Highs and Lowe’s

At the Lowe’s and Home Depot stores near us, when two checkout registers are opened across an aisle from each other, the protocol for waiting your turn is to stand in the middle of the aisle and move to the first available cashier – either the one on the right or the one on the left.  This works very well and moves customers quickly and efficiently through the checkout process.  Except here in Seniors-only Retirement Land.

Bill and I were waiting in the queue with our new Arizona Room fan.  We were second in line and there was one other person behind us.  That is until an old coot in a sleeveless undershirt, brown plaid Bermuda shorts, white socks and sandals cut up the right side of our little line.  He planted himself behind the customer who was placing his electronic signature on the credit/debit card-terminal, and plopped down his box of curly cue, mercury laden light bulbs, a box of assorted screws, and a trowel.

I think I might have started to lung at this inconsiderate, elderly jerk because Bill suddenly grabbed a hold of the back of my shirt and was desperately whispering “don’t do it, don’t do it,” in my ear.

On most days, I would have been able to grit my teeth and not have much more of a reaction other than yelling, “Hey, dim-bulb, it’s not your turn!”  But not today.  It all started on the short, two and a half mile drive from the house to Lowe’s when we were cut off on 91st Avenue by a bitch in a Beamer doing 55 in a 30 mph speed zone.  She whizzed by us in the right lane, then whipped in front of us so she could get into one of the two left turn lanes where 91st ended at Thunderbird Road.  Had there been a string of traffic behind us, I might have understood her thoughtless – and dangerous – behavior, but we were the only car on the road.  She could have simply slow down to the speed limit and gotten behind us like a normal person would, then proceeded to the left turn lane of her choice.

To add insult to injury, after we made our left from the outside turn lane and she made hers from the inside lane, she proceeded to cut us off one more time by accelerating to Mac 4, moving across three lanes of traffic, then pulling in front of us in the right lane AGAIN so she could hop onto the southbound 101.

I thought we had reached a zone of safety and calm when we pulled into the Lowe’s parking lot a couple of minutes later.  I was wrong!  We were waiting patiently for an old guy in an even older pick-up to pull out of his spot so we could pull in, but as soon as he cleared the lines, a jerk in a Lexus coming down the aisle from the opposite direction whipped in and grabbed the spot.  When I leaned across Bill and laid on the horn, Mr. Don’t-I-Look-Great-In-My-Golf-Pants-and-Matching-Shirt looked up at us, shrugged and walked away.

So, my reaction to Mr. Flabby-Arms-in-a-Sweat-Stained-Tee wasn’t really an over-reaction, it was the result of a typical outing here in Fun City.

Is it cocktail hour yet?  Anywhere in North America?  Please?

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