I wasn't listening

I think God, life and luck were trying to communicate to me:

Everyone doing it, doesn't make it right.

Anytime that I did something, rather uncharacteristic, being outlandishly rude, using culturally or racial offensive language or trying to fit in with the crowd -- it ran around and bit me in the back (side)

"You shot the native" -- replace native with racial slur. For this, I got a very well deserved stern look from a guy, who seemed twice my height and twice my weight, a look that meant -- "Look! I shot the little punk bastard who said that!" And there was much rejoicing.

Joining in a mulligan's stew of sexually explicit tales, spoken all-too loudly, when behind me children are capable of hearing only me; one of whom, I think, knew me.

Smoking (see previous posts) only to be bleary-eyed and incapable of speaking above a Jack Palance whisper -- cigars are not my friends. That's a path I'll not take again.

I think that I'll take my regular path, as boring as it might be.