Darling little old lady. Why are you going to the grocery store on a Friday afternoon? You’ve had every other day this week, even today, to do your shopping while the rest of us are at work. Why would you wait until we’re all here?
And yet, here you are. Negotiating the parking lot as if it were the peace talks of the Middle East. It’s slow going and full of disappointments. Glaciers have sprinted past us, monitoring your efforts. Darling little old lady. It’s parking, not long division. There are plenty of spots. Just pick one.
Darling little old lady. Of course we would arrive at the till at the same time. And of course you need to have your cart next to you at all times. Someone might steal it, taking your irreplaceable shopping tote with them. So of course you need it to be right in the middle of the aisle between two checkout counters. It’s not like your groceries are transported down to the end of the conveyor belt. Best to stand in the middle of everything and snatch them up as they move past you. The rest of us can just wait. It’s not like we have a Friday to get home to. It’s not like this is the moment we’ve yearned for all week. We can postpone it. We’re patient. This is about your comfort, after all.
Darling little old lady. Of course you would pay for your entire week’s worth of shopping with small change. Of course you would drop a coin, and refuse to budge until it was found. Money’s money, after all, even when it’s just a few cents’ worth. It’s not like time is a precious commodity these days, more so than money for quite a few of us. We're happy to give you ours, so you can keep your cents.
Darling little old lady. I bet you’re the type to steal in front of the line at the bus stop, so you can get an aisle seat and refuse to let anyone use the seat next to you. After all, you need to monitor the busdriver, make sure he knows the route. We owe you a great deal of thanks for that. We’d risk getting lost in the city if you weren’t on the case. Which would make standing next to an available seat that much more frustrating.
Darling little old lady. I understand that you’ve lived a long time. I understand that you need to be first, even though you’re in no discernible hurry. I understand you feel you’ve earned that right. Perhaps you have. But what I don’t understand is this:
How can you be so blind to your surroundings? How can you passive-aggressively demand that all this consideration is shown to you, while refusing to show even the most common courtesy yourself? Having lived all this time, surely at some point you’ve realized that there are other people on this planet? People with lives, plans, shopping carts of their own?
Darling little old lady. When you behave in this manner, my sympathy for your plight diminishes to nothing. I don’t think you’re so darling. I think you’re the reason people tend to think that little old ladies are irritating, little, self-centered, shits.
And yet, here you are. Negotiating the parking lot as if it were the peace talks of the Middle East. It’s slow going and full of disappointments. Glaciers have sprinted past us, monitoring your efforts. Darling little old lady. It’s parking, not long division. There are plenty of spots. Just pick one.
Darling little old lady. Of course we would arrive at the till at the same time. And of course you need to have your cart next to you at all times. Someone might steal it, taking your irreplaceable shopping tote with them. So of course you need it to be right in the middle of the aisle between two checkout counters. It’s not like your groceries are transported down to the end of the conveyor belt. Best to stand in the middle of everything and snatch them up as they move past you. The rest of us can just wait. It’s not like we have a Friday to get home to. It’s not like this is the moment we’ve yearned for all week. We can postpone it. We’re patient. This is about your comfort, after all.
Darling little old lady. Of course you would pay for your entire week’s worth of shopping with small change. Of course you would drop a coin, and refuse to budge until it was found. Money’s money, after all, even when it’s just a few cents’ worth. It’s not like time is a precious commodity these days, more so than money for quite a few of us. We're happy to give you ours, so you can keep your cents.
Darling little old lady. I bet you’re the type to steal in front of the line at the bus stop, so you can get an aisle seat and refuse to let anyone use the seat next to you. After all, you need to monitor the busdriver, make sure he knows the route. We owe you a great deal of thanks for that. We’d risk getting lost in the city if you weren’t on the case. Which would make standing next to an available seat that much more frustrating.
Darling little old lady. I understand that you’ve lived a long time. I understand that you need to be first, even though you’re in no discernible hurry. I understand you feel you’ve earned that right. Perhaps you have. But what I don’t understand is this:
How can you be so blind to your surroundings? How can you passive-aggressively demand that all this consideration is shown to you, while refusing to show even the most common courtesy yourself? Having lived all this time, surely at some point you’ve realized that there are other people on this planet? People with lives, plans, shopping carts of their own?
Darling little old lady. When you behave in this manner, my sympathy for your plight diminishes to nothing. I don’t think you’re so darling. I think you’re the reason people tend to think that little old ladies are irritating, little, self-centered, shits.