The Cleaveland Coyote has to take The Coyotemobile out of the garage.
He doesn't like to do this. The public roads are unsafe, driven by thousands of individuals in their cars who act like the roads are their own private possessions and not shared with thousands of other drivers.
But the need is dire.
His monthly comics shipment didn't include the latest issue of Taco Truckers, a series about rival taco truck operators on a quest to beat the other in finding a magical hot sauce that confers culinary jouissance and a frantic dash to chug water on whoever tastes it. It was the last issue of the current story arc, and the previous issue had ended on a cliffhanger where Carlos had just been turned into a burrito by a bruja, and was about to be eaten by a drunken gringo. The Coyote had already waited a month to find out what happened and he had avoided Internet spoilers, but he didn't want to wait any longer, so he decided to write his mail order comics dealer for a credit for the forgotten comic, and just venture out of the house to his LCS (local comic shop) to pick up a copy there. He had called ahead and they set aside a copy for him. Now all he has to do is get in the car.
He looks at the car. When had he last driven it? he wonders. He tries to take it out about once a week just to keep it running, but his dread of leaving the polite oasis of the house often made him go longer than a week between drives.
The Coyote sighs and gets in.
Once on the road, things go fairly well. It's a Monday afternoon, and not too crowded. But on the brief stretch of the highway he has to take on the way, numerous fellow motorists cut him off, change lanes at the last minute without signaling, weave from lane to lane chatting on their cell phones, and even if they manage to stay in the same lane still drive too fast to be considered sensible. The Coyote is wondering if the posted speed limit had become optional and no one had informed in, when a middle-aged white man talking on a cell phone driving a brown S.U.V. nearly hits him, cutting The Coyote off despite The Coyote's turn signal and gradual ease into the exit ramp. The Coyote brakes and yells, "Hey!"
As the cars slow to a stop at the top of the exit ramp, The Coyote wonders, "Why did he not just slow down and go behind me instead of nearly causing an accident just to be ahead of me waiting at the traffic light?"
Because the man's a jerk and doesn't think, nor care about anybody else, The Coyote decides.
The Coyote honks.
The man doesn't pay any attention, but keeps talking on his cell phone. He even talks with his hands, but as far as The Coyote can tell he isn't using a video phone so The Coyote wonders why he bothers with hand gestures, and, judging from the driver's face in the rear view mirror, facial expressions, directed at the person on the other end of the phone call who, of course, can't see them.
Because the man's an idiot, The Coyote decides.
When the light turns green, The Coyote follows the S.U.V. It pulls into the parking lot of Nails & Shit, "the home improvement store with attitude" (and also the final nail in the coffin of punk rock, whose incivility refreshed the 1970s and then made some sense in the cultural context, but decades later had turned into a nasty cancer of stupidity across an entire culture, as kids grew up thinking it was cool to be rude) and The Coyote follows. The S.U.V. pulls into a parking spot at about twenty miles an hour, nearly scraping one of the cars next to it, and the man gets out, still talking on the phone.
The Coyote pulls up beside him and yells, "Hey! You almost hit me back there! Watch your driving!"
The man looks at The Coyote, says, "Hang on" into the phone, and says, "What?" to The Coyote.
"You almost hit me back there on the highway. Could you please drive more safely?"
The man grimaces, and says, "Whatever, fuckhead. I'm busy," then, as he walks on, he talks to the phone, "OK, I'm back. What? Oh, it was some ghetto guy yelling about how I almost hit him. So what were you saying?"
The Coyote watches the man walk into the store, and then The Coyote pulls into a nearby parking spot, shuts off the engine, and waits. He doesn't know what he is going to do when the man comes out of the store, but somebody has to take a stand against incivility and rudeness. The S.U.V.'s driver almost killed The Coyote due to the driver's rudeness.
The Coyote wonders what Batman would do, or even Brother Voodoo. At the other end of the parking lot, he sees a police car enter. A jolt of fear shoots up his arm, and the next moment he is starting up the car. The police car could be here by coincidence, but the man may also have called the cops, The Coyote realizes. The Coyote's half-black and the man is white, and seems richer, or maybe just more in debt, judging from the S.U.V., and, yes, his attitude. The police usually take the side of the powerful. All the comic books in the world portraying nice cops couldn't unseat what The Coyote learned firsthand growing up in Cleaveland. The Coyote decides not to chance it and leaves, heading for the comics shop. Since The Coyote thinks the police won't help him, he decides that he needs a superhero who would take care of not just criminals, but jerks as well. Someone who could teach the world to be polite, and make people be nicer to one another.
"Since no one else is probably going to do it, perhaps I should become that hero," The Coyote thinks, "But first I want to read the new Taco Truckers."
Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.
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