Day of the Living 'Tards

Some days I feel like I am living in an alternate world; a world where the retarded are free to roam the earth and influence the quality of life of those around them.

It started when I asked a man how much fuel was in the forklift and he responded, “Uhhhh, about half a quarter tank.” I think that a carpenter should be better than that with fractions.

Such was my introduction to what I began calling the “Day of The Living Tards”.

When I tried to leave Santa Fe, the main street was closed by animal services for some undisclosed critter crisis and no alternate route was given. I wandered for over 30 minutes to make my escape from this already confusing town. While I was wandering, I learned that the people of Santa Fe love to make right hand turns from the left hand lane. This seems to be some cultural thing that I have never noticed before. I am anxious to not see this again.

The lovely and talented Mrs. Troll wanted me to hang with her for an exciting night of bingo. Seeing as how I am an ungrateful bastard of a forgetful husband, I went and did not complain. (Much) This decision led to even more ‘tard interaction.

We wanted to grab a bite before bingo and I wanted to sit down and escape the steel cage of transportation for a while. We ended up sitting near one of those adult sized ‘tards with slack, vacant faces and the awareness level of a loaf of bread. Her mother was riding herd on her and a post toddler that was OBCESSED with ordering food. Between the two of them, the other customers suffered with false orders from a toddler and stolen meals from the older sibling while the mother unit neglected an infant in a carrier. The vacant one would pick up trays intended for other people and for some reason most people don’t have the stones to tell a ‘tard that they are doing something annoying.

At bingo I realized that even the intellectually challenged can play this game. Many of the bingo calls were people that could not even read the cards that they were dabbing with such intense concentration. This is bingo, not rocket science.

A fashion natural disaster was the norm for this group. I remember one woman that had to be over six feet tall, dressed in high water pajama bottoms, a cast off t-shirt that advertised her pendulous breasts, flip flops and grey socks that were meant to be white.

There was a herd of ungrateful bastards there as well, entertaining me with public displays of affection and yearning for the other guy’s girl. Why do teenage boys want the empty headed girl with large breasts and no personality?

OOPS! Please treat that as a rhetorical question.

What in the hell was I thinking? I hope I am not becoming one of THEM……

I hope it is not catching……..oh my…….