My feeling is that the most well thought-out etiquette book can still only cover so many contingencies; always, one must learn on the fly, frequently using the conduct of others as a guide.

It is for this reason I am so very, very grateful to the douchebag I nearly met tonight. Were it not for him, I might very well have thought it was customary to, say, get out of the car and check on the pedestrian one just backed into with one's Jeep. Instead, I now know that a quick glance at the recovered figure on the sidewalk and a wave are sufficient.

Let me just break out of my pseudo-calm voice here:

1. No, I am not injured.
2. No fucking thanks to him.
3. I was in a goddamn crosswalk and he was reversing, meaning he was going the wrong goddamn way. Good thing he had no speed. That was all kinds of not good.
4. A WAVE? A FUCKING WAVE?? YOU HIT ME WITH A JEEP. I think the very least you can do is exit the goddamn vehicle, check if anything is wrong, and apologize.

There were two girls coming out of a store behind me. "Holy shit! Did you see what he did to her??" And, my favorite, "Kick his car!!!" If I had been less occupied with shock, and less alert to the possibility that the fucking asshole who backs into pedestrians could easily be the fucking asshole who kills pedestrians for kicking his Jeep, I might have. As it was I settled for gaping and cursing. And gratitude that this was ultimately as innocuous as it was.

Anyway, to recap:

Always wave! One wave--no problems!

Before we found our current apartment--actually, two weeks before we found our current apartment, which is like 10 years in NY real estate time--my roommate and I applied for another apartment. We negotiated a rent decrease, turned in our paperwork, and paid a deposit to the agency involved.

Then it all went to hell. Slowly, and over the course of several days. And oh, did it suck. The agent mistakenly told us certain utilities were included that were not. Then, the landlord didn't agree to the rent decrease. So there was no way of working the overall cost out of the fee, etc.; it was completely untenable. The president of the agency owned the error, apologized, etc., and when it became clear that it was just not going to work, promised to refund our money.

Now here's the thing: we each paid our half of the deposit with a debit card, for which they charged a two-dollar processing fee apiece. And instantly upon accepting that this deal had irrevocably screwed the pooch, my roommate and I were both adamant: "They better give us both our two dollars back!" We would never have paid the deposit and attendant fee if they'd gotten things right to begin with! If we lost our four dollars, the terrorists would win!

So amidst many cries of, "Two . . . dolllars" and "Didn't ask for a dime. Two dollars--cash" my roommate, as the one who worked near enough to pick up the deposit on her lunch hour, began the siege. The best part: the woman who gave us the refund had to ask permission for the four-dollar expenditure. But by God, each of us got our two dollars.

Small victories, man. Small victories.

Waitaminit.

Salon announces subscription rates will be going up to support independent reporting and the intelligent commentary we all love . . . and then hires Camille Paglia again. Couldn't you have just set the money on fire? You'd have at least gotten an interesting Video Dog entry out of it.

No point, no amusing anecdote, no photos. But I've been chided for slack posting and must make it up somehow. So I revert to the lamest mode of blogging: emotoblogging.

Today's quote from Rhinocéros:
"Contre tout le monde, je me défendrai, contre tout le monde, je me défendrai! Je suis le dernier homme, je le resterai jusqu’au bout! Je ne capitule pas!"

'Cept for the "homme" part, that is what I found myself ranting today. That is not a good sign.

Today's re-used graphic illustrating present mood:

Yes, that is a monkey giving the finger and lighting a fart on fire. Image courtesy of Yorik. Its necessity courtesy of The Man.