Firecracker, firecracker, boom boom boom!

So I'm driving through Wyoming with my boyfriend and we see FIREWORKS signs.

Of course we stop.

We pull up to a fireworks store that's a basically a trailer, and go in.

I say, "Do you have any T-shirts?"
A sweaty, overweight, red faced, white dude behind the counter says, "Yeah, right there," and points to a shirt on the wall.
It's a T-shirt of Mt. Rushmore.

"That's going to be a collector's item soon," he declares, huffing and puffing. "Because with the way things are going, a bunch of assholes are going to take it down!"

I am confused. I wanted a Black Cat Fireworks T-shirt. Not a lecture about the state of US of A.

"What do you think of that?" he questions me accusingly. "WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?"

I figure they saw our California license plates.

I walk right up to the counter. Put my hands on it. Lean towards him.

"WHOSE SIDE AM I ON? NO ONES. I'M ON MY OWN SIDE. BECAUSE I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT."

We look into each other's eyes. I step back. I walk around and look at fireworks.

The overweight, red faced dude is confused.

He comes over and talks to me about fireworks.

We buy some.

As we leave he gives me his card and tells me he lives behind the store and if we ever roll through and the store is closed, give him a call if we want to buy anything.

Now we're talkin'.

Thanks Bill from Rock Springs, Wyoming.

--Beth