Sunday, September 21, 2014

Rude and Oblivious

There are days when I can’t handle going outside. It’s the rudeness of others that really ticks me off and it is getting so that I am not sure I can be counted on to not say something to the offenders.  This is why I love getting older...I can consider reprimanding people and not feel bad about it. Does that make me rude? I don’t think so. I think I would be doing all of society a favor.

Today’s offender put both Angelo and I in a bad mood.  Here’s what happened: Deciding to get some fresh fruits and veggies into our house, we happily pulled into the Adams grocery store parking lot.  (We decided about the fresh fruits and veggies because we had just eaten lunch at  G’s Burgers and were feeling a little...uncomfortable.) Spotting a space close enough for carrying the bags back without a cart, but far enough away to count the distance as a “walk” in our fitness plan, Angelo began to edge our van into the space.  He slowed because the woman driving the Acura next to us was still closing her door and needed to move her cart out of our way. But she didn’t move the cart...she left it in the middle of the space and walked around to the driver’s side and got in. We were stuck partway in and partway out, thinking she would certainly notice an enormous silver van pulling in next to her, but her head was crooked downward tractor-beamed by her smartphone’s screen and she didn’t budge. I jumped out and moved the cart, but between Angelo stubbornly staying where he was and the proximity of all the other cars around the space, I had to push the cart down a row before I could get it out and put it in the corral, right next to the Acura. I made a bunch of noisy ahems and coughs so the lady could see the error of her ways and apologize. I even walked right past her window and looked in, but she was glued to whatever important information was coming at her through her phone. Once on the other side of her car, I opened my door and said, maybe just a little loudly, “she didn’t even look up!” to Angelo. (These are the kinds of statements that make my daughter cringe when we’re out together. I am learning to only act this way in the company of others who are 50 or older.) Still nothing from the Acura driver until she pulled out of her parking space and zoomed off.  

Angelo parked and we walked into the store but this microscopic little incident had the power to irritate us both to the point of crabbiness. To be honest, he was crabbier than I was and I realized this when he objected to my choice of pasta for the evening.  
“Really? I have to get a different pasta?” I asked since I was now three aisles away from pasta.
“That one won’t go with my sauce,” he said.
“We’re not having sauce, just olive oil, broccoli and parm,” I said.
“We’re not having sauce...?” he said with a slight pout and I knew I was changing our dinner menu.

I don’t know why I let the oblivion of others get to me. Of course I think it’s gotten worse in the smartphone era. When I was waiting for a flight one day last week, I looked around and nearly every single head was angled downward and a sea of forefingers flicked here and there navigating screens.  But I do that...take the opportunity to check my mail (mostly spam), the weather (still warm!), my book sales (plummeting), and Words with Friends (their move) whenever I have a free five, ten minutes or so.  But I hope I don’t do it to the exclusion of the rest of the human race.  I’ve seen people walk through doors without holding it open for the person behind them or leave wads of dirty napkins on coffee shop tables because they are oblivious to the world around them and the idea that someone else might want to bring their coffee to a table without having to clean up after someone else’s who-knows-what kind of schmutz crumpled up in a napkin is an idea that occurs to very few these days.

As usual, the lesson here is that I can’t change anyone but myself. Fine.  Then, I guess the key is to remember to not let myself get so caught up in my virtual world that I forget that I am a part of a bigger, human and, let’s face it, more interesting world around me that I can hear, touch, smell, see and taste. Or yell at.

No comments:

Post a Comment