He stood six foot five, if an inch, and weighed well over 250 pounds - a healthy and imposing young man in his 20's, I imagined. We helped him pick out twelve bottles of red wine, packed them up for him, gave him his discount. Out of habit, I asked him if he would like me to carry the case of wine to his car and to my amazement, he accepted - I followed him through the restaurant and out the front door, feeling, I confess, a little like a water boy trailing after a linebacker and trying to shrug off his lack of chivalry. When we reached the patio and the wave of 90 degree heat, I was stunned to see him him stop and decide to visit with friends while I stood waiting. And there we were - a young linebacker in a monogrammed shirt and a tired, senior citizen hefting a case of wine for him. The feeling that something was definitely amiss in this picture washed over me and I coughed - loudly - to get his attention. He shot me an impatient look tinged with condescension before reluctantly leaving his conversation and I did my best not to glare at him and his unforgivable bad manners. I knew that I would be forgotten the moment his key turned in the ignition - just another retail lackey in his world, but oh, my aching back.
I was hard pressed to know what exactly had made me angry about this - his attitude of entitlement, my feeling of being mistreated and invisible, or maybe just standing in the heat after a long day. Somewhere in my heart, I almost hoped that the wine would be bitter.
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