To The Manor Born

The line to the pharmacy counter was six deep and it took me a minute to recognize the older woman in front of me. The years hadn't been kind to Miz Adelaide – she'd gained a considerable amount of weight, her skin had turned to crepe paper and her once lustrous bleached blonde hair was wispy and balding in places. What hadn't changed was her uppity, self importance – that was still very much intact. She complained and whined about being made to wait to everyone that would listen. She drummed her once perfectly manicured nails on the rim of her shopping cart and tapped her foot in annoyance. She shifted her weight and tried to peer into the pharmacy as if demanding to be acknowledged. Every impatient and put upon gesture was accompanied by a hugely audible sigh but nothing was working. I'm not proud of it, but I was enjoying the moment. I could recall the hundreds of time I'd waited on her in the photo store and seen exactly the same behavior, the same old money'd arrogance and entitlement. In some ten years of weekly visits, she'd barely bothered to learn my name. Even so, I didn't want to risk being recognized so I was careful to keep my back to her and keep my smile to myself.

I'm smart enough to know that how I feel about women like Miz Adelaide is more about me than them but I'm a grudge keeper and think that forgiveness is mostly overrated. As a general rule,

I'm happy to be overlooked except when I'm not. More than once I've had the thought that age clarifies your outlook, not always in a good way. There's a fine line between service and servitude and women like Miz Adelaide cross it without a backward glance or a second thought. Again, I'm not exactly proud of feeling she's earned this particular moment in the pharmacy line but I'm not exactly ashamed either.

She reaches the counter and immediately initiates an argument with the cashier, petulantly complaining about the wait, the lack of efficiency, the price of the prescription and the overall state of the country, which in her opinion is disgraceful and completely the fault of anyone who didn't vote republican. She persists in this shabby tirade well after the helpless cashier (who I suspected wasn't even old enough to vote) has apologized several times, then snatches the pharmacy bag out of the poor child's hand and jerks her shopping cart out of line, plowing directly into the cart of an unsuspecting shopper who happened to be passing. There is, of course, no apology offered, instead she glares at the hapless woman then storms off down the

makeup aisle, looking perfectly prepared to mow down anyone who crosses her path.

“White trash,” a voice behind me says distinctly.

“Sing it, sista,” a second voice adds.

It was a crossroads moment that could've led to a minor riot or at the very least an ugly scene. It could even have led to a conversation. Instead it led to laughter, only a trickle at first, but then a full out wave. Strangers grinned at each other and shook their heads with something very close to pity. Even the pharmacy staff smiled although discreetly. The woman shopper who had almost been run down flashed a thumbs up sign and what could have been a thoroughly nasty incident turned into a small victory for civility and unity.

You can't be beaten by something you laugh at ~ Jonathan Harnisch