I went to drop off the Little Kidlet at school yesterday, and made the mistake of taking the route near the freeway. The freeway was backed up, and so were the side streets. So I turned around and went my other route- driving over a hill back into our neighborhood.
But I was starving by that point.
So I pulled in to a fast food place and placed my order. The guy took my money and looked down at my shirt. “Star Wars?” He asked it in the same sort of way you’d warily ask someone to confirm that they just said something horrible.
There were two ways that I interpreted it. Either he thought I was a poser Star Wars fan (very possible- back when I was 18, the guys at the gaming shop thought that Constance and I were too pretty to be RPG fans) or he thought Star Wars was lame.
So when he handed me my receipt, I just smiled at him and called him Sleemo. Which for the non Star Wars fans is Huttese for slime-ball. Yeah. I broke out the Huttese.
He blinked at me, completely confused. Yep, he just thought Star Wars was lame. As I drove off, I wished I could have remember how to say “I shall enjoy watching you die” in Huttese.