Well, I guess I've answered my own question from a couple posts back! I now know when old people became Public Enemy #1.
Yesterday, I shared how I had a bad winning lottery ticket. How the barcode was unreadable, as I tried to cash it in at the Gas Station Chicken Store.
I was keeping my six-foot distance, down the soda fountain aisle, waiting my next-in-line turn, when another guy came in. He only stood three feet back from the guy paying. The Gas Station Chicken Store doesn't have those distancing circles on their tile. He waited like a gentleman when it was my turn.
I'd just done my regular transaction, cashing in normal scratchers and taking back an Even-Steven amount in tickets, and paid correct change for my magical elixir. As I was pushing the Problem Ticket through the plexiglass slot, to explain my predicament, an Old Man came through the door.
Even if the door hadn't given off its annoying chime, we would have known he was there. He was a short bald man, looking like Red Buttons, or his country version, Little Jimmy Dickens, without the hat. He came in chatting. No problem. Some people do that. They're friendly, not curmudgeons.
"I'm here to start work for my $15.40 an hour! I'll go fry up some chicken!"
Old Man was referring to the Help Wanted sign on the door. And the good old days, when chicken was still fried and sold on premises. (They're hoping to start up again when the VIRUS panic is over.)
Old Man also started singing a song. "Angie..." I don't remember the words. It was NOT the Angie made popular by the Rolling Stones, nor the Angie Baby crooned by Helen Reddy. Maybe Old Man just made it up. Anyhoo... he kept singing it. Loudly. Then he'd stop and talk some more.
"If that's a winner, you're taking me to Red Lobster!"
"It's $25. I'd rather you fry us up some chicken."
See? Val can make small talk with an Old Man. Even though it was her rightful turn in line, and she was entitled to the full attention of the clerk. Who was at that moment trying to scan the Problem Ticket on her terminal. She said something back to me, which I couldn't hear because of Little Red Dickens.
"Angie... Or can you even go IN Red Lobster these days? I bet you can't sit down and have a meal. Blah blah blah blah... ANGIE..."
It was to the point where I had to actually, LITERALLY jam a finger into my right ear to shut him out! Little Red Dickens had gone from a friendly, entering-the-store greeter, to an annoying blow-hard who didn't know when to shut up.
The clerk was scratching away at my Problem Ticket with a nickel. I think she said she could try washing it off with something. I can't be sure, because my right eardrum was throbbing with Little Red Dickens' sound waves. That guy was as loud as the hourly GET OUT OF THE POOL air horn. I just shook my head, and held up my hand for the ticket back.
"I'll just mail it in!" I shouted.
I'd taken up enough time in line without trying to communicate any further.
Sheesh. Right then, I realized this could be a Julia Sugarbaker moment.
THIS was the day that OLD PEOPLE BECAME PUBLIC ENEMY #1 IN BACKROADS!
Not sure if that enemy was ME... or Little Red Dickens.
I am waiting for your picture to go up in the post office.
ReplyDeleteHopefully, it won't be a full-length picture, and hopefully, if it IS, I won't have my skirt tucked into my pantyhose like Julia Sugarbaker's unfortunate incident...
DeleteI dislike anyone trying to strike up a conversation in line, especially these days when they pull their mask down to better be heard. I tell them this line is worse than the one to take your Covid test that I just came back from.
ReplyDeleteWhoa, Nelly! Nobody in the Gas Station Chicken Store wears a mask, except for the Man Owner. I don't think that bluff would work in there. (Sorry for calling you Nelly.)
DeleteChit chat is one thing, but non-stop, too loud conversation is not helpful or entertaining.
ReplyDeleteYes, I tried to play along, but he went too far.
DeleteThe enemy is definitely Little Red Dickens. And everyone else who never learned when to shut up.
ReplyDeleteMaybe he was encouraged to act this way for most of his life, because he was considered "cute."
DeleteI wonder if Booming Little Red Dickens is the reason all us "old people" get called Boomer now. It really gets under my skin. I can't see anything shameful about having wanted our 2.5 children, a house and car we paid for ourselves. I don't call all the young "x,y, or z" whipper snapper groups any of their supposed names! Guess we're just not dying off quickly enough.
ReplyDeleteI am guilty of trolling the millennials, and that group right after them. I have a son in each. They are 4 years apart, so each is on the cusp of their "generation," but show the general characteristics of them. So I don't really mind being called Boomer.
DeleteWhat I DO mind is their assertion that we have ruined the world for them. No. We BUILT the world for them. It's up to them to improve it. They're not gonna jump right in and soak up success without working for it.
I also remind them that it wasn't OUR generation who messed up that probe to Mars, by doing part of the measurements in the metric system, and the rest in the English system. To which they reply, "Hush up!" Which I take as an acknowledgement of that faux pas.
I had an old lady at the Goodwill tell me I was not followingthe arrows. Then she followed me around pointing to the floor to show me. I kept givingher a thums up and going the wrong way.
ReplyDeleteSome people need to mind their own dang business! Of course, she exposed herself to you tenfold, by following you around, rather than briefly passing by your for a couple seconds.
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