Monday, November 08, 2004 AD Getting Crotchety in My Old Age Yesterday at the gas station there was a white guy in an SUV blaring rap music. I didn't get up the gumption, but I was tempted to walk over to him and calmly say, "Y'know, honey, being loud may get you all kinds of attention, but it ain't never gonna get you respect."
Also yesterday, someone mentioned overhearing a young man who ought to know better explain how at his college he and some number of other young men call women female. I don't mean they refer to women as female, e.g., "That female standing in the flower patch looks lovely today, don't you think, Fred?" I mean they address women as female, e.g., "You're in my way, female." As I was driving home last night, I was pondering what I might have said had I heard this first-hand. I finally settled on something along the lines of, "There is nothing less masculine than for a man to treat a woman with contempt," delivered in a steely tone with an icy glare.
So by the time I stopped into a 7-11 on my way home, my righteous indignation was primed and ready to go. And what should I behold but a pr0n magazine right at toddler eye-level without so much as a brown paper wrapper. I picked up both copies and slammed them face down on the counter. Horrors...the young man behind the counter moved as if to scan one! "I don't want those!" I sputtered. "They're out here where children can see them. They should be hidden!" [Note: Of course they should be gone altogether, but I figured I might have better success just demanding that they be placed out of site.] And to his credit, the fellow said he'd take care of it. He even asked if there were any more, to which I replied that those were all of that title, and that I didn't even want to look at the rest of what was there. As I was starting my car, I could see that he had, indeed, gotten rid of the mags I pulled, and he was checking the others in that rack to see if any more needed to be removed.
This morning I stopped by K-Mart for a few items. I made sure before I went in that I had enough cash, because at this particular store they make you show your driver's license to use a credit card. I'm sorry if they have a high crime rate, but I am rather sick and tired of being treated like a criminal when I just want to buy some soap. On the way out a very courteous security guard asked, "May I check your receipt, please?" to which I cheerfully responded, "No," and kept walking! Posted by Valerie (Kyriosity) at 11/08/2004 08:13:00 PM
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