I was over in Sis-Town on Friday, to get gas for T-Hoe. Also some scratchers, of course, seeing as how I was going to be standing right in front of the display case! The Pony wanted two $3 tickets, his new favorite, a Bingo scratcher. That always messes up my purchase. I try to deal in tens and fives, so my change comes out in manageable increments.
My plan was calculated to get back a five and a ten, which are easy to use when I go to Country Mart to buy tickets out of their lottery machine. I knew what I wanted in the Sis-Town Casey's that would get me that change. With pre-paid gas and scratchers, I knew my total would be $46. I had three twenties, but didn't want to get back $14, because that would give me four ones. So I put a dollar with my twenties. Easy peasy, right? I handed over $61, expecting to get back $15.
The clerk looked at me like I was stupid! I may BE stupid, when it comes to things like... oh... I don't know... GEOGRAPHY! But I am not stupid with money. That clerk shuffled the bills. Splayed them out. Looked at me. Pinched the one between his fingers like he was going to hand it back to me.
Let the record show that this clerk was a young man about Genius's age. Mid-twenties. The group that knows everything, and is not afraid to sass back to demonstrate their superior intellect. We've coddled them and given them trophies for merely existing. So we have only ourselves to blame for their superiority complexes. The group that holds us oldsters responsible for every little thing that displeases them about their current life and presumed future. Genius's people. His unofficial squad.
Let the record also show that this young man was polite. At no time did he ACTUALLY sass back. I just sensed a lack of patience in his demeanor. Annoyance. Like a cat twitching its tail.
"That's what I meant to give you. It'll come out right. I don't want a bunch of ones back. This will give me a five and a ten. Punch it in your register. You'll see."
He did. And he did. It was like I'd done a party trick for him! Like reading the time off an analog clock. Old People Magic! His register showed that he owed me $15 in change.
There's no need for these Hipsters to act like we doddering codgers are too Alzheimered to be on the loose. We've still got a trick or two up our shawl-covered sleeves.
In parting, I said, "Don't you hate it when old people come in and mess with your head?"
The clerk did not reply. I guess there's really no good answer to that.