I can be chatty as the next gal, sometimes I chat with folks while waiting in line and sometimes I don’t, and I hope I always pick up on non-verbal cues as to whether someone wants to chat back.
Today, I was in line at the post office, undeserved care package in hand, because PayPal decided Wakefield, RI wasn’t a real place and wouldn’t print a shipping label for me. A woman followed me in, yapping all the way. She had to leave the beach early today because her M.S. was acting up, “I’m sorry to hear that”. M.S. is the silent disease she informed me, “yes, there are many of those.” Her dude wanted to stay, what the hell? is he trying to prove he can be darker than she is? you know people go to the beach because they want to be black, and of course black people want to be white and people get their hair permed so it’s curly and people with curly hair get it straightened. And yes, we were on line with a bunch of black people and I’m really hoping they didn’t hear that last comment. All the while she’s talking to me, clearly one snap crackle away from a full box, or maybe not, she is not slyly, but aggressively, changing places with me, so we’re starting this dance of supremecy, but pretty quickly I decided it would be best to just let her cut in front of me, because I’d had enough of looking at her leopard print bra and excessive cleavage busting out of her ugly, way too short dress. I might be obsessed with boobies, but these girls were not attractive. Cut she did, just glided on past without a care, well, except for the heat and the M.S., and how early the post office’s close out in the sticks where she's from, livin’ out there, “no thanks!” I planted my feet firmly on the floor as the line moved forward to put a larger and larger gap between us, but she just began twisting around to yell commentary back at me, even when it was her turn at the counter where she was surprisingly rude to the clerk. BFF’s. I lingered, I did not want to run into that chick in the parking lot. I blame PayPal for this.
Just like last year, every day when I pick Jonah up at camp there are folks parked in the two handicapped spots sans permits. Even more maddening is that there is a space between the two, filled with painted diagonal lines to indicate “no parking, this is not a space” because parking in it renders both handicapped spaces too narrow to utilize. Every damned day if miraculously there’s a free handicapped space, one of a medly of giant SUVs is obtrusively parked in the middle space.
The other day, a woman was putting her small child in the car, while parked in one of the aforementioned spaces and I very politely, in a steady monotoned voice used for such occassions, said, “excuse me, maam, are you aware that you’re parked in a handicapped space?” Yes she was, but she was only going to be there a few minutes. “I’m sorry, but that’s not o.k., you are still illegally parked in a handicapped space.” “I told you I was rushing, I’m going as fast as I can.” I replied, still nauseatingly politely that that just didn’t matter, she was parked in a handicapped space thus preventing someone who legitimately needs it from parking there. And then she let loose and started yelling. She knew all about handicapped spaces, her brother had a brain injury and he eventually died from it, and she has a lot of things going on in her life right now, she was going through a lot, and I had no idea what she was going through and blah, blah, blah. “I’m very sorry for your troubles, but you know, we all have them and they don’t suspend the rules of the road and it's still not o.k. to park in a handicapped space with out a permit.” I really am an obnoxious dog with a bone with this, but it's become my cause, my pet peeve x10. I don’t think she was agreeing with me, as she slammed her car door and almost ran me over, not BFF’s. I should have told her that M.S. is the silent disease. Which actually it is, M.S. sucks, I just don’t want to hear about it from very tan strangers with skanky bra’s invading my personal space. I wonder if post office lady thought I had a perm. I kind of look like I have a perm, a perm gone bad, turned to a life of crime. In a few weeks I’ll legitimately look like Medusa with a head full of adolescent snakes that could jump out and bite you any time. No worries though, I’m teaching them good manners, especially when it comes to parking ettiquette.