I rose at the break of dawn, which makes no sense as I spent last night up late watching Lars and the Real Girl with mon frere. So I headed out to SuburbaGym and then, dressed like a very ugly butch lesbian, hit Rite Aid to get a new hair dryer.
The story of why I need a hair dryer is a long one I won't bore you with.
I'll bore you with this one instead.
I was checking out some of Rite Aid's discounted body lotion, because you can't buy just one thing in a drug store, when all of a sudden, I heard this scream.
Obviously, I had to go investigate and I discovered this VERY uptight looking woman in a perm, scarf and blouse tucked into khaki reverse fits with an elastic waist, in an effort to show them off I guess, had fallen right in the middle of the store.
As far as I'm concerned, that's what you get for dressing like a bitch.
If it were me, and I think we're all aware that it has been before, I'd have leapt up and run out of that Rite Aid hollering, "Sorry, sorry! My fault! I'm an idiot!"
But school nurse vibe just sat there, dramatically getting her bearings.
So I just stared with a faux look of horror on my face.
I don't know why I had such immediate dislike for this woman, but if you'd seen her, you'd hate her too. You remember that friend you had when you were a kid whose mom was really formal and uptight and never any fun and corrected your grammar?
Anyway, some poor old man was trying to help her up, but she was taking her sweet ass time. And then, with a flair reserved for the truly advantageous and litigious, she announced "The floor is very slippery right there!"
No. It wasn't. I looked. I walked right over it. And I'm a faller. If it was "very" slippery, it would have been my ass shining that linoleum, not hers.
To add insult to injury, or perhaps because she sensed my intense dislike for her, when mom pants found herself in front of me in line, she committed Spots Crime 548: taking way to long to collect your shit once you've already paid.
God, I hate this.
If you're really that anal, throw everything in your bag and organize your mental illness in the privacy of your own car. But no. Not the faller. She took her receipt and change. Then she put her big mom bag on the counter. Then she placed the receipt delicately in her wallet. Then she placed her change delicately in her wallet. Then she delicated placed her wallet in her bag. Then she delicately removed her cell phone from her bag. Then she delicately removed her keyes from her bag.
Then she thought for a minute about which hand her keys should go in and which hand should hold her cell phone.
At this point, the cashier is shooting me looks.
Then she delicately placed her bag on her shoulder. Then she switched hands for the keys and the cell. Then finally, a good 7 or 8 hours later, she delicately grabs her Rite Aid bag (contents unknown, but please feel free to guess), turns around and looks at me.
"Are you OKAY?!?!?" I asked with false alarm, hoping a reminder of her face plant would upset her deeply and make her buy pants from the 21st century.
"Yes, thank you. It's very slippery over there. Someone should really clean that up."
Oh, should SOMEONE?
Ugh, I hate hating people because I never get to get in the fights with then that would give me the satasfaction I so desire...