I hate knocking the town where I grew up. I really do. I was very lucky to have excellent public schools, a great library, beautiful parks, etc. It was an almost perfect scenario.
However, the people in this town DRIVE ME NUTS! I won't generalize and say that all Long Islanders are bad (just the ones I've met) but all it takes is one irritating encounter to solidify an existing prejudice. The implication here is that I've had many irritating encounters. And yes, I may be slightly more irritable than the average person and I'm sure yoga or meditation would help me. But I'm telling you, the bitches in this town would rouse the Dalai Lama.
What is this scenario I'm alluding to?
The other day I was in Trader Joe's, which is about 2 miles from my house (just to show you how close I live to the epicenter of meanness). I literally had two cartons of soymilk and a bag of chips. Count it. How many items is that? Three, right? So I'm waiting patiently in line for about 10 minutes. Finally, I get to the head of the line.
Then, this idiot bitch (yes, an idiot bitch) comes up to me with a loaf of bread, takes a short breather from her obnoxiously loud cell phone conversation to ask me if she can "just pay for this loaf of bread." SERIOUSLY?? She was serious. It took all I had not to slap her across the face with my bag of chips. Instead, I gathered myself, mustered my most incredulous look and politely told her that "I just have three things." I know, so weak. But in my defense, I was still reeling from her question when I thought of my "oh snap!" comeback.
You know, the incident itself is not that bad. The lady backed off. And so as not to give her an ounce of credit, this is probably not due to some realization on her part of how idiotic she sounded, but because she had to continue her very important phone call (important, judging by the volume of her conversation). I was offended on so many levels that it took me a good 10 minutes in the car of processing and deep breathing to understand why. Nothing is ever as simple as it sounds. Her question sounded simple and it had a simple answer. No. It's what came after, in my brain, that is complex. Here is a sampling:
1) Why me? I know, this sounds a bit dramatic. But seriously. Why did she pick me? Did my slobbish outfit and my slouching make me look vulnerable and compliant? Did I look like I would be easy to bully?
2) What makes her think her time is more important than mine? I mean, she doesn't know that I'm in week 2 of my 3-month vacation. For all she knows, I could have two kids waiting for me at home, or something equally important to get back to.
3) Supermarket etiquette states that you do not proclaim from the hilltops that you only have one item and demand, fine, ask, to pay first. You must be invited, by the sympathetic customer in front of you, to skip the line. That's how it works, people. Deal with it.
4) And finally, I didn't let the woman go ahead of me. But while I was paying, I found myself guiltily rushing to bag and pay for my items. She had won. She bullied me into feeling like the asshole.
And this, my friends, is why I hate Long Island. Sound ridiculous? Perhaps. But it's a war out there, people, and you can either fight, back down, or move to Brooklyn.
However, the people in this town DRIVE ME NUTS! I won't generalize and say that all Long Islanders are bad (just the ones I've met) but all it takes is one irritating encounter to solidify an existing prejudice. The implication here is that I've had many irritating encounters. And yes, I may be slightly more irritable than the average person and I'm sure yoga or meditation would help me. But I'm telling you, the bitches in this town would rouse the Dalai Lama.
What is this scenario I'm alluding to?
The other day I was in Trader Joe's, which is about 2 miles from my house (just to show you how close I live to the epicenter of meanness). I literally had two cartons of soymilk and a bag of chips. Count it. How many items is that? Three, right? So I'm waiting patiently in line for about 10 minutes. Finally, I get to the head of the line.
Then, this idiot bitch (yes, an idiot bitch) comes up to me with a loaf of bread, takes a short breather from her obnoxiously loud cell phone conversation to ask me if she can "just pay for this loaf of bread." SERIOUSLY?? She was serious. It took all I had not to slap her across the face with my bag of chips. Instead, I gathered myself, mustered my most incredulous look and politely told her that "I just have three things." I know, so weak. But in my defense, I was still reeling from her question when I thought of my "oh snap!" comeback.
You know, the incident itself is not that bad. The lady backed off. And so as not to give her an ounce of credit, this is probably not due to some realization on her part of how idiotic she sounded, but because she had to continue her very important phone call (important, judging by the volume of her conversation). I was offended on so many levels that it took me a good 10 minutes in the car of processing and deep breathing to understand why. Nothing is ever as simple as it sounds. Her question sounded simple and it had a simple answer. No. It's what came after, in my brain, that is complex. Here is a sampling:
1) Why me? I know, this sounds a bit dramatic. But seriously. Why did she pick me? Did my slobbish outfit and my slouching make me look vulnerable and compliant? Did I look like I would be easy to bully?
2) What makes her think her time is more important than mine? I mean, she doesn't know that I'm in week 2 of my 3-month vacation. For all she knows, I could have two kids waiting for me at home, or something equally important to get back to.
3) Supermarket etiquette states that you do not proclaim from the hilltops that you only have one item and demand, fine, ask, to pay first. You must be invited, by the sympathetic customer in front of you, to skip the line. That's how it works, people. Deal with it.
4) And finally, I didn't let the woman go ahead of me. But while I was paying, I found myself guiltily rushing to bag and pay for my items. She had won. She bullied me into feeling like the asshole.
And this, my friends, is why I hate Long Island. Sound ridiculous? Perhaps. But it's a war out there, people, and you can either fight, back down, or move to Brooklyn.
3 comments:
what ever you do. don't move to Boston! seriously...
it's not michael... it's Lisa. I somehow messed my account.
what? why are you telling her not to move to Boston?
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