Posted: May 27, 2011 in Personal

So I’m standing in line at the deli counter at a local Albertson’s to take advantage of a terrific coupon deal when I get behind one of those women who feel the need  to share every pathetic detail of their miserable lives with a complete stranger. You know EXACTLY who I’m talking about.  She is not old….middle aged is the typical description of the kind of person I’m talking about.  She must be incredibly lonely because she wants so much to tell the most sad and personal things to the poor person behind the counter.  And the really sad thing is, the person behind the counter, usually a woman but not always, is a captive audience.  She’s in the service industry….she makes minimum wage to smile at assholes like this and pretend she gives a shit.  And maybe she does but odds are she has burdens of her own.

So I’m waiting with an impatient baby and the company of my soon to be ex, with whom I feel very uncomfortable.  I just want to order the food and be gone. But I can’t because I have to listen to a litany of medical complaints.  The recent immigrant behind the counter doesn’t care one iota about the middle-aged, blond asshole who is over privileged and doesn’t even recognize that is spending 20 minutes debating with her spoiled teen-aged daughter about the cut of the turkey while simultaneously whining about her life to the deli counter attendant.

I wonder do these kind of people exist everywhere?  In every culture?  Or do these whiny,  sad people with fill-in-the-blank chronic conditions and their associated complaints exist only in America?  Could these conditions be a form of luxury?  Am I an ass for asking that question?  You might think so, until you realize that I have chronic conditions from which I suffer.  I just don’t feel the need to tell perfect strangers about it or waste the time of harried shoppers while I pour out my complaints.  Even on this blog I don’t waste time focusing on that kind of stuff.  I do quite a bit of navel gazing but I don’t open my robe and show the world everything.  And that’s what it feels like to me, to stand there and listen to this woman at the deli counter.  I feel like I’m witnessing some kind of exhibition and it makes me uncomfortable.

It won’ t kill me to wait 10 minutes for what I want.  It will annoy me and not kill me.  I just don’t want to witness a public exhibition of what should be none of anyone’s business.  Please, lady, keep it between you and your therapist next time.


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