2/10/03
I don't like snobs. The only thing worse than a snob is a bully.
I hate bullies.
I've been guilty of being both.
Despite my hypocrisy, whenever I see someone else taking his/her turn being cruel I get angry.
It's the kind of angry that stirs up fantasies of me holding a five pound sledgehammer over some jerk's thumbs (too many Scorsese movies).
That said, indulge me while I meander a little. . .
Every morning, as I drive through town on my way to work, I see a woman walking to where she works. I know where she works. I'll get to that in a bit.
I wanted to tell you about her because I notice her even more when the weather is poor and she's still walking to her job. That leads me to believe she doesn't have a choice in the matter (particularly when you consider just how very cold it's been lately). I know that she walks at least three miles. It's probably more, but I only see her after she hits Main Street.
The point is, she has a long walk and she needs or wants to be at her job enough to make that walk every morning regardless of the risk of pneumonia and frostbite.
She works behind the deli counter at the grocery. She's young, probably in her early twenties. Her face is attractive and conveys that subtle, indescribable quality that hints she may be developmentally disabled.
I read that last sentence and I laughed at how mean and absurd it sounds. But I don't know how else to put it. And after you talk with this woman, you realize that she probably is developmentally disabled.
You'll also find she has an exuberance for her job that most people lose after working at the same place for a week. She's always very friendly and oh so helpful. She's even more friendly and helpful when I have Allie in the cart with me. "How old is she?," the woman will ask. "She's a cutie. I love those curls," she'll always say. Once she asked if Allie could talk. I prodded Allie to say, "Hello" and then Allie introduced her dolly, as she often does when she doesn't know what the else to say. The woman behind the deli counter gushed even more about what a beautiful girl I have.
I like this person.
One evening, I was shopping and bought some potato salad and cole slaw from her. She thanked me for being specific about which kind of salad I wanted. She said that most customers just say, "potato salad" or, "cole slaw" and told me that she gets flustered when people get a little irritated when she asks them to clarify which type of salad or slaw they want. She made me feel good about myself. I was a good citizen, an above average shopper and, obviously, a pleasure to work with.
That good feeling wore off quickly when I noticed was that her co-workers were snickering behind her back.
Her co-workers were mocking my favorite deli-person (well, favorite other than my sister-in-law who happens to be in the management side of the biz). These jerks were all giggling and moving like slugs compared to my favorite deli-person (MFDP). I watched as a girl, with a face full of piercings, did a crappy imitation of MFDP's slightly slurred speech pattern.
Blood swelled up in my face. I could feel it being pumped right into my cheeks. I could never hide it when I get angry or embarrassed. I hate that.
Then, the metal faced girl started chiding MFDP for not knowing some obvious, trivial fact about something or other. I don't recall the specifics. However, it was apparent that Metal Face got the other people behind the counter to feel superior to MFDP because they knew something she did not.
I thought a small jet of blood was going to shoot out of the corner of my eye.
I glared at everyone behind the counter. I slowly turned my head back and forth to signify to them that something was coming from me to them and they weren't going to like it.
Things got quiet behind the deli counter.
Then MFDP smiled at me and pushed my deli-stuff toward me over the counter. "Thank you. Have a good night," she said and proceeded to help another customer that her other assbag co-workers were ignoring. If her co-workers teasing did bother her, she certainly didn't give any indication. She was above their pettiness. She continued to interact with the people behind the counter in the same polite, energetic way she treated the people in front of the counter.
Can you smile respectfully? I did my best to do just that when I thanked MFDP. Then as soon as she ducked back into the deli case I erased my smile and turned my glare back toward Metal Face.
I walked away. MFDP transcended her co-workers' cruelty and stupidity. She taught me a lesson in civility and control. I should suck up my desire to remind Metal Face and her baboon pack that they all were drooling, inbred, meat slapping, shit eating, felchers who did not deserve the respect and tolerance paid to them by a gentle soul.
Yes, I'm being a little melodramatic, but I really did want to say something. I thought better of it because of visions I had of embarrassing MFDP and of Metal Face escalating her attacks in retaliation for being reminded of how pathetic she is by a customer (the enemy).
I did run into the store manager (he was wearing a badge that said, "Store Manager" on it). I told him what a great job MFDP did for me and that she was running circles around everyone else behind the deli counter. I lied and said that I bought even more stuff because MFDP made my trip to the deli so effortless and enjoyable (and most of you know that I actually do say crap like this to people sometimes). He thanked me and said that it was really nice to hear comments like mine. He at first thought I was approaching him to complain (I must have had the leftovers from the grim looks I was shooting Metal Face still on my mug). Then I watched him as he walked toward to the deli case. I'm not sure, but I always hoped that he praised MFDP up and down in front of the baboon pack.
Many mornings, like this morning, I see MFDP walking to work in the wet cold. When I see her, I'm reminded of what I've just written and more importantly, I'm reminded of how much I'd still like to get a sledgehammer and smash Metal Face's thumbs.