I just got back from the grocery store and am still amazed at how the trip went, start to finish. Almost immediately I got behind a big truck hauling what I assume to be wheat. Or some sort of grain. And the reason I know this is because he couldn’t travel much over 20 mph because he hadn’t tied a cover over the top-and the grain was blowing all over my car. All the way to town, through town, and on the way out the other side of town. I couldn’t get an opening to pass him to save my life.
Oops. Forgot to mention at somewhere near the midway point an elderly woman cut me off at a 4-way stop. Clearly she hasn’t grasped the concept of taking turns. But at least she was kind of cute. Put me in mind of kids in a drag race, gripping the top of the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white, and darting me several quick glances before she quickly eased through the intersection.
And then there was the store itself. I suppose there’s not much new there, but after Old MacDonald more than tripled my travel time, I was feeling a hair on the ornery side anyway, and not in the mood to put up with a whole lot more.
Which is probably why the store was filled with more special people than usual.
People who think nothing of parking their cart slightly off center of the middle of an aisle, then moving a couple of feet away while looking at every item in a 3-yard radius. Naturally between their position and where they left their cart, there is no room to get around them while they take their sweet time trying to decide if they actually want something from that area or not.
And then there are the long lost buddies who block the entrance of the aisle you need to get down, seemingly unaware of your presence.
Or the very important people who just don’t have anymore time to waste shopping than necessary and cut you off so unexpectedly that it’s a miracle you don’t plow them over. Frankly I’m at the point where I’m going to stop trying to avoid hitting them. Bring it on, speedster, I’m ready for you!
The worst, though, was the olive woman. I’ll concede that part of the blame for this incident was due to the store manager’s poor planning. At the end of this particular aisle is a big square support post, which makes it a tight squeeze on either side anyway. But then they sat a portable cart of something on the right so it was impossible to slip by on that side. Well, unless you happened to be Gumby or Pokey.
Across from that, on the only passable side, was a display of olives. And most of them appeared to be on sale. And this woman had to check each and every can and jar of them out before loading her cart with more olives than any normal family could eat in the next fifty-two years.
Yeah, I know, I should have said, “Excuse me, could I just get by you really quick?” But by that point I was so aggravated I was afraid to open my mouth for fear of what might come out. I might intend to say something polite, with a grimace I tried to pass off as a smile, but it was entirely possible that something not quite so polite might slip out instead. So I just bit my tongue and waited. And waited.
Finally there was the tailgater on the way home. I can’t help it, I believe speed limit signs are posted for a reason, and I obey them. Apparently she does not. By the time I caught the red light at the intersection leading out of town, I could see her in my rear view mirror glaring at my car and muttering up a storm. So I turned on the first side street, still in town, to let her get around me because I didn’t want to take a chance on her kissing my bumper when I made the turn into my driveway. After the speed limit went up to fifty-five.
I’d say all of this was because it’s the ‘younger generation,’ but truthfully, there were only two guys under the age of 25 that did anything that could be called rude. One was a teenage boy, and I completely understand they’re just always in a hurry. The other was guy who simply wasn’t paying attention (and is lucky I didn’t plow into his backside when he danced out in front of me so unexpectedly).
The shocking thing is that the majority of royalty wannabe’s had to have been thirty, forty and older. People who should be old enough to know better but act, instead, like obnoxious, insufferable boors.
I thought the ‘Me Generation’ was history. Guess not, huh?
But no matter. They’re not going to change my attitude. Yes, I get seriously annoyed with them, but I grew up in a family where the right way to live was to be kind, considerate and polite.
And I’m going to be kind, considerate and polite…no matter how much it hurts sometimes!