I was running a quick errand the other day. I was preoccupied with thoughts of all the things I needed to accomplish before the end of the day.
As soon as I entered the store, I heard a man bellowing. Yes, bellowing. There is no other word to describe what he was doing. I saw a well appointed Money Town woman cringing by his side. She gave me an apologetic look as if she were the one responsible for his boorish behavior.
Initially, I could only see the man from the back. He had white, thinning, hair with a bald patch on the back of his skull. He was heavyset.
And then he turned and glared at me. He had blue, piercing, eyes and it was clear he was set to destroy anyone in his path on this particular day.
The man was walking around a shopping mall, not long after having had a facelift and nose job. He looked a bit like the picture below, but he also had his nose bandaged and blood/fluid drains still attached to each side of his head.
When I saw the blood-filled drains I nearly barfed on the spot.
He had to be in his first week post-surgery. Could he not have spared us all from seeing those? (gagging!)
Who goes out to the mall like that?
Not only that, the man was older than the earth itself, and I couldn't help but wonder Why?
I realize, the pressure to look young in Southern California is beyond anything most of you can imagine …
More and more, I see people walking around in public with their plastic surgery bandages on. (Although, this particular man takes the cake with the bloody drains hanging from each ear!)
I guess the Money Town crowd figures everyone is having plastic surgery, so why bother hiding it? Perhaps the amount of "work" a person can afford to have done has become something to brag about and flaunt.
I am still *shuddering* at the image of the man. It seems to be burnt into my brain.
The very next day found me at the Money Town grocery store where I encountered The Biggest Bitch in The World.
There really are a lot of bitchy women here, have I mentioned that?
Have you ever walked up and down the grocery aisle with your cart and on every single aisle you see the exact same person? Their grocery store run and yours are synced perfectly, in such a way, to make you feel very awkward. It gets to the point where you feel like you should say something to the total stranger. Like, perhaps, "How's the husband doing today?" but then you realize you don't even know the person …
You just have grocery-aisle-familiarity (GAF) with them.
Well, this particular woman wore Money Town Attitude like a cloak on the coldest of days. She was most likely in her late sixties, but didn't look a day over 50. She had been nipped and tucked and glittered with giant, sparkling, bling. Her clothes and shoes and handbag were weighted down with the burden of the most expensive designer labels.
She took one look at me, sniffed the air, and turned her head with a look of disgust.
Did I mention what I looked like on this particular day?
I had just walked four miles. I had on my favorite black, capri length, workout pants. They're a combination of sweat pants and yoga pants. They are, without a doubt, the most comfortable thing on earth to wear. I pretty much live in them except when they're being laundered.
I had on a sports bra which means my Bionic Nipples were undoubtedly very visible right through my v-necked, white, cotton t-shirt. I had on my favorite sneakers and my hair was pulled back in a ponytail. I'm sure my face was red from walking in the heat for four miles. I had no jewelry on, not even my wedding ring.
The Biggest Bitch in The World was not impressed with me. She looked at me with disdain when she bothered to look at me at all.
Up one aisle, and then down the next – we continued to manuever past each other as we shopped. When her cart blocked my way, she made no attempt to move it to allow me to pass.
Yes, she broke grocery store etiquette.
Can you believe it?
It soon became apparent to me that The Biggest Bitch in The World was intentionally trying to get in my way. No matter where I was, or what item I was reaching for … she'd be there, in the way, and refusing to yield.
"Excuse me," I must have said a million times as I tried to reach an item.
She would not move.
Not one inch.
Over and over, aisle after aisle, we continued this antagonistic dance.
She remained the staunchest of adversaries, consistently refusing to make even the slightest move to accomodate me.
We finally had a stand-off by the oatmeal.
Oh, yes we did!
It was kind of like the old Gunsmoke shoot-outs, except – totally different.
She had positioned her cart along the oatmeal section and stood next to it.
I wanted to buy oatmeal.
I waited some more.
She didn't move.
She wasn't putting anything in her cart. She just stood there, blocking the oatmeal. She was fully aware I was waiting for her to move. It was an intentional, annoying, move on her part.
She was in full oatmeal-blocking position.
"Excuse me," I said politely once again.
She rolled her eyes.
She looked at me with contempt.
"I'd just like to grab some oatmeal," I explained as nicely as I could.
Arrogance dripped off her into a puddle on the floor.
"Oatmeal?" she sniffed, making no attempt to move her cart, or herself.
"The oatmeal is right there, right behind your cart," I replied a bit impatiently.
"Is it?" she said disinterestedly.
She didn't move.
My patience with The Biggest Bitch in The World was gone.
I pushed my cart past her, and past her cart. I put my hand firmly on her cart and pushed it out of my way.
How brazen of me! How impossibly rude of me to expect someone like her to move.
I took my time and calmly walked where her cart had been. I took the oatmeal I wanted. I placed it in my cart and went on my way.
Behind me I heard her hmmphing and hawing over my escape.
Oh yes, I won the Money Town oatmeal stand-off and I'm proud of it!
© Twenty Four At Heart