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Not Talking About My Generation

I decided to lunch with David today, just before heading into work. Saturdays are wonderful workdays; I spend the late afternoon/early evening working in a great section of town, near Tower City.

I don't much care for Tower City but some of the shops are fun to visit (M.A.C., for one) and they have a cheap food court. You know the type: Chinese food on a stick, leathery pretzels as big as your head, buckets of fried anything. All graciously served to you by a bitter young person who has no idea what a "sense of urgency" means.

After placing my order with the less than hygienic mall employee, I turned to smile at the young woman behind be and started to ask her if she had the time.

I opened my mouth and at that exact moment three young "ladies" jumped the line in front of her and proceeded to give their lunch order. Loudly, and all at once.

The young woman who was originally behind me sheepishly announced that she was next in line.

The largest of the three lady line jumpers pointed to one of the smaller ladies and stated, "She cut in front of you. We're just with her."

"And that makes it OK, how?" replied the woman who was previously behind me.

Everything was made right by the eatery's employee, but not before a few nasty looks and rather racist remarks were made by the group of girls.

I see behavior like this on a daily basis and it sickens me.

Yes, sickens.

Here's where I start sounding like and old fart.

What the hell is wrong with people today? What happened to work ethic, manners, and above all, acceptable public behavior?

I'm tired of what has become acceptable language when I'm out in public. David gets where I'm coming from, but tells me I should ignore it.

And that's the problem.

Too many people are ignoring things like this. We need more parents like Mama Gumola in the world. One wrong word from my mouth and *smack!* right in the kisser.

And I see nothing wrong with it.

The last time I went home for a visit, Mama needed to do some grocery shopping. We went to Giant Eagle. I pushed her cart, picked up the heavier items (cases of soda, etc) and smiled as she stopped every five feet to talk to the people in her neighborhood.

A woman asked me if I would grab a certain case of something for her, and without thinking I stupidly blurted out, "I don't work here."

I know. But in my defense, I a.) wasn't thinking, and b.) was having a really, really bad day.

Mid sentence Mama Gumola simultaneously slapped the back of my head and kicked my ass.

And I deserved it.

  1. Blogger Cyrus | 8/5/07, 8:49 AM |  

    I'd like to bring Mama Gumola to Miami for a slapfest of epic proportions.

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