The more I see

Twenty minute line at Starbucks is how the day started; not waiting was not an option.

Walk in the department store, two minutes to twelve, store clerk stops me short, “You can’t be in here ma’am, we’re not open.” Surely she couldn’t be talking to me, “Ah, excuse me, but the doors open, I just walked in.” She rolled her eyes, “Yes, but it’s not twelve yet, you have to leave.” Two minutes; two fucking minutes! I’m already in the store and she’s telling me to leave!

I turned and walked out; actually I stormed out; NO WAY was I waiting. I might have wasted a thirty minute trip getting there, but was not going to waste two more minutes of my time, because a recent high school grad told me I had to! I wanted to tell her she just lost herself a really big sale, but it wouldn’t have made a difference, she didn’t care. It’s not like the days when I worked her job, when every customer could have been a secret shopper; get one mark and you were written up. Forcing pride in your job; it sucked, but it worked.

Next stop; cruising the lot looking for a parking spot when an old woman in a motorized buggy comes flying out the door directly into my path, didn’t even bother to look, slow down or stop. I’m old, I’m a pedestrian, therefore I’m privileged and don’t need to be bothered with something as trivial as looking to see if someone in a three thousand pound vehicle is about to plow my old ass down. She slammed on her brakes, looked at me and glared. I just shook my head and felt my blood pressure soar.

Pedestrians…someone gave them the right of way and look what they created!

Mother pushing an overloaded cart with two snot nose kids in tow; walked past the woman manning the dressing rooms, “Which one yelled at you?” They pointed to the woman in red. “Did you yell at my kids?” The woman shook her head, “I didn’t yell at them, ma’am. They were running through the department knocking clothes off the rack and I asked them to stop.”

The redneck mother puts her hands on her hips, turns up the attitude; “Don’t yell at my kids, that’s not your job, that’s a parent’s job, do you understand?! Who do you think you are, yelling at my kids? I want to speak to your manager!” The woman behind the counter didn’t say a word, what would be the point.

I, on the other hand, within perfect earshot, began conversing out loud with the voices in my head; “Yes, a parent’s job! To control your kids when they’re running around trashing the store, terrorizing shoppers and being little menaces. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fucking idiot and DO NOT control my kids; it’s not YOUR place to reprimand them. Reprimand…that’s another word for discipline; you know, busting their deserving asses instead of threatening with empty words!”

Her hand fell from her hip, her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t utter a word; the kid’s stood there with their eyes wide in disbelief, the clerk smiling a jubilant smile. I winked at her, turned and walked on.

Two teenage boys running through the store, slammed into me, dropping sunglasses and a video game into my cart. “Jesus!” I said then began to move on. “You shouldn’t use the Lords name in vain lady,” one of them actually said. “And you should watch where the fuck your going you big turd!”

“Mama, you’re scaring me…..”

My head suddenly spinning, my vision temporarily blurred, feeling as if any moment, I was going to collapse to the floor; yes, I had little buddy in tow, as my sanity unraveled and the meltdown occurred. I stopped, took a few deep breaths and tired to steady myself.

I apologized and explained that this is one of those days when I should have stayed in bed, rather than try and face the world. I don’t know if he understood, but that’s the best I had to offer.

The truth.

Wise one says I have to open my eyes, accept and see; be part of the truth instead of always looking the other way. The only way to advance on the path toward enlightenment; to make certain this insanity is not repeated again and again and again. But the more I see the more I suffer; the farther I want to run and hide; my intolerance to the point that I can barely cope; a manic search for the operator who can flip the switch and stop this wild ride…

~ by Jill on August 17, 2008.