Seriously, I’m over the edge, folks. I dragged Andy to the grocery store today. We went to Winn Dixie, the unfancy, affordable grocery store that just remodeled but somehow still feels like a double-wide with only half of its paneling removed. We go there all the time. And, in general, the employees are really nice and friendly. But, there is one girl that I consider my nemesis (think Seinfeld and Newwwmannnnn). She’s the most unpleasant person I can remember meeting in the past 15 or so years (and you guys know that I attract some doozies). She does not have the look of a stoopid person – but she seems to be living her life stupidly. How would I know this? Well, that is what she does while she works – she talks to anyone who will listen about how horrible her life is and how hard she has it. She might be 22-23, tops. I will do nearly anything to avoid getting in her line because my first impulse is to grab her ponytail and shake her head and tell her to grow up and take charge. Of course, this girl has about 7″ on me and a good 100 lbs, not to mention the home-made tattoos and I would never really do that because I’m scared of her.
But, today, I had to go through her line because she was the only person with a line. And, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, vanity – mine. I had decent sized cart of food and among those items was beer. Well, I’m 44, I don’t worry about that. Until today. I think this girl knows I don’t like her because she talks over me so I only hear her horrible life stories vicariously. This morning, she glared at me and demanded ID before she would scan the beer. Ummm … no. I was not about to pull out the new license with it’s horrible old-lady picture when both scary-girl and I know I’m probably older than her mother. (Andy was all excited thinking he would be the first in the family to see the hideous license picture. Sorry, Andy.) I dug deep, took a cleansing breath and refused. The girl got nasty. I asked for a manager. Lucky me – it was a manager I actually know and like. In fact, our groceries every week probably cover a large portion of that poor manager’s salary. There are weeks where I talk more to the manager than to Mike. Anyway . . . The girl started to explain and the manager hit some key on the register and told scary girl to get a grip – I was clearly over 35. How’s that for tact and diplomacy (on the manager’s part) and immaturity (on my part)?
So, we made it through the store. I still haven’t shown the license to anyone and I’m still just “clearly over 35.” Ahhhh victory.
I’ve asked before, but I’ll ask again. Please, someone send me a life. I’m fast headed down that road to becoming a crazy old bat who causes scenes everywhere she goes for real and imagined slights. Save me!!!!! (I’m putting the new driver’s license picture up here – kind of fuzzy a la Joan Crawford – maybe that’ll cure me?)