It's time once again for Rude People Roundup. This is a semi-regular feature that we provide from time to time because, as Aunt Verlie likes to say, "rude behavior is just runnin' rampart." I'd never correct her because that would be quite rude. Which brings us back to the subject at hand.
There's a couple on a recurring "Saturday Night Live" skit that goes by a slightly profane name that rhymes with "sass-pole." The Sass-pole couple is hilarious in their sheer cluelessness about the needs of those around them. The self-centered couple cracks me up but it's not as much fun when you actually get behind them at the Post Office.
With a line of about a dozen waiting, "She" pondered the available stamp choices asking "Him" which he preferred.
"I dunno, Babe, what do you think?" (The SNL couple says the same thing! I began to look for "Punk'd!" cameras). "She" (smacking gum and shaking her long blonde hair): "Babe. Who's Harriet Tubman?" "He": "Dunno Babe. What about breast cancer stamps?" "She": "They cost, like, more." (And to harried postal clerk who is working alone): "WHY DO THEY GOTTA COST MORE?" This went on for, I'm not kidding, 10 minutes. The best part? When a second postal clerk appeared, "She" slipped over and bought a money order from him, thus blocking both lines. Sass-poles.
Second rude incident of the week: I'm placing a fairly large catering order at a favorite restaurant when I'm told that "It might be hard to fill that cuz everybody wanted off for Halloween."
I resist the urge to snarkily suggest that this is a "you problem" although it would've been fun. After a sufficient amount of groveling on my part, it's agreed that if Biff the cook isn't too baked that afternoon, the order will be ready. Well, that's not exactly true but it's possible because there's always a slight stoner vibe at this place.
A few days later, I arrive to pick up the order, fork over $163.00 and gently ask for help getting the goodies to my car.
"We're really kinda busy right now," is the annoyed response.
Oh, no, she did-unt. I raise my eyebrows and say, "Really? $163 INCLUDING TIP doesn't get any help to the car?" She glares at me and, without a word, takes half the bags and follows me out. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm the Sass-pole and I careth not.
By week's end, I'd also encountered the Fool Who Won't Pull Up at the gas station. You know him. He pulls up the first pump and stops. There are at least three more pumps in front of him but you can't go around him, or anywhere, so you must wait and pray that he isn't going to need Funyuns from inside. Which, of course, he does. Thank the sweet Lord above they don't sell stamps.