The other day Karen and I were shopping at the grocery store. Karen went to the deli counter to get some lunchmeat for her work lunches and approached the counter as any normal person would, not knocking anyone over, pushing them aside or being otherwise rude. She approached that ticket dispenser that gives customers a number to tell them when it's their turn. As she approached the counter, a woman was standing there, off a few feet from the dispenser. As Karen pushed the button and took her number, the woman standing there hit the dispenser after her, turned to Karen and said, in essence, I was standing her long before you were so I'll just switch numbers with you, and took Karen's number. Being deaf as a doorknob and otherwise oblivious, I didn't know what was happening, so when Karen turned around with a slightly startled look on her face, I asked her what happened. She explained then what happened, which caused my jaw to drop which in turn rendered me speechless.
I was so flummoxed that I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than Are you frigging kidding me? repeatedly. I was so angry, so appalled, that I wanted to address the situation right there. It wasn't a matter of us being inconvenienced, since right after Ms. Entitlement was called, Karen's new and higher number was called. It was the principle of the thing.
Since when was a person who was too stupid to take her proper number entitled to simply call dibs and take another person's number on the questionable pretense that there exists, in the universe of codified or uncodified laws, some statute that mandates that a person standing in line who doesn't take her ticket is vouchsafed an earlier place in line simply by personal fiat and a quick flick of the wrist to wrest away the earlier ticket. I'm still flabbergasted.
Yes, I'm Irish enough to make sure that the next time I see this wench, I will do everything I can to cut in front of her and claim that I was standing directly in front of her for hours before she got there, simply so I can give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, were I to do that I'd probably be violating some corollary of the Entitlement Law that stipulates that those who hold prominent positions of entitlement are immune from attack, collateral or otherwise, simply by virtue of their exalted status.
I see this a lot with drivers. Some drivers, who shall go nameless -- but they typically drive BMW's, Benz's, Lexuses and minivans (for some strange reason... -- are always, and I do mean ALWAYS, entitled to cut you off simply because they can see a sliver of daylight between you and the car immediately ahead of you. What's more, I should recognize the superiority not only of the machine they're driving, but their advanced motor skills as a driver.
Needless to say, when it comes to Entitlement Law, I'm a lawbreaker. When someone thinks it's his right to cut me off when he has to merge out of his soon-to-be-ending-under-construction lane into my quite available lane, instead of waiting his turn, I block him. If he thinks that passing me on the right to go around me so he can leapfrog the very truck I'm trying to pass is his birthright, I speed up. I'm quite secure in my manhood -- nay, personhood -- but I'm not about to suffer the indignity that someone's purchasing power gives him an inalienable right to cut me off with impunity.
The notion that courtesy has no place in modern life is just wrong. This isn't war, after all. We're talking about waiting five minutes more to buy those deli meats and cheeses we shouldn't be eating anyway, or getting into a lane that isn't obstructed by construction cones. If someone would just read the signs and act more courteously toward other drivers, there'd be less road rage, not to mention less accidents.
This whole notion of someone-died-and-left-me-in-charge is an illness. It can be cured. But until this unwritten Entitlement Law is repealed, the scourge that is Me-Firstism will never go away. It makes life messier and less enjoyable for all, even the Me-Firsters.
Because I'm Irish and I have a long, very long, memory.
Somewhere, there's a clueless woman thinking that her life is just gilded with lilies and she can take whatever she wants. She's unaware that I'm stalking her and will be only too sure to post myself in front of her at the deli counter the next time she needs to put her needs over someone else's. If she tries that stunt with me, I think I'll find a person with three screaming kids and offer my ticket to her instead.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
No comments:
Post a Comment