The "F" word

Well, now, I had an F'ing good time tonight.

As anyone who knows me could probably tell you, I am not a prude when it comes to colorful language. I don't consider myself the proverbial sailor, either. The truth would lie somewhere in the middle and the truth behind that truth is that I just don't think that there are any "bad words".

Language is an amazing thing. The ability to vocalize it is most refined in the human species and to place a particular moral taboo on any sound we make seems actually rather ridiculous. I know, I'm spitting into the wind of millennia of dirty words and blasphemies, but it doesn't mean I am any less enlightened and correct.


My story starts with a visit to a place that is the very embodiment of Hell on earth: Ann Arundel Mall. It's the largest such monstrosity in Maryland and I avoid it like the plague. Only the most dire of necessities would draw me into its incidious meliea of parking and maze of stores.

As it happens, I needed sinkers (fishing weights) and the ONLY Pro Bass shop in Maryland is at AAM. In accepting my fate I should tell you that my mood was not boyant, yet I steeled myself against the inevitable by planning my mission with all the precision of the Navy Seals. I knew exactly where I planned to park (as close to the main entrance off of US 100 as possible). It would be a straight (if distant) shot into the Pro Bass Shop (a place I had never been to before). I would get my sinkers and then get the hell out of there. In and out with no distractions, and then I parked, stepped from my truck and encounted my first in a series that quickly formed the theme for this little essay.

As I pressed the "lock" button on my key chain, I heard the following.

"Are you Hungry?"

"OMG, yes! I'm F'ing starving!!"

"F yeah! Me too!"

The exchange was coming from a clutch of 3 teenaged girls, bloated bags in all six hands, and they proceeded to agree on the same F'ing restaurant, like that was "so F'ing funny!"

I, non-chalantly maintained my attention and made a B-line for the promonent Pro Bass Shop exterior looming on the horizon.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk from the parking lot, a young couple came into view, their intent trajectory set to cross my path. Neither looked very happy nor acknowledged my presence. He was saying, "...exactly. Like I could F'ing care any less. We both know it's F'ing gonna F them but good."

Ouch, an F'ing strafing of the F-word right in front of me. Close enough that I could have been hit!

Once inside the store, I grabbed the map to show me how to navigate it's behemouth layout, found the sinkers that I needed, and headed straight to the check out. This was the easy part.

One step out the door and on my left my attentions was drawn to another couple leaning against the railing of the impressive water-feature (waterfall and stream) that wraps around the store's entrance. After exhailing a drag from his cigarette, the man asked, "Where the F are they?" And the woman replied, "How the F should I know? They're your F'ing friends."

"Then she F'ing did!" came another loud (but slightly distant) voice from the opposite direction. I turned to see a car slowly cruising the immediate exterior drive of the mall full of young men (boys?) and the use of the F word in all of it's various tenses proceeded casually, loudly, and unabaited as they passed by the crowded entrance.

Waiting for a safe chance to cross the drive and head toward my car, I happened to step off of the curb at the same time as an Indian woman with her young daughter in tow. Together, yet not together, we strode away from the mall along one of the inumerable spokes of the parking lot. She seemed anxious and uncertain as to the location of her car, scanning the lot with all the earnestness of someone following the tennis ball during a match at Wimbleton. I caught view of the enormous blue light post next to which I parked and thought how F'ing glad I was to have identified a landmark before leaving my truck.

Mid journey to our destinations and keeping pace with one another, we both stopped at the loud slamming of two car doors: BAM BAM. I whipped around to see the woman. She looked like she'd been crying. Then I heard the man.

"You're F'ing unbelievable! Take the F'ing Ford" (the sound of car keys flung to the pavement tinkled as they landed in the parking lot in front of the car) "Go F'ing home! I am sick of your F'ing face! Your F'ing voice! Go to F'ing Hell!!!"

He turned and stormed toward the mall. She stepped from between their car and the one next to it, stooped to retrieve the keys, stepped around to the driver's side of the car, got in and drove away. And I thought, 'where are the F'ing cameras? Is this an F'ing episode of some F'ing reality show with the words "New Jersey" in its title?'

Recapturing my bearings, I no longer saw the woman in the sari with her daughter. I turned again to the lamppost, spotted my truck's silver cab roof, and proceeded to F'ing get the Hell out of Ann Arundel Mall. It was enough F'ing excitement for one drizzly Saturday night.