I was under the impression that older people are supposed to be set in their ways. They have figured everything out and are willing and able to tell youngsters how things should be done.
I find myself instead spending a lot of time examining my own reactions to things I see and hear. Instead of making an instant judgment and moving on to the next stimulus, I mull over events as I drive, as I walk the dog, as I watch whatever mind-numbing programming happens to be on TV.
This morning after my exercise class I drove to the supermarket to do the weekly shopping chore. I don’t know if it is because I have done this drudgery 2,288 weeks in a row or what, but I’m usually not excited about gathering the grub yet again when I pull into the Publix parking lot. By the time I have traversed the aisles and completed my paltry selections, I have walked through the bakery department and fought the sugar demons; passed the deli holding my breath so as not to get a whiff of their insanely delicious but currently verboten southern fried chicken; and completely skipped the aisle featuring my Achilles heel, salty snacks. In other words, I have pissed myself off.
There were only two cash registers open at this 11 a.m. slow time, so I pushed my cart up to stand behind a woman with a beautiful curly headed 18-month-old in the kiddy seat of her cart. The woman was unloading the groceries with her right hand and holding a half-eaten apple in her left.
When she reached for the transparent plastic bag filled with more apples, I realized the woman had not brought that apple from home. She had selected that apple from the display in the produce section.
Now I was intrigued. Apples are charged for by weight. Half the weight of the apple in this woman’s left hand had already been consumed, so technically she had stolen half an apple and didn’t appear to be the least bit conflicted about it.
When The Apple Thief picked up the bag of uneaten and unpaid for apples, she put the half-eaten apple into the bag with them and placed the bag on the conveyor belt. The unsuspecting cashier failed to see any of this because she was busy swiping bar codes.
The cashier’s hand hovered over the bag of apples and I held my breath a bit. When she looked down at the bag to look for the little sticker they plaster over every single freaking piece of produce in the store, her eyes widened when she saw the bite craters in the top apple.
“Oh, the baby had that one. She ate half of it.” She giggled nervously.
Well, that was a damned lie and I was really torqued off at that lady, lying on that poor little girl like that. One glance at the size of those bites on that apple belied her claim. I knew it; she knew it and the cashier had to have known it.
In the spirit of good customer service, I suppose, the cashier simply smiled weakly and kept scanning.
What surprised me most about this little scenario was my own reaction to it. I was actually fighting the urge to call that young mother out. I was incensed, not so much by her petty theft; I mean, who hasn’t stolen a grape from a bunch to make sure they are sweet enough to buy the rest? It was her lie. The lie says she believed she was doing wrong and did it anyway.
I decided it was not my place to call her out. That’s what we tell ourselves, isn’t it, when we are reluctant to deal with the push-back in a confrontation. I just wasn’t in the mood to argue this morning. Obviously, it bothered me enough for me to be writing about it four hours later. And I know why, too.
In my book, lying is way up at the top of the list of offenses that are unforgivable. And I don’t quibble about shades of untruths. There are no white lies in my mind, just as I don’t think the act of stealing is any more or less wrong depending on the value of what is stolen.
And what about the child? That mother will be all bent out of shape the first time her daughter attempts to blame a sibling for her own wrongdoing. She will likely punish the little girl and forget completely the fact that she taught her to do it when she was back in line at Publix.
I find myself instead spending a lot of time examining my own reactions to things I see and hear. Instead of making an instant judgment and moving on to the next stimulus, I mull over events as I drive, as I walk the dog, as I watch whatever mind-numbing programming happens to be on TV.
This morning after my exercise class I drove to the supermarket to do the weekly shopping chore. I don’t know if it is because I have done this drudgery 2,288 weeks in a row or what, but I’m usually not excited about gathering the grub yet again when I pull into the Publix parking lot. By the time I have traversed the aisles and completed my paltry selections, I have walked through the bakery department and fought the sugar demons; passed the deli holding my breath so as not to get a whiff of their insanely delicious but currently verboten southern fried chicken; and completely skipped the aisle featuring my Achilles heel, salty snacks. In other words, I have pissed myself off.
There were only two cash registers open at this 11 a.m. slow time, so I pushed my cart up to stand behind a woman with a beautiful curly headed 18-month-old in the kiddy seat of her cart. The woman was unloading the groceries with her right hand and holding a half-eaten apple in her left.
When she reached for the transparent plastic bag filled with more apples, I realized the woman had not brought that apple from home. She had selected that apple from the display in the produce section.Now I was intrigued. Apples are charged for by weight. Half the weight of the apple in this woman’s left hand had already been consumed, so technically she had stolen half an apple and didn’t appear to be the least bit conflicted about it.
When The Apple Thief picked up the bag of uneaten and unpaid for apples, she put the half-eaten apple into the bag with them and placed the bag on the conveyor belt. The unsuspecting cashier failed to see any of this because she was busy swiping bar codes.
The cashier’s hand hovered over the bag of apples and I held my breath a bit. When she looked down at the bag to look for the little sticker they plaster over every single freaking piece of produce in the store, her eyes widened when she saw the bite craters in the top apple.
“Oh, the baby had that one. She ate half of it.” She giggled nervously.
Well, that was a damned lie and I was really torqued off at that lady, lying on that poor little girl like that. One glance at the size of those bites on that apple belied her claim. I knew it; she knew it and the cashier had to have known it.
In the spirit of good customer service, I suppose, the cashier simply smiled weakly and kept scanning.
What surprised me most about this little scenario was my own reaction to it. I was actually fighting the urge to call that young mother out. I was incensed, not so much by her petty theft; I mean, who hasn’t stolen a grape from a bunch to make sure they are sweet enough to buy the rest? It was her lie. The lie says she believed she was doing wrong and did it anyway.
I decided it was not my place to call her out. That’s what we tell ourselves, isn’t it, when we are reluctant to deal with the push-back in a confrontation. I just wasn’t in the mood to argue this morning. Obviously, it bothered me enough for me to be writing about it four hours later. And I know why, too.
In my book, lying is way up at the top of the list of offenses that are unforgivable. And I don’t quibble about shades of untruths. There are no white lies in my mind, just as I don’t think the act of stealing is any more or less wrong depending on the value of what is stolen.
And what about the child? That mother will be all bent out of shape the first time her daughter attempts to blame a sibling for her own wrongdoing. She will likely punish the little girl and forget completely the fact that she taught her to do it when she was back in line at Publix.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you choose to comment as Anonymous but you want me to know who you are, just sign your comment in a way I will recognize. Thanks!
WARNING: This site cannot receive comments from iPads, unfortunately. I am trying to find a solution.