A head of cabbage: a simple request; a simple item; a simple task. Until I'm involved.
Most people could probably very easily go to the store and buy a head of cabbage and simply come back home. When they arrived at their house, they would possess a newly-purchased head of cabbage, and they would most definitely not have anything even remotely interesting to say about their experience.
On the other hand, when I go to the store, I cause quite the commotion. However, you can't blame me for the problems that occur. I simply have a long-ingrained policy of zero tolerance for idiotic people in public places. That's how I live my life, and I'm not about to stop.
Sadly, no matter what any of us do, idiotic people not only breed, thus making more idiotic people, but they also go out in public. This causes a two-fold problem: non-idiots have to be exposed to them, and it's a never-ending problem. Personally, I have come up with a not-so-unique way of dealing with these people, which involves the term, "calling them on their bullshit". Unfortunately, idiots are humans, and humans DO NOT like being "called on their bullshit".
So, there I was, standing in line at the local Shoppers (a chain of grocery stores). I had just picked out what I thought to be the perfect head of cabbage; I had pulled the outside layers away to see its smelly green insides, then placed it in a plastic bag.
I was standing in the "Express: 20 items of less" line, but the line was still a long line, with five people in front of me. I assumed I'd be there for awhile, as they all seemed to have 20 items or so. This wasn't a problem, as I was in no hurry to get anywhere.
As I stood there, pondering the meaning of time, existence, life, and the universe, a cashier walked up and said "you last three in line, I'm opening up, so come over here."
She opened the next register and we parted from our line and formed a new orderly line. Unfortunately, somebody tried to cut in front of the line - somebody that had not been standing in any line at all. The man in question man was African-American (an actual important detail to the story), and appeared to be in his mid-60s. At first, I wondered why he thought he could cut to the front of the line, and if anybody was going to do anything about it.
Well, I didn't have to ponder that for long, as the cashier told him to get to the back of the line, citing that she had to take "the next customer in line", because those were the rules. This man, oh, he didn't like that; he didn't like that one bit at all.
"But I asked you if you were going to open this register, so I should be first," he snidely said to her.
She replied, kindly, "Sorry sir, the store rules dictate that I have to take the next customer in line, and you were not in line."
He shouted at her, "This is some fucked-up bullshit. I asked you! I asked you!"
"I'm sorry sir, but the rules are the rules," she replied.
The lady in front of me, not wanting to cause problems, let him in front of her. But if you think that would stop him, you're dead wrong! "These people were all in that line, they shouldn't be able to be in this line", the man prattled on.
At this point, I couldn't take anymore of this idiot berating the poor woman for doing her job, so I spoke up. Staring at him, I said, "Look, you weren't in line, and we were. If the rules say she has to take the next person in line, then you don't count. You could get behind me, and it would not be an issue."
"I wasn't talking to you, white boy," he said. "I was talking to her, if you didn't notice."
I laughed, and said to him, "Actually, you were not talking to her, you were berating here. There is a clear difference."
He apparently didn't like the fact that I was pointing out truths, so he threatened me, saying, "I'm not going to get into it with you, white boy. I'm not about to have to split your brains all over the store over this."
"Oh, so it's come to threats that fast? Nice. You can't even conduct yourself by getting in a line like a normal person and waiting your turn, which is bad enough, but you have to resort to threats over it. Wow!" I replied, mockingly.
He then said one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard: "Look, white boy, if we were down the hill in Greenmount, you wouldn't be saying this. You'd be scared."
Greenmount, for those who don't know, is a small section of Baltimore. It's not known as being the greatest section, but it's also not a very scary place.[1] What it has to do with anything, I'm not sure. It could be that it has a large African-American population, and he was attempting to intimidate me, but I'm really not sure. In any case, he is completely wrong if he thinks my surroundings would change my attitude at all.
"Oooohhh, Greenmount", I shuddered, fearfully, yet mockingly. I continued, "Scary stuff, man. Scary stuff! I honestly don't give a fuck where I am, if you're being stupid, I'm gonna call you on it, old man."
He continued with his nonsensical ranting, "Oh, okay white boy, you think that now. You think that now, white boy."
"The only thing I think is that you have a serious entitlement complex. I'm not sure why you think you can go to the front of the line, but you can't," I replied, trying to stay on-topic.
At this point, he was almost done paying for his items. He handed the cashier his money, and then turned to me and said, "Okay white boy, you have a nice day".
Again I laughed at him. The first thing that came to mind was "I'll have a nice day, but you have a nice life. You know, whatever is left of it, you old bastard."
He then walked away, and waved goodbye to me, telling me, "I'll see you later, you dumb, racist white boy. I'll see you later!"
As it turns out, I didn't actually see him later.[2] I half-expected him to be waiting in the parking lot, and I even planned accordingly for such an event. Walking out of the store, I held the bag by the very end, the cabbage swinging back and forth, low-slung in the bag. My plan, if he came after me, was to simply swing the cabbage at his face, like a medieval morning star.
Sadly, the old bastard was nowhere to be seen. I can only imagine how much more hilarious this story would be if I were able to say "I broke his nose with a head of cabbage."
1. I went to the orthodontist in Greenmount when I was 14. If I could safely walk around there back then, I think I wouldn't be any worse off these days.
2. Though, later is an infinite measure of time. I suppose I could see him tomorrow, or seventeen years from now. Probably not the latter, though, as he's old.
Most people could probably very easily go to the store and buy a head of cabbage and simply come back home. When they arrived at their house, they would possess a newly-purchased head of cabbage, and they would most definitely not have anything even remotely interesting to say about their experience.On the other hand, when I go to the store, I cause quite the commotion. However, you can't blame me for the problems that occur. I simply have a long-ingrained policy of zero tolerance for idiotic people in public places. That's how I live my life, and I'm not about to stop.
Sadly, no matter what any of us do, idiotic people not only breed, thus making more idiotic people, but they also go out in public. This causes a two-fold problem: non-idiots have to be exposed to them, and it's a never-ending problem. Personally, I have come up with a not-so-unique way of dealing with these people, which involves the term, "calling them on their bullshit". Unfortunately, idiots are humans, and humans DO NOT like being "called on their bullshit".
So, there I was, standing in line at the local Shoppers (a chain of grocery stores). I had just picked out what I thought to be the perfect head of cabbage; I had pulled the outside layers away to see its smelly green insides, then placed it in a plastic bag.I was standing in the "Express: 20 items of less" line, but the line was still a long line, with five people in front of me. I assumed I'd be there for awhile, as they all seemed to have 20 items or so. This wasn't a problem, as I was in no hurry to get anywhere.
As I stood there, pondering the meaning of time, existence, life, and the universe, a cashier walked up and said "you last three in line, I'm opening up, so come over here."
She opened the next register and we parted from our line and formed a new orderly line. Unfortunately, somebody tried to cut in front of the line - somebody that had not been standing in any line at all. The man in question man was African-American (an actual important detail to the story), and appeared to be in his mid-60s. At first, I wondered why he thought he could cut to the front of the line, and if anybody was going to do anything about it.
Well, I didn't have to ponder that for long, as the cashier told him to get to the back of the line, citing that she had to take "the next customer in line", because those were the rules. This man, oh, he didn't like that; he didn't like that one bit at all.
"But I asked you if you were going to open this register, so I should be first," he snidely said to her.
She replied, kindly, "Sorry sir, the store rules dictate that I have to take the next customer in line, and you were not in line."
He shouted at her, "This is some fucked-up bullshit. I asked you! I asked you!"
"I'm sorry sir, but the rules are the rules," she replied.
The lady in front of me, not wanting to cause problems, let him in front of her. But if you think that would stop him, you're dead wrong! "These people were all in that line, they shouldn't be able to be in this line", the man prattled on.
At this point, I couldn't take anymore of this idiot berating the poor woman for doing her job, so I spoke up. Staring at him, I said, "Look, you weren't in line, and we were. If the rules say she has to take the next person in line, then you don't count. You could get behind me, and it would not be an issue."
"I wasn't talking to you, white boy," he said. "I was talking to her, if you didn't notice."
I laughed, and said to him, "Actually, you were not talking to her, you were berating here. There is a clear difference."
He apparently didn't like the fact that I was pointing out truths, so he threatened me, saying, "I'm not going to get into it with you, white boy. I'm not about to have to split your brains all over the store over this."
"Oh, so it's come to threats that fast? Nice. You can't even conduct yourself by getting in a line like a normal person and waiting your turn, which is bad enough, but you have to resort to threats over it. Wow!" I replied, mockingly.
He then said one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard: "Look, white boy, if we were down the hill in Greenmount, you wouldn't be saying this. You'd be scared."
Greenmount, for those who don't know, is a small section of Baltimore. It's not known as being the greatest section, but it's also not a very scary place.[1] What it has to do with anything, I'm not sure. It could be that it has a large African-American population, and he was attempting to intimidate me, but I'm really not sure. In any case, he is completely wrong if he thinks my surroundings would change my attitude at all.
"Oooohhh, Greenmount", I shuddered, fearfully, yet mockingly. I continued, "Scary stuff, man. Scary stuff! I honestly don't give a fuck where I am, if you're being stupid, I'm gonna call you on it, old man."
He continued with his nonsensical ranting, "Oh, okay white boy, you think that now. You think that now, white boy."
"The only thing I think is that you have a serious entitlement complex. I'm not sure why you think you can go to the front of the line, but you can't," I replied, trying to stay on-topic.
At this point, he was almost done paying for his items. He handed the cashier his money, and then turned to me and said, "Okay white boy, you have a nice day".
Again I laughed at him. The first thing that came to mind was "I'll have a nice day, but you have a nice life. You know, whatever is left of it, you old bastard."
He then walked away, and waved goodbye to me, telling me, "I'll see you later, you dumb, racist white boy. I'll see you later!"
As it turns out, I didn't actually see him later.[2] I half-expected him to be waiting in the parking lot, and I even planned accordingly for such an event. Walking out of the store, I held the bag by the very end, the cabbage swinging back and forth, low-slung in the bag. My plan, if he came after me, was to simply swing the cabbage at his face, like a medieval morning star.Sadly, the old bastard was nowhere to be seen. I can only imagine how much more hilarious this story would be if I were able to say "I broke his nose with a head of cabbage."
1. I went to the orthodontist in Greenmount when I was 14. If I could safely walk around there back then, I think I wouldn't be any worse off these days.
2. Though, later is an infinite measure of time. I suppose I could see him tomorrow, or seventeen years from now. Probably not the latter, though, as he's old.
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