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carose59The Greatest Mistake Is Trying To Be More Agreeable Than You Can Be.*
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Monday I went to the grocery to pick up half&half for my mother and the cats**, and bread for both of us and Meg.
The Kroger I stopped at was having a manager's special on their (slightly more expensive) brand of white bread: forty-nine cents a loaf reduced from a dollar.
I bought all of them. I bought thirty-six loaves of bread. (I have that standing freezer, you know.)
The cashier laughed at me. Not in a friendly way; in a "there's something wrong with you" way. So did the woman in line behind me. I had already said I had a full-size freezer, and this would probably last me the whole winter. Still, they talked to each other about "buying all this bread" as though I'd been buying worms for dinner. It wasn't just the mocking tone, there was a level of disgust that baffles me.
The bag boy got in on the act, too. "This is a lot of bread," he told me, as though I was unaware of this, and his tone was disapproving. What the fuck, I'm buying what your store is selling! Shut up about it!
At some point, the woman behind me realized the bread was half-priced. "Oh. That's why you're buying so much."
"Yes," I said curtly. The "you moron" was implied. "And I have a full-size freezer to keep it in." I resisted saying "Nyah, nyah, nyah!"
As I was paying, I said to the cashier, "Well, now that I've bought all your bread, maybe I'll come back tomorrow for the lunch meat." She laughed at that—not a laughing-at-me laugh, and repeated it a couple of times. So I felt a little better.
But I don't think I want to shop there anymore. This Kroger seems to be where the nasty feebleminded do their grocery shopping.
(I don't know why they were reduced; the date on them is December first. The bread tastes just fine, at least to Meg and me, and we're both very fond of white bread.)
While I have been brooding over the bread thing a bit (I have to ridicule the idiots for a while before I can fully get over it), what put me in a bad mood today was the yammering on the other side of my cubicle.
I hate one of the selectors. Well, more than one, but particularly one of them, who comes over to stand on the other side of my cubicle (where we put the first copies of the new material we've received) and talks to her friends. In a very loud voice. (Are they talking about work? Tangentially, yes. But mostly they're just looking at books together and chattering. IN A VERY LOUD VOICE.)
I've written about this before, about how I've complained about it, about how when I've spoken to her directly, she's made fun of me, about how I can't drown her out with ear buds pushed directly into my ears and the sound turned up as loud as I can take it!
I'm going to speak to my boss again. These people have cubicles, they can chat there if they want. But the other side of my cubicle is not a social area, and I don't want to hear their obnoxious conversations. (And they're not just obnoxious because I can't stand her. They're obnoxious because, as a selector—a person who chooses material for a public library—she thinks we should stop taking patron requests for material. It's a waste of time. Yeah, I fucking hate her. And let's not get into the whole class thing, where selectors have library degrees and processors don't. Hate, hate, hate.)
Later, I will have a good scream and feel better.
*Walter Bagehot
**My mother is working on seducing Little Cat into her house using half&half. (Her eventual aim is getting to pet Little Cat.) Little Cat loves half&half, but has apparently heard the story of Hansel & Gretel. She's appalled the Meg runs happily into my mother's house. For his part, Meg thinks Little Cat should stay away from his grandmother and (what he sees as) his half&half. (When you are a cat, there is no such thing as "enough to go around." I told my mother that between her and the cats, the bottle I bought her won't last the week.
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.
-:- -:- -:-
Monday I went to the grocery to pick up half&half for my mother and the cats**, and bread for both of us and Meg.
The Kroger I stopped at was having a manager's special on their (slightly more expensive) brand of white bread: forty-nine cents a loaf reduced from a dollar.
I bought all of them. I bought thirty-six loaves of bread. (I have that standing freezer, you know.)
The cashier laughed at me. Not in a friendly way; in a "there's something wrong with you" way. So did the woman in line behind me. I had already said I had a full-size freezer, and this would probably last me the whole winter. Still, they talked to each other about "buying all this bread" as though I'd been buying worms for dinner. It wasn't just the mocking tone, there was a level of disgust that baffles me.
The bag boy got in on the act, too. "This is a lot of bread," he told me, as though I was unaware of this, and his tone was disapproving. What the fuck, I'm buying what your store is selling! Shut up about it!
At some point, the woman behind me realized the bread was half-priced. "Oh. That's why you're buying so much."
"Yes," I said curtly. The "you moron" was implied. "And I have a full-size freezer to keep it in." I resisted saying "Nyah, nyah, nyah!"
As I was paying, I said to the cashier, "Well, now that I've bought all your bread, maybe I'll come back tomorrow for the lunch meat." She laughed at that—not a laughing-at-me laugh, and repeated it a couple of times. So I felt a little better.
But I don't think I want to shop there anymore. This Kroger seems to be where the nasty feebleminded do their grocery shopping.
(I don't know why they were reduced; the date on them is December first. The bread tastes just fine, at least to Meg and me, and we're both very fond of white bread.)
While I have been brooding over the bread thing a bit (I have to ridicule the idiots for a while before I can fully get over it), what put me in a bad mood today was the yammering on the other side of my cubicle.
I hate one of the selectors. Well, more than one, but particularly one of them, who comes over to stand on the other side of my cubicle (where we put the first copies of the new material we've received) and talks to her friends. In a very loud voice. (Are they talking about work? Tangentially, yes. But mostly they're just looking at books together and chattering. IN A VERY LOUD VOICE.)
I've written about this before, about how I've complained about it, about how when I've spoken to her directly, she's made fun of me, about how I can't drown her out with ear buds pushed directly into my ears and the sound turned up as loud as I can take it!
I'm going to speak to my boss again. These people have cubicles, they can chat there if they want. But the other side of my cubicle is not a social area, and I don't want to hear their obnoxious conversations. (And they're not just obnoxious because I can't stand her. They're obnoxious because, as a selector—a person who chooses material for a public library—she thinks we should stop taking patron requests for material. It's a waste of time. Yeah, I fucking hate her. And let's not get into the whole class thing, where selectors have library degrees and processors don't. Hate, hate, hate.)
Later, I will have a good scream and feel better.
*Walter Bagehot
**My mother is working on seducing Little Cat into her house using half&half. (Her eventual aim is getting to pet Little Cat.) Little Cat loves half&half, but has apparently heard the story of Hansel & Gretel. She's appalled the Meg runs happily into my mother's house. For his part, Meg thinks Little Cat should stay away from his grandmother and (what he sees as) his half&half. (When you are a cat, there is no such thing as "enough to go around." I told my mother that between her and the cats, the bottle I bought her won't last the week.
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.