I'll Not Tolerate Rudeness

One of my big complaints about living in the suburbs, and even when I lived in Phoenix and Chicago, is that everyone is very me-centered and busy. I remember coming back from living in England and really and truly being astounded that people couldn’t at least return their carts to the cart places in the parking lots. Like they were just SO busy on their way from the Wal-mart that they couldn’t take 45 seconds to scoot their cart back to the little corral. But those people would be the same ones to be angry if and when someone else’s stray cart banged into their cars. Or they would drive around for 10 minutes looking for a parking place really close to the store, when they could have come in and out in that time.

Now I’m not perfect, and I am sure I do some of those things to some extent. But I know that I have not gone completely over to the dark side yet, because I still notice them, they still bug me, and when I lived in suburbia, it was those types of things that drove me away.

So Monday was the first day of summer vacation for the kids, and they were home alone. (See the above snake story.) I had too many calls that day to referee (he hit me, she is bossing me around, he won’t do his work, she’s making me breakfast I don’t want to eat… and on and on and on and – feel my pain yet??). So I stopped at the store on my way home. The final breath I could take before opening the door into the lions’ den. I didn’t exactly hurry, even though I hate that store.

Now, let me just paint a little picture of that store. I hate it because it’s the Beautiful People Store. It’s a grocery store chain, and there are plenty in not-so-beautiful neighborhoods, but this is one in a new, upscale neighborhood. It has a Starbucks, a huge deli, a video rental, a large liquor store, a pharmacy. Quite the beautiful one-stop-shop. It’s the last one in the burbs before you hit the country, so it’s where we shop. It’s about a 20-25 minute drive from our house. My feelings alternate when I go in there—I NEVER feel like I fit in, but either I am walking around very self conscious about my hick appearance, trying to blend in, or I purposely put on my barn boots and overalls and walk around checking out peoples’ reactions to me and my traveling stank.

Monday I was just trying to fit in, and since I was in my work clothes, I did okay.

I got up to the checkout, and was taking the items out of my cart, when I realized that the kids hadn’t called me in the 25 minutes I had been shopping. No, that CAN’T be right! I fished my phone out of my purse, and saw that they had called three times and I missed their calls. Fearing that this would be the one time that the kids didn’t cry wolf, I punched the button and called them back. Right there in line.

Now, if you remember why I hate the burbs, it’s the me mentality, and the disconnect from others. So it is my SUPREME, GRANDIOSE, HUGEST, GIGANTICIST pet peeve to see people chatting away on their phones in line, in the drive through, in the store, totally oblivious to the people that are around them IN REAL LIFE.

So I am in the line, and I am being hypocritical.

Imagine my surprise and horror and shame when the bagger (a teenage boy) came over to me, and actually said, (and I’m quoting, because this scarring situation is forever branded and seared into my memory), “Ma’am, you just keep talking on the phone. I’ll empty your cart for you.” And he proceeded to TAKE ALL OF MY STUFF OUT OF MY CART WHILE I CHATTED ON THE PHONE.

No, I take that back. He really did say that, but there is no way in hell that I would let the story be told like that. First, I winced, like he had just right-hooked me. Because it was that shocking. I mean, here he is ENCOURAGING people to be rude. And being so nice about it!! So I hung up the phone immediately, of course, and told him that I should be paying attention to my shopping, and that if folks couldn’t take 2 minutes to go through the grocery line without the phone jammed into their ear canal, then perhaps they needed to rethink their priorities. And that instead of offering to help them unload their carts, that next time he suggest that they stop talking and pay attention to what they are doing. And I took my own stuff out of my own cart.

He looked at me a little puzzled. And with a sort-of grin on his face. I’m not sure what he was thinking—like, “Yeah, that’s what I think, too, but I can’t tell that to customers” or “This woman has just escaped from the home, and she is completely loony and unfit to be roaming in public” or even, “Jeez, I tried to help her out and she’s lecturing me on how not to be nice.”

Anyway, had I worn my overalls, he probably would have just looked at me and understood.