Miss Manners, I am not...

When boredom looms in my life I get a little bitchy. Ok, a lot bitchy. The little things that I would probably brush off get on my nerves. At its extreme, I actually do or say something to express the normally internalized bitchiness.

It's kinda like that part in Wanda Syke's "Sick and Tired" when she talks about how "I don't give a fuck..." has become her personal mantra.

Paper or plastic? I don't give a fuck.
Box or soft? I don't give a fuck.
Would you like the dark or medium roast? I don't give a fuck.
Top or bottom? I don't give a...oops, TMI.

Giniqua, stop laughing and get off the floor. You're at work for goodness sake.

So yeah, I'm pretty bored. And bitchy. And, unfortunately for some lady -- who I'm sure didn't think she'd get a can of whoop-ass opened on her at the grocery store -- I expressed my bitchiness.

This morning I went to the Pick-N-Save across the street. As I was waiting in line at the customer service counter to buy a pack of cigs, there was this short stocky lady in a hideous winter coat standing in front of me. We were standing there together for a little more than 5 minutes because the lady at the front of the line couldn't quite grasp the idea of a discount only applying to 5 items when the signage says MAX 5.

I stood patiently and felt for the clerk. I remembered back to diners who were outraged because they couldn't use a $10 off coupon even though it had expired a year and a half earlier. Or the clueless assholes who would declare that their coffee didn't taste like a latte.

Seriously, the expiration date is printed on the front of the card. And really now, a latte is espresso and steamed milk, there's not a lot else to say.

As I'm waiting more than patiently, I notice that short stocky lady in hideous winter coat standing in front of me -- heretofor known as Tragic -- has turned around for at least the second time to stare at me.

And then she did it again.

It wasn't even that "I think I know you from somewhere" kind of stare. It wasn't that "I'm really just staring off into space and you happen to be in the sight-line" kind of stare. It was a full-on "is that a terrorist standing behind me as I board a plane" stare combined with a "what would Jesus do?" stare.

Now, I know that I live in an area that doesn't seem to attract/allow very many minorities. A few blocks north of me is Whitefish Bay, which I recently found out is nicknamed Whitepeople Bay.

I've been stared at before. Maybe it's because people don't think I speak English and therefor assume I can't see them stare. I don't really give a fuck. Most often it's kids who are trying to figure out what the hell I am.

Back to Tragic at the Pick-N-Save. The fourth time Tragic turned around to stare at me, my internal censor switched off and the internal became external.

Me: "Can I help you with something? Anything?"
Tragic: "...."
Me: "Usually staring at someone is considered just plain rude. Turning around to stare at someone is even ruder. Doing both of those things as many times as you have is incomprehensible to me."
Traigc: "I...dont'...uhh..."

I stared her down. Then I realized that the woman behind the counter was looking at me incredulously. Tragic walked up to the counter and asked to buy something or other. I walked up to register #2.

Me: "May I have a pack of Parliament Light 100s?"
Counter lady #2: "There you are, anything else?"
Me: "A mask of some sorts (motioning to my face). Apparently I need it..."

And then I turned to my left and stared down Tragic. She knew I was staring at her. She did that whole if-I-don't-look-at-the-mugger-he-won't-mug-me stare into the horizon directly in front of her.

As I was loading my groceries, I realized that after my little outburst I was the last person who should be lecturing on manners.

I really couldn't give a fuck.