Labor Day Eve at the video store
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
By Gale Cady Williams
Colbert’s hilarious evisceration of Donald Trump on his first-ever show tonight reminded me of this scene that transpired at the video store this past Sunday night, while we were renting (or trying to) the DVDs for Game of Thrones, Season 2:
Addled late-middle-aged goofy blonde lady, dimpled and pudgy, in her 50s, in line behind us, who is admiring my husband: Oooh, it’s hot in the car! (staring fixedly at my husband, who oh-so-wisely does not look at her, so she fixes her gaze on me. I am trapped between two end-caps behind Joe with someone behind me and Joe in front)
(She gives up on Joe, because he can ignore a person like nobody’s business when he wants to, and he wants to) and she now looks fixedly at me): Don’t you think it’s HOT out there?
Me: It’s over 90, but I think it’s hot in HERE. It must be 80 degrees. Maybe their air conditioning is broken. I’m dying.
She: It’s hotter in the car.
Me: I bet.
She (looking at my T-shirt, which is Joe’s old Woodstock II T-shirt from 1994) Oh, were you at Woodstock?
Me: (not realizing a sartorial inquisition would take place at the video store at 9 p.m. on a sweaty, humid, 93-degree September night) Nope.
She: That was in 1969? Did you go?
Me: Nope. And this shirt is from the second Woodstock, in 1994. It’s my husband’s shirt.
She: If you were at the first Woodstock, how old ARE you?
Me: I wasn’t at the first Woodstock, OR the second Woodstock.
She: If you were at the first Woodstock, you must be REALLY OLD. How old ARE you?
Husband finally turns towards her: She’s never going to tell you that.
Me: I never, ever tell anyone how old I am. SERIOUSLY.
Young man in couple behind us in line, mercifully breaking in (bless your heart, Wonderful One): You’re 29, right?
Me: Exactly. 29. (My face looking like the Sith Lord at this point.)
Young man: I can’t even remember my own birthday half the time.
Me (thinking now of kissing him): Thank you for that. Wow, it really is HOT in here….
Crazy lady (and this is where it gets crazyER): Well, I bet those billionaires don’t care about us being hot. They don’t care. They have all the money.
Me (stupidly falling for the bait — oh, when, when, will I learn to ignore people?) You mean like Donald Trump. (not really a question; it’s a statement).
She: Oh, is he a billionaire?
Me: Well, yes of course he is. A MULTI billionaire. (WHAT IS TAKING THIS CLERK SO LONG TO CLICK ON A BARCODE?? MERCIFUL GOD, PLEASE LET THIS END!)
She: Oh, well, but you know, he’s one of us. He said so. He is just like us. He is fed up with things as they are.
Me: (now I’m mad. But, is she for him or against him? She’s a Fox newsie – talking out of both sides of her mouth; obviously not the brightest bulb in the box… but, you all know how I feel about Donald Trump) Donald Trump does NOT care about people. He is a bigot.
She: A what? What is that? A bigot? (suspicion confirmed)
Me: A person who hates people for their skin color, sexual orientation, or religion. He has said horrible things about Mexican people, for example.
She: Oh, well, that’s not nice, is it? God tells us not to hate people. Rich people are all like that. They don’t care about us.
Me: Well, if I were rich, I would give away millions of dollars.
She: oh, you’re a good person.
Me (sarcastically): yes, a real humanitarian.
She: Oh, well, you know, not that, you don’t want to be that, because you know, humanitarians are even worse than Democrats. They are a false religion. They are all going to hell. They worship false gods.
Me [Brain: RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY NOW!] Humanitarians are going to hell??…..(pushing my way forward to stand beside husband at counter, where desk clerk has taken a veritable ETERNITY to check us out – apparently Facebook discounts on one’s iPhone are hard to deal with] [you’ve been warned] Oh, hey, honey, did that discount code work for you? oh, great, well, let’s go!… Wow, it’s HOT in here!
(hustles through the exit and out the door)
(c) Copyright September 8, 2015. All rights reserved.