if i say "gun it!", will you know what to do?

dysfunction
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"and what do you say to the airline people to make them yell at you?"

"nothing," i defended. "i'd ask them 'when is this plane going to board?', or something like that."

"see. you just carry about you a natural state of derision towards people."


i figure you just don't have to talk to the drunk guy who sidles up next to you at a bar. i consider it perfectly appropriate to roll your eyes instead. this way the bartender is at least aware of your plight and mouths the words "do you want him out?" to you while thumbing towards the door.

his 10-minute monologue on what he does for a living, which was punctuated with a "sexy, isn't it?", just didn't do it for me. am i to blame for responding with a "actually, no, it's not," when i simply wanted a night out with my girlfriend.

so she's the friendly one. which is why he leaned over me to speak to her. or rather, to look at her huge and prominent breasts, which were fairly well hoisted into one of her many revealing tank tops.

i tended to agree with the bouncer anyway. i also thought jay, the drunk guy, was, in fact, a "douche".


we were stopped by a construction worker while driving through the idaho mountains. we were the only ones on that road. us and him. we'd been driving for half an hour and hadn't seen anyone. i rolled down my window.

"hi," i smiled. i do smile.

"it'll just be a few minutes. one of my guys will be by to help you through."

we chatted about our search for the hot springs and the beautiful sunny weather, which was oddly peppered with snow squalls ("microclimates!"). when we got onto the topic of their construction work, he informed us that all of the men were on a "work release program". my eyes bugged out.

"… as am i," he asserted.

my driving partner was the type of person who would immediately lock the car door as soon as i hopped out to use burger king's facilities. i'd turn around and roll my eyes at her, but she'd indicate some 12-year olds crossing the parking lot and hold up her cell phone, which was poised for dialing 9-1-1.

upon hearing that we were surrounded by no one but freed convicts, i feared how she would react.

don't do anything. do not run this man over. let me find out what he did... i thought.

"there's about 15 of us working out here, for about 2 weeks," he explained.

"and this is all organized by the... prison?" i asked.

"yes. they selected a handful of us for this job. two nights ago was the first time i'd seen stars in over 10 years. i sat outside my tent and watched them for hours."

i chastised myself for taking anything for granted. ever.

there was a pause. i think he noticed our questioning eyes.

"i come from a family where you don't hit a woman. and i took a man's life for doing so. and it cost me 15 years."

another pause.

"it's okay. it's my fault."

i shook my head, "no..."

it was then that our accompanying ride showed up.

"he'll get you to the other side."

we started the car and began to follow the truck. but that conversation is bereft. i wanted to open the car door and jump out. i wanted to ask about regrets, about impetuses, about compunction and circumstances. and possibly let him know that the world might be a better place without the man that he killed.

but the automatic doors locked as we started to move. all we did was wave goodbye.