Talkative older people make me nervous.
It’s true. They just... talk. And ask questions. Stupid ones, things like “What are you studying?” and “Oh, this line is long, isn’t it?” and “Boy, you sure do like reading, don’t you?”
THIS MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE. YOU ARE INVADING MY SPACE. STOP IT.
Just because I’m standing in the same line-up you are and holding a magazine doesn’t mean we have words in common. It means I have a magazine that I’m using to AVOID CONVERSATIONS WITH PEOPLE AROUND ME. And that I’m already annoyed because I’ve been standing in a line for longer than thirty seconds, which is how long it takes for me to want to be other places. Your chances are not good, sir. You’re also 50, which means everything you say hinges on whether or not you have the “charming grandpa” thing down well enough that you’re not just being fucking annoying.
That was a bit of a fail too, I’m afraid. Just... stop. Not everyone likes forced conversations with people they don’t know (as much fun as that sounds). It would probably help if you stopped making judgemental-sounding observations about everything around you. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THINGS LIKE THIS? YES, IT IS CROWDED IN HERE. YES, THIS LINE IS LONG, AND CLEARLY I AM BORED. YES, I AM ALSO HOLDING A MAGAZINE, BUT NO, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT ANYONE WHO MIGHT BE ON THE COVER. Also, the fact that I’m holding a magazine probably says more about my illiteracy than it does for any actual love of reading I might have. Do you really equate someone like Lindsay Lohan with any intellectual capacity?
Please say no.
Also, I always feel so uncomfortable in grocery lines anyway- like everyone behind me is staring at the things I want to buy and making judgements about what sort of person I must be like. 2 bags of mushrooms and a squashed cantaloupe? Coloured markers? A bag of pea flour? Medical tape and black eyeliner? What does that all say about me? Probably nothing, but if enough strangers stare at it for long enough I feel like I might as well be buying crystal meth and adult diapers- which might not have gotten that many stares back home, to be honest (no one who lives there can be offended at this, since it’s true), but in Kelowna, I feel like something like that might stand out a little.
Actually, this seems to happen a lot- random people commenting on whatever shit I’m doing/buying, like I won’t hate you forever for making it seem like I’m the only person in the line-up who would ever have a use for toilet paper, or how strange it is that I’m just going for a walk for fun. Like what I’m really going to do is much more sinister, and “taking a walk” is actually code for “meeting a hooker” or “hiding in people’s bushes and watching them watch tv.”
I was at Wal-Mart a few days ago buying random shit (what else is there to do at Wal-Mart) and I ended up with 4 squashes in my cart, because they were on sale and I fucking love baked squash.
I told this to the cashier, actually.
Her: “Wow, that’s a lot of squash.”
Me: “Mmhmm.” *bored*
Her: “.... so, do you... eat it?”
Me: No, I draw fucking faces on them and pretend I’m having conversations with my dead relatives. “Yeah. They’re pretty good roasted.”
Her: “Is that why you’re buying so many?”
Me: ...
Her: ...
Me: “... yes.”
Really? Really? I need to explain this? It’s squash. Food. I don’t know what kind of vacuum-sealed, chemically-preserved shit you ingest on a daily basis, but some of us still eat things that have seen dirt at one point. Besides, asking me why I’m doing whatever-the-hell I’m doing makes my brain die a little. I don’t like having to explain myself- it makes me feel icky. And awkward. And eventually bitter and mean when I start hating you for putting me on the spot like an idiot, like I’M the one who’s weird. I AM WEIRD. EVERYONE WHO KNOWS ME KNOWS THIS. But give me some credit. Buying 12 cans of tomato paste and a hairclip at 9 pm is a little fucking strange, but it isn’t why I’m “weird.” Find a damn hobby and stop judging me. My reasons for everything are usually either morally awful, stupid, or bat-shit illogical. Please don’t make me tell you why I have 3 boxes of Gravol in my cart, or a child’s nightgown and a lacy black bra 2 sizes too large. Don’t make me explain the massive bag of gum I threw in at the last second, or the fact that I have an artificially-flavoured 8 pack of some aggressive-sounding energy drink right next to a packet of sleep-aids or some kind of calming herbal tea. Also, I realize there are a lot of unhealthy-seeming people around and that for most people, reheating something is the extent of their kitchen-related knowledge. I also am fairly aware that most people don’t know what the hell quinoa is, and that “nutritional yeast” sounds a bit horrifying. Fine. I don’t care. But unless you know me personally, don’t ask me to explain every single fucking purchase I make that you can’t recognize. Especially if you work in the goddamned store. KNOW YOUR SHIT, PEOPLE. It’s not like you’re going to rush off to try it yourself- you’re just curious. And curious is annoying when I have other things to be doing and I have to stand there for an extra ten minutes explaining that no, I’m not making banana bread, I just like ripe bananas, and I’ll probably freeze the extra ones anyway. Again, you’re now in my space and you’re making me uncomfortable. STOP THAT.
I should just never go out in public, should I?
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