[Hey, You!] One Hundred Percent Perspiration
You were the guy at the car wash this weekend in San Clemente with the older white Mercedes. You had finished washing and were detailing your car in the stall, so you wouldn't have to pull out into the sun, where everyone else has to park to dry their cars. Not having a/c in my vehicle, I was sitting in the sun, waiting for you to finish, sweat rolling down my body in 85-degree heat. I got out of my car and politely tried to ask how much longer you were going to be, explaining I had no a/c and was roasting to death. You cut me off mid-sentence and replied that I should use another stall (which were all full with people just starting) and patronized me with some disrespectful garbage—"Don't worry about it; I'll move when I finish." I want to apologize for calling you an asshole, but this kind of rude response—not even allowing me to finish my sentence, plus your complete lack of common courtesy and consideration for other people—has made me the jerk that I am today.
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