bugging me

I have a friend who had reached her 50’s when I was just about to enter my 40’s. I remember her telling me that the best thing about being in her 50’s, is that she really didn’t care what people thought of her anymore. I can’t really remember the specifics that she gave me, but I just remember something about being in the check stand at the grocery store and telling the checker just exactly what she thought. One of those ladies that gently points out people's errors. She told me a few other examples and I remember laughing and thinking, whew…can’t wait till I’m 50.

So, it was after a check stand encounter recently, that had me thinking about my friend and wondering, “oh my goodness, am I one of those ladies?” Or, because I am still annoyed by the whole event, “should I have been one of those ladies?” You decide.

I WAS in the check stand unloading my groceries. There was a person in front of me whose items were still on the little conveyer belt thing waiting for the checker to ring her up. As her things moved along, I started to unload my cart. As I was doing so, a man pulled up and parked his cart right behind mine. (I was in front of my cart with the handle of the cart even with the end of the conveyer belt thing). You’ve all been there. So, after parking his cart tight up against mine, the man stepped up to the end of the conveyer belt thing. I had stopped unloading, because the clerk was still checking and bagging groceries for the person in front of me. I was waiting for the conveyer belt thing to start moving again to allow more room for my stuff.

This is when I notice the man very emphatically looking down at my groceries on the CBT (conveyer belt thing) over to the stuff still in my cart, back to the CBT and back to the cart. He kept doing it all nosey like. The CBT moved up a little and I unloaded some more. When I ran out of room I paused. He kept up his lurking, looking back and forth, back and forth. CBT. Stuff still in my cart. CBT. You get the idea. It was becoming a bit awkward to say the least. I tried to kindly smile while my mind was… not smiling. Finally, to break the awkwardness, I said, “oh, are you here to help me unload my cart?” To which he looked at me and replied, “well, I’m not sure if I will be helping you or helping me”.

It was then that he brought up his arms and with his palms wide open he started shoving my groceries towards the checker. Willy-nilly, shove-shove, until things started piling up and tumbling around on top of each other. I couldn’t believe it. I started setting things upright and scooting stuff as forward as I could without encroaching on the lady in front of me. Then the CBT inched up a bit and before I could even reach in to my cart he grabbed one of the divider bars and placed it down on the CBT (say it out loud CBT!) and when he sat it down he actually took it and used it as a tool to reach out and shove, shove, shove, all my stuff even more. I said, “You know, I can only go as fast as the clerk can take care of the person in front of me.” That is when he started unloading HIS cart, putting in on the…CBT and still, kept shoving all of my stuff. As the checker begins my order, I actually have to unload my cart to the front as quickly as she is ringing stuff up. He was really bugging me by now. I looked at him and said, “Excuse me!” And then I notice, as I step forward a bit, he starts to push my cart along too. I tried to give him the “stink-eye” but guess what; he just kept unloading his stuff.

Ok, cut to the end here, I move my cart up so the bagger can put my bags into my cart. I run my credit card through and then step back to help the bagger place the bags in my cart. The clerk then tells me I didn’t push the “credit” button on the machine. So, as I turn I can’t even step back to the machine because he now has his cart right up against me. By this time I’ve had it. I put up my hands and I calmly say, “You know…you’ve been crowding me a little too much here and I’m tired of you being in my space.” He says nothing and backs up a tad. I see that the younger mom behind him was bug eyed, staring at ME and the checker gives me a little look too…like “whoa lady”. Obviously, no one had seen anything that had been going on until the crazy, newly 50 year old lady goes off on the man behind her in the checkout line.

Wow.

So, was I one of those ladies? Or, should I have been one of those ladies?