I Felt Like Writing Something Stupid Today…

I think I am turning into an old lady.  There are two reasons for this.  One that happened several months ago (when I still worked at JCPenney) and one today.  Let me elaborate.  While I was still employed to a Mr. JCPenney, I overheard a peculiar conversation between a young girl of about 13 and her mother.   The day was late and my shift was due to be over in a couple of hours.  My task for the day was to mark dresses for clearance in order to make room for the new stock.  Of course it is a common practice for the clerks to browse while this is being done.  Each one of us would make a small mental note of all the clothes we fancied that were going on sale, so we could later debate their purchase.

I had just moved on to another rack of dresses when the aforementioned youth and her guard approached.  They were casually perusing the selection when the mother’s eye happened to catch a certain dress.  It certainly was not a stunning dress by far.  It was quite plain, in fact, but I could not deny that I liked the dress.  The fair lass disagreed making the most atrocious noises and distorting her face into a very unbecoming sneer.  The mother insisted that she should at least try the garment on before judging the poor thing.  But her attempts were in vain as the young lady remarked, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that!”  Ah, what I day of realization for me!  Of course I have never been a woman of fashion, but never have I sided with a woman over 40 in the area of dress!  This was most troubling to me for I have yet to even be considered an old maid!

As far as today’s incident, it was a much more severe realization .  There was a young boy of about 14 and his young lady of interest at my register today.  He was trying to tell me his order, but alas!  His speech was impaired due to an unknown object half lodged in his mouth which he neither wished to properly spit out nor ingest.  I have no clue to what it was, but I do know it was neither food nor and object made for the purpose of chewing.  The poor lad, debilitated by this orange speech impediment, had to dictate his order three times.  All the while I was thinking thoughts only my grandparents would think, “Boy, you spit that nasty thing out and don’t come talk to me again until you have grown some manners or the ability to speak like a ventriloquist.”  Of course this dialogue only took place in my head, because I do rather value my paycheck.  I do, however, recall this same sort of speech impediment (although the object was usually a pen cap) and it not inflicting such a surge of nagging only warranted by one’s grandparents or elderly neighbors.

I suppose it is only natural for one to progress in age, but I fear at the rate I am going, I am not far from white hair, a walking cane, and a pristine lawn waiting for some child to trespass so that I may terrorize him.


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