Sleeping on the couch sucked. Not showering before dropping his daughter off at school did, too. The hangover from hitting three–or was it four–bars with Sales-bro sucked even more. But what sucked the most was the silent treatment his daughter was giving him.
“Your hair is sticking up. Everywhere.” That was the most he could get out of her. She’d inherited her mothers pinched lips.
“Thought I’d try something new” he joked dryly. He was just trying to keep his eyes open. Only 8 more cars before he could drop her off. Then he was going to sleep this off. He’d have to sneak in through the back door to not interrupt the daycare kids. God, he hoped he didn’t buy anything from Sales-bro.
That damn hummer roared past him and the 8 cars ahead, driver side wheels on the opposite curb, jumping up to the front of the line.
“Asshole!” his daughter shouted.
Alright. That was it.
He got out of the car. His daughter was right. Hummer was an asshole. At least Sales-bro was interesting enough with the whole “I-read-Faulkner-let-me-explain-to-you-that-we-all-talk-like-David-Mamet crap” Hummer was just an entitled Asshole.
Hummer had his door open, having the same argument he’d had last week with the same teacher. His son was yet to get out.
“Hey!” He was running. He felt his heart pound in his temples. “HEY!”
They turned to him.
“Drop your little bastard off now and move the FUCK along.”
Hummer climbed down. He was pissed. His shirt was nice, though.