes recently so.  It was Awkward City, population me.  It was the most awful work experience I can imagine, outside of working in a sweatshop or being held in actual slavery.