Dear Dipshit Californian Tourist,
Wow! That's a gigantic population, so I must narrow it down. You were in a light gray 4 door Nissan Sentra traveling northbound in the Grand Teton National Park heading towards Yellowstone. Oddly, I cannot provide a description of you, the driver, but I noticed a middle aged, frumpy female with heavily hair-sprayed, brown hair in the front passenger seat. As you crossed Pilgrim Creek, the scenery changed from big, open views to a tunnel going through a pine forest where trees choked both sides of the road. You were alone on the road with no cars ahead or behind you.
As you cruised along, totally unaware of everything going on around you, a black bear bolted from the passenger side of the road. It lumbered across the roadway where your passenger with plastic hair shrieked. You managed to tap your brakes, but continued on your oblivious journey.
Why can't I remember what you looked like?
How do I know all of this? Because I was running on the shoulder of the road when blackie crossed 27 yards ahead of us. I immediately stopped, searching for a safety zone, and was grateful to see your car in case it was needed for refuge if ol' blackie wanted to snack on a sweaty dude. To my dismay, you nonchalantly continued on your way without even an inkling of a thought that I might need help. As you faded in the distance, I was relieved to hear a diesel pickup rattling up behind me and, thank God for Texas. He immediately stopped, was excited to have seen the bear and provided a barrier as he idled beside me as I ran. After reaching a safe distance, he bid me farewell and continued on his mission.
It bothered me that I was unable to provide a description of you. But, then it donned on me!
Maybe next time, you will have coincidentally come up for air and will be able to help somebody.
Thanks for nothing,
The Moustache
No comments:
Post a Comment