1. Lonely people who are desperate for human contact are hell on polite but self-absorbed loners. I try to avoid eye contact, but I can sense their neediness rolling off them in waves; it trips a warning deep in the reptilian part of my brain, and I instinctively and involuntarily glance up at them, like the mouse can’t help but look at the snake.
And like the mouse I am mesmerized and subsequently ensnared, wanting but unable to breakaway from idle conversation.
2. I’m the object of prejudice. I like hot salsa. And yet, the brands that offer the mondo, econo-sized jars of salsa only offer them in mild and medium. Of course, on my most recent trip to the store, after pondering for the umpteenth time the plausibility of buying medium salsa and doctoring it with more peppers and such, I opted for some sort of expensive, gee-whiz designer salsa based on a popular Mexican vinegar used to pickle onions and jalapeños and such. Really. I had never tried it before, and wanted to explore this new salsa frontier.
Despite my new-found, some-time frugality that has developed in light of my free-lance professional status, self indulgence frequently wins out over any concerns over my personal economy. What the hell, I can’t take it with me.. But dammit, why can’t Pace make hot salsa in the big jar? Why are they discriminating against me? I know–economics. Damn that law of supply and demand.
3. The baggers often seem annoyed that I usually bring my own canvas shopping bag. Does it make their job harder? Is it somehow and insult to their profession? If so, I feel bad (see no. 4).
4. Baggers amaze me. Despite my skill at Tetris, and the ability to cram a 92 Subaru with more useless possessions than anyone thought possible, I could never rival the ability of a grocery store bagger–what they can place in one bag (even my canvas one), I would need at least two, sometimes three bags.
5. I automatically dislike people who wear a Bluetooth ear piece, even when they’re not talking on the phone. I know I shouldn’t judge, but I can’t help myself. I automatically assume the person is a complete tool. Like people who have pseudo ground-effects on the backs of cars that don’t need them. A sure sign of tool-ness.