Monday Mayberry Moments Vol V
Well, in this week's installment we'll learn that life in Mayberry isn't just fun and games with the rednecked locals. There's the dark other side of life in Mayberry. Mayberry's frightening underbelly permeating every enterprise and institution be it social, evangelical, financial, civic or business related...
The RETIREES. A dastardly group. Seemingly sweet faced grandmothers and grandfathers who bake cookies, give hugs, and bring the best Deviled Eggs to the Church Socials. But just below the surface lies their true nature (DISCLAIMER: While some comments and events found here may seem to be stereotyping and cruel, the HR Lady actually has a great love and respect for the elderly and spends time volunteering at the local Nursing homes. The HR Lady knows from first hand experience that not all of our Retirees have a the-world-must-move-for-me-cuz-I'm-older-than-Methuseleh attitude. Actually, the majority of HR Lady's most trusted and closest friends and neighbors are retirees, but the nice ones -not these anti-etiquette scary ones. END OF DISCLAIMER) that of a vicious cart-blocking-every-aisle, always-driving-5 to 10 mph-below-the-speed-limit, cutting-you-in-the-pharmacy-line Gang. That's right GANG.
And they're frightening. Their group must be infiltrated and irradicated. Allow me to give you an example, an experience that is foremost in my mind. I go to a nice little church. A very small congregation. After almost a year there we know nearly everyone. When we come into the Church lobby there is a prayer intentions book which is kept quite busy by those of us concerned for our friends and family.
On the Sunday morning in question, I had just finished filling in my prayer intentions in the book when the Usher, a good friend of ours and a retiree, started talking to me about something. I turned to face him. Unbeknownst to me, in so positioning myself I had slightly blocked exit from the ladies room. We were talking (quietly lest we disturb those inside praying before Mass) when suddenly I'm shoved from behind and slightly to the left of me. AND I DO MEAN SHOVED. I'm slightly knocked off balance, but don't fall. I catch glimpse of the older (and definitely not frail -built like a freakin' line backer and with a man's cut to boot) woman who is just pulling open the doors into the church. She hasn't said, "Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me," or even so much as a "You're in my way." I stood there dumbfounded. I don't expect poor manners like this anywhere I go, much less in the church lobby. The Ushers were all watching me to see what I would say. I was disgusted. I said, "Did you see that? I think she's old enough to know better." And left it there.
Ya wanna know the ugly truth? Even though I ended up turning the other cheek like I should, there was that temptation for just a minute to really let loose on her. No, I'm not saying I wanted to knock her so hard her dead granny would feel it and roll in her grave, but I really just wanted to walk out there into the entryway of the church and say nice and loud so everyone could know how rude she is, "HEEELLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I KNOW you felt yourself slam into me. I KNOW you realize you never said excuse me so that I could move out of your way. But could you have at least said, "Excuse me. I'm sorry. Or Some-FREAKIN'-Thing?" Then I'd have gone on and given her Chapter and Verse on doing unto others, etc., etc. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek nearly hard enough to draw blood and prayed really hard all the way through Mass to ask for forgiveness for my bad thoughts and to ask the Lord to help me forgive her rudeness.
What the HECK is up with people? Would it have killed Retiree-from-Hell to say excuse me so that I could have stepped out of her way? I freakin' sit two rows back from her nearly every Sunday while SHE shoots ME disapproving looks. For what? This is the hellish underbelly of Mayberry. The dark side. And believe me, if she enters her pickles in the County Fair, I'm voting against her, even if it means Aunt Bea's briny pickles will take the Blue Ribbon.
Faithfully submitted by your HR Lady.
The RETIREES. A dastardly group. Seemingly sweet faced grandmothers and grandfathers who bake cookies, give hugs, and bring the best Deviled Eggs to the Church Socials. But just below the surface lies their true nature (DISCLAIMER: While some comments and events found here may seem to be stereotyping and cruel, the HR Lady actually has a great love and respect for the elderly and spends time volunteering at the local Nursing homes. The HR Lady knows from first hand experience that not all of our Retirees have a the-world-must-move-for-me-cuz-I'm-older-than-Methuseleh attitude. Actually, the majority of HR Lady's most trusted and closest friends and neighbors are retirees, but the nice ones -not these anti-etiquette scary ones. END OF DISCLAIMER) that of a vicious cart-blocking-every-aisle, always-driving-5 to 10 mph-below-the-speed-limit, cutting-you-in-the-pharmacy-line Gang. That's right GANG.
And they're frightening. Their group must be infiltrated and irradicated. Allow me to give you an example, an experience that is foremost in my mind. I go to a nice little church. A very small congregation. After almost a year there we know nearly everyone. When we come into the Church lobby there is a prayer intentions book which is kept quite busy by those of us concerned for our friends and family.
On the Sunday morning in question, I had just finished filling in my prayer intentions in the book when the Usher, a good friend of ours and a retiree, started talking to me about something. I turned to face him. Unbeknownst to me, in so positioning myself I had slightly blocked exit from the ladies room. We were talking (quietly lest we disturb those inside praying before Mass) when suddenly I'm shoved from behind and slightly to the left of me. AND I DO MEAN SHOVED. I'm slightly knocked off balance, but don't fall. I catch glimpse of the older (and definitely not frail -built like a freakin' line backer and with a man's cut to boot) woman who is just pulling open the doors into the church. She hasn't said, "Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me," or even so much as a "You're in my way." I stood there dumbfounded. I don't expect poor manners like this anywhere I go, much less in the church lobby. The Ushers were all watching me to see what I would say. I was disgusted. I said, "Did you see that? I think she's old enough to know better." And left it there.
Ya wanna know the ugly truth? Even though I ended up turning the other cheek like I should, there was that temptation for just a minute to really let loose on her. No, I'm not saying I wanted to knock her so hard her dead granny would feel it and roll in her grave, but I really just wanted to walk out there into the entryway of the church and say nice and loud so everyone could know how rude she is, "HEEELLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I KNOW you felt yourself slam into me. I KNOW you realize you never said excuse me so that I could move out of your way. But could you have at least said, "Excuse me. I'm sorry. Or Some-FREAKIN'-Thing?" Then I'd have gone on and given her Chapter and Verse on doing unto others, etc., etc. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek nearly hard enough to draw blood and prayed really hard all the way through Mass to ask for forgiveness for my bad thoughts and to ask the Lord to help me forgive her rudeness.
What the HECK is up with people? Would it have killed Retiree-from-Hell to say excuse me so that I could have stepped out of her way? I freakin' sit two rows back from her nearly every Sunday while SHE shoots ME disapproving looks. For what? This is the hellish underbelly of Mayberry. The dark side. And believe me, if she enters her pickles in the County Fair, I'm voting against her, even if it means Aunt Bea's briny pickles will take the Blue Ribbon.
Faithfully submitted by your HR Lady.
posted by Lisa at
7/26/2004 03:46:00 PM
1 Comments:
That gang has infiltrated my town, too. I would say that we should revolt, but I think we both know that time and pressure will eventually get us to join their cause.
By
Bigg, at 8:32 PM
Post a Comment
<< Home