Or Maybe the Mean Line of American Politics
I was out and about running some errands one of which was to procure a long overdue haircut (yes, I got both of them cut, now bite me).
Whilst in the chair chit-chat was started about how the guy who'd owned the place had recently sold out and moved his family to VA. Which prompted chit-chat about living in "other" places. The young women (most are, comparatively speaking) cutting my hair mentioned that she'd lived in NH (too cold) and continued on to mention that at least she'd gotten the opportunity to meet a president. Bush the Elder, during his successful campaign, had spoken at her HS and she'd gotten to listen to him and shake his hand. Her lasting impression, BTW, was how surprised she was by how soft his hand was.
Anyways, she said he seemed like a nice man which prompted the second barber to chime in that most people had liked the first Bush and how it was his son that "nobody likes".
Since I have some rules I live by (stuff like, think twice before you risk pissing off someone who has the opportunity to spit in your food) I figured I'd let that slide on by because, well, the proper time to determine whether somebody might be a BDS sufferer is not the time when they have a hank of cloth wrapped tight around your neck and are poised behind you with a scissor in their hand. Besides, both are good-natured sorts near as I can peg them.
And last, but not least, he didn't leave a gap for me to comment and quickly continued on to deliver his views about the role of a POTUS.
His immediate example was, paraphrasing, that when we got a POTUS from TX we might legitimately have expected fewer Mexicans streaming across the border and lower gasoline prices. More than interesting enough to put me, at least momentarily, further into listen mode.
He then continued on to give an example which, again paraphrasing, was that if he were POTUS, being from "around here", he'd "put a stop" to people driving big cars they don't need. He even went so far as to get specific about how people would need to "apply" to own pickup trucks and cars with V-8s. They'd have to "prove" they "needed" such a vehicle. Oh, and definitely no SUVs under any circumstances.
Well, anyway, me being me and he leaving a brief gap, I siezed upon opportunity to try and make a point while remaining with the limits of good-natured chit-chat. From previous visits to the barber shop I happen to know this guy is a motorcycle nut and owns one of those rip-roaring "ninja" sort of shrieking motorcycles.
So I chimed in that, "If I were president I'd make people apply to own pocket-rocket motorcycles. They'd have to prove why they needed a motorcycle that can do 140MPH. And I'd make it illegal for them to fire that sucker up between 10PM and 6AM."
Unfortunately my point apparently missed the mark because all I got in response was some information about how motorcycles are frugal with gasoline and quite safe to ride at, apparently, any speed - the faster the safer.
Fortunately my hair cut was coming to it's natural conclusion and I was able to exit stage left, paying up and leaving a tip along with instructions to my barberess that it was now in her hands to continue busting our good-natured friend's chops.
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