|1.||accustomed; used (usually followed by an infinitive): He was wont to rise at dawn.)|
I've been reading Jane Austen lately.
Anyway, so it's fifteen minutes before closing time and I'm there with my limit of four gallons. Skim. Because skim milk tastes delicious and I like it. Half percent is an abomination.
(I didn't really want to be there, but I lost Paper, Rock, Scissors, and the lot fell to me.)
I'm wearing my glasses, and I never feel very friendly in my glasses. Mostly I just don't want anyone to look at me. I just want to buy my milk and go home.
There were only two lanes open, and being the exceptionally-bad-line-picker that I am, I went in behind an older lady buying cat food, InTouch magazine and cigarettes.
(Not really. I don't remember what she was buying. But it sounds much more authentic if I give her some groceries.)
She was in a hurry too, and not at all chatty with the insanely chatty cashier. This girl - she looked maybe twelve years old and eighty pounds - was grinning at the cash register, extremely excited to tell the screen about
"the baby's nursery! We're going to paint as soon as I get home from work! We'll be up half the night and I don't care! I'm just so excited! We still don't know if it's a boy or a girl, but I will paint it blue no matter what, because I'm one of those people who doesn't like pink for girls! I don't know why! And my boyfriend doesn't want me to paint because I've been so so so super sick like all the time, but nothing can keep me from painting tonight! I'm so not even planning on sleeping!"
This did not improve my mood.
The equally chatty man behind me - his groceries (really) were six cases of beer - asked all the obligatory questions about how far along she was, names she's picked out, etc. This thrilled her.
"Oh! Thanks for asking! I just love making friends! That's why I love this job! Meeting new people! Everyone is my friend! Aren't we all friends?!"
She looked at me, ecstatic. I think I managed a wan smile. Just check out my milk, lady....
The chatty cashier and the chatty beer guy continued to chat about chatty things.
Chatty Him: "Well, good luck to you. Kids are so fun."
Chatty Her: "Do you have any?"
"Yeah, one. He's almost two years old."
"Oh, how fun! What are you doing for the party?"
"I don't know what his mom has planned. I don't really do the whole 'committed' thing. He was kind of an accident."
"Yeah, I'm not into commitment much, myself."
"Just introduce me to a hot girl who loves to drink, and that's alright with me! I just like having fun. I don't like being tied down."
"Whoo-hoo! Party! I knew we'd be good friends."
Amazingly, my mood was still not improved.
They continued to chat around and through and at my purchase. I didn't look up. I don't think I smiled again. I swiped the card, concentrating fiercely, punched the numbers, and reached for my milk. When I left, I heard them whispering conspiratorially about what a rude loser I was. (Exact words.)
And yeah - they were right. RUDE LOSER I WAS.
Everyone has bad days, but they will forever remember and think of me as being a RUDE LOSER. Their impression of me, regardless of what kind of person I really am, is RUDE LOSER PERSON. I could be freaking St. Theresa, but if they see me again, they will point fingers and mock, "There she goes! That RUDE LOSER!"
And I'm not really. Not usually. Only sometimes. Very occasionally. When I'm wearing glasses at the grocery story at 10:00 at night. Otherwise, I'm generally happy.
I'll have to remember this next time I encounter a fellow RUDE LOSER.
And check if they're wearing glasses.