I'm in line at the store, because I want to make impulsive purchases. It's expectedly busy at 5:45 pm on a Monday. I often shop at this time so I have that ample juncture in line to mull over whether or not I really want to buy a clearance tank top as fall is about to set in, nail polish in a color I probably already have, a notebook with an interesting design on the cover, and the garlic press I came for.
My pondering is distracted by tapping on the counter coming from the woman in front of me. As if her profuse headache inducing perfume wasn't enough. She clearly has no patience for the cashier who is executing superior customer service by price checking two of her items; and the control of her own agog fingertips.
The interval of her repetitive strike increases. The teenager who hates her job right now fails to conceal her annoyance with an evil-eyed glance at Bitch between us. I am equally irritated so I ahem to convey emphasis in hopes the woman will realized the vexation she is creating. The demon of the moment looks directly at me without interrupting her beating. I am horrified! She not only walks around insulting the world with her scent, she has also painted on a ghastly mask.
I feel challenged. I am provoked. So what do I do? I perform an exaggerated drum solo from the magazine rack to the rows of candy bars and on everything else within reach. The malicious fiend in her surprise and confusion halts her knocks. The angsty register operator delightfully smiles.
Problem solved. It's my turn in line. I decide not to get the nail polish.
In a more perfect world, our battle may have gone something like this...
My pondering is distracted by tapping on the counter coming from the woman in front of me. As if her profuse headache inducing perfume wasn't enough. She clearly has no patience for the cashier who is executing superior customer service by price checking two of her items; and the control of her own agog fingertips.
The interval of her repetitive strike increases. The teenager who hates her job right now fails to conceal her annoyance with an evil-eyed glance at Bitch between us. I am equally irritated so I ahem to convey emphasis in hopes the woman will realized the vexation she is creating. The demon of the moment looks directly at me without interrupting her beating. I am horrified! She not only walks around insulting the world with her scent, she has also painted on a ghastly mask.
I feel challenged. I am provoked. So what do I do? I perform an exaggerated drum solo from the magazine rack to the rows of candy bars and on everything else within reach. The malicious fiend in her surprise and confusion halts her knocks. The angsty register operator delightfully smiles.
Problem solved. It's my turn in line. I decide not to get the nail polish.
In a more perfect world, our battle may have gone something like this...
women in stores are the worst. i'm glad you showed her how to chill out.
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