Am I Freakin' Invisible or What?

At long last you get the explanation of the name of my blog. And I'll tell ya, it's a doozy. LOL Okay, maybe not so much. It's a sad story about the level to which society has come. A story of disregard, disrespect, and lack of consideration. It's a story of etiquette schmettiquette. Yes, folks, my story is the story of my increasing aggravation with John and Jane Q. Public and the little Jr. Publics.

Everywhere I go, crowded or not. I get jostled, bumped into, stepped on, my feet driven over by people or all shapes and sizes. Surely now you're saying to yourself, "Yeah, so what? It happens to everybody. It's all an accident." Well, you're most likely right. My problem with the whole situation is what I never hear (and it has nothing to do with my mild hearing difficulties stemming from a teenage history of constant ear shattering bass). What it does have to do with is the fact that nobody (or nearly nobody) has manners anymore. Hearing someone say, "Excuse me," "I'm sorry," "Pardon me," or even freakin' "Ooops," has become an actual rarity, while knocking into people carelessly is on the rise. I'm rapidly becoming a crotchety old woman as I look at people, who won't even meet my eye, and say, "EXCUSE me!" or my more aggravated, "It's always nice to say excuse me isn't it?" or "Manners are just too difficult, aren't they?" Yes, folks, after being pummelled about so often and with the total lack of apologeticness -hey, at this point, I'd even settle for a sheepish grin and shrugged shoulders, I've become a crabby ol' witch. On my particularly trying days, I've been known to mutter, "Am I Invisible or What? How hard is it to say excuse me or at least watch where you're going?" But it doesn't end there.

There's the other phenomenon where I'm standing in line or actually walking up to the checkout and merely a foot away from the actual counter and someone just steps in front of me like I'm not even there. Apparently I am Invisible, because (on days when I feel like speaking up, because I'm just too bitchy to "turn the other cheek") when I say to them, "Excuse me, (gee, I just love those two little words) but I was here first." The response I get is, "No, you weren't in line," or "I didn't see you in line," or "Were you?" On days when I'm feeling more passive aggressive, I simply burn holes into the back of their heads (gotta be the backs because they never will meet your eyes) with my glare. If and when they should happen to glance around the store, their head quickly swivels back to face front position and they continue to act as if no one is standing behind them. Am I Freakin' Invisible or What?

Then, there's my true favorite. The automobile invisibility shield -Apparently my invisibility extends to whatever I touch. I'll be driving along in a 55 (or 70 when on the Interstate) mph zone at a good clip, when suddenly some blockhead whips right out into the roadway in front of me as if I were never there. On top of that, they will proceed at a considerably reduced speed, well below the posted speed limit. At this point I am, of course, screaming, "Am I Freakin' Invisible or What?" Of course this is bad enough, but then there's the parking spot thieves who jump into the spot I've been sitting waiting at (with turn signal flashing away) for ten minutes. And those who will pull up and sit immediately behind you when they can see from your back up lights that you were trying to back up. Or the geniuses who walk behind your car as you are backing up.

I may have forgotten a few of my favorite Invisible Moments. If I have then remind me in the comments section. I'm sure it's happened to me at some point and I'm sure no one looked to apologize or even sheepishly grin and shrug shoulders.

I rest my case. You decide. Am I Freakin' Invisible or What?