Saturday, March 13, 2010

Listen Here, You Little Whippersnappers...

I may be five feet tall, going grey, and limping as I walk, but my mind is still functioning perfectly well, thank you very much. I resent being treated otherwise. I really do.

I went to buy heavy cream at the store today, and noticed it was dated for Monday. I asked a stock boy to check in back if there were any newer cartons, and he said no. At that point, it seemed reasonable enough to ask if they could discount the container (being sold at full price) since it was going to be past the expiration date soon. A manager came out to lecture me. Yes, lecture.

I was informed that the truck had just been there today, and that all the stores get heavy cream dated two days from when they arrive in the store. Furthermore, it is good for 7 days past the date on the carton. I called bullshit. In fact, I suggested he call over to their store at Q Street where I usually shop, and get heavy cream dated three weeks ahead. I was told this was impossible, and that I was wrong. At this point, I was getting annoyed. It would have been just fine had he said, "Look, I can't do anything about it." I could deal with that. What I cannot stand is some twenty-something brat lying to my face, and suggesting I'm hallucinating, or worse, trying to get away with something. I really don't like that. Really.

"You know" I said, "You could have just said "no" without being condescending. It's really insulting. It's not like there isn't anywhere else to shop."

He stood there giving me a pained smile and replied, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way."

I pushed my cart away giving serious consideration to just abandoning it in the aisle and leaving. I really can shop anywhere I like, I have a car. Mr. ETB and Danny were waiting in the eating area having lunch, and I sat down to join them, still pretty angry. A few minutes later, along comes the whippersnapper toting a pint of heavy cream with a much, much later date on it. Well, what do you know, they did just happen to have some newer cream in back. He did apologize. I said "thank you", but I still felt like leaving the cart.

Mr. ETB reckons it was because I scolded him in my best "old lady" voice, but I really wonder if perhaps someone overheard the exchange. Honestly, it didn't change anything. He apologised about not looking carefully, not the way he spoke to me. I suppose one shouldn't expect too much. I know we live in a world where cashiers can't count back change, and asking a question of anyone under forty is met with such blank stares I might as well be speaking Manx. I know that the standard response in nearly every one of these situations is a shrug of the shoulders and a mumbled, "whatever." I know this. I understand it. It annoys the crap out of me anyway.

Some days I feel really ill equipped to function in the world.

Now get offa my lawn, you damn beatniks.

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