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So I was at the supermarket today, because my freezer was running low on delicious animal muscle for me to consume, and I'm waiting in line at the checkout. Like, for a while. Typically, I'm actually a very patient person, contrary to what you might think; long lines and longer waits have never bothered me.
But in a supermarket? In the middle of the day, when the same woman has been in front of me for the last ten minutes? The man at the head of the line, whose groceries have already been bagged and paid for, lucky bastard, is arguing with the cashier. Initially, I don't pay attention to what, because I'm fascinated with how terrible the book I just bought at the store earlier is. Cormac McCarthy, how does one manage to make the end of the world boring, exactly? Did you take classes? Is it just sheer, staggering talent? OPRAH, YOUR BOOKS ARE TERRIBLE.
At one point, however, the other woman in line in front of me mutters under her breath, "I can't believe this." and I finally pay attention.
I expect it to be about competitor's coupons. Accepted credit cards. The price of cheese. Whatever. The man is arguing with the cashier about directions. The girl is . . . well, she's a girl. I mean, come on, she's like fifteen, looks nervous as hell, and probably isn't making enough for this guy to be slowly raising his voice at her the way he is. She's wearing a trainee badge, and there's no help in sight.
"All I want to know," he says, throwing up his arms, "is where MLK Boulevard is. Why is this so hard for you?"
"I'm sorry, I just, I don't know. I just moved here, okay? We're from downtown, this isn't . . . "
"This is ridiculous. I'm going to miss my appointment because you don't know where the hell you are."
Now, I'm new to the area, too. Compared to the tiny little one-tractor town I'm from, this place is ridiculously big. I've been here two years, and I'm still having difficulty learning all the street names for the large city area, when I'm used to giving directions like, "It's just past the McDonalds" or "You know where Fred lives? Okay, it's right around the corner."
However.
"Hey." I say. They turn to look at me. "Isn't . . . isn't this store ON MLK Boulevard?"
There's a pause. We shift our gazes as a collective to the street sign visible on the corner out the window. We look back at each other. All of this wouldn't be noteworthy if he hadn't said what he had next.
He blushes a little. I mean, the sign is RIGHT THERE. It's sitting right in front of the only entrance to the parking lot. He frowns, "That wasn't there when I came in here." and stomps off.
Nobody every admits their mistakes anymore.
But in a supermarket? In the middle of the day, when the same woman has been in front of me for the last ten minutes? The man at the head of the line, whose groceries have already been bagged and paid for, lucky bastard, is arguing with the cashier. Initially, I don't pay attention to what, because I'm fascinated with how terrible the book I just bought at the store earlier is. Cormac McCarthy, how does one manage to make the end of the world boring, exactly? Did you take classes? Is it just sheer, staggering talent? OPRAH, YOUR BOOKS ARE TERRIBLE.
At one point, however, the other woman in line in front of me mutters under her breath, "I can't believe this." and I finally pay attention.
I expect it to be about competitor's coupons. Accepted credit cards. The price of cheese. Whatever. The man is arguing with the cashier about directions. The girl is . . . well, she's a girl. I mean, come on, she's like fifteen, looks nervous as hell, and probably isn't making enough for this guy to be slowly raising his voice at her the way he is. She's wearing a trainee badge, and there's no help in sight.
"All I want to know," he says, throwing up his arms, "is where MLK Boulevard is. Why is this so hard for you?"
"I'm sorry, I just, I don't know. I just moved here, okay? We're from downtown, this isn't . . . "
"This is ridiculous. I'm going to miss my appointment because you don't know where the hell you are."
Now, I'm new to the area, too. Compared to the tiny little one-tractor town I'm from, this place is ridiculously big. I've been here two years, and I'm still having difficulty learning all the street names for the large city area, when I'm used to giving directions like, "It's just past the McDonalds" or "You know where Fred lives? Okay, it's right around the corner."
However.
"Hey." I say. They turn to look at me. "Isn't . . . isn't this store ON MLK Boulevard?"
There's a pause. We shift our gazes as a collective to the street sign visible on the corner out the window. We look back at each other. All of this wouldn't be noteworthy if he hadn't said what he had next.
He blushes a little. I mean, the sign is RIGHT THERE. It's sitting right in front of the only entrance to the parking lot. He frowns, "That wasn't there when I came in here." and stomps off.
Nobody every admits their mistakes anymore.
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