Assholes of America
As we are no longer is Seoul, I am not able to continue with my Slice of Seoul series. I must move on. And seeing as I've only been back to this country a few weeks and have already run into many, many assholes, it seems fitting to start a new series entitled Assholes of American.
We runneth over with assholes here.
Don't get me wrong. I've been all over the world and trust me, there are assholes in every corner of the planet. Hell, Seoul is teeming with them. But the fortunes of living in another part of the world are the cultural and language barriers. Asshole behavior can be excused as cultural differences or ignored completely due to the inability to understand the assholes' asshole comments.
Not so when you are home.
My idea for the Assholes of America series was to take out my ever present digital camera and snap a picture of the asshole then post it here. I still intend to do so, but the biggest problem is that assholes tend to asshole and run. Juggling two kids (soon to be three) and all the required baggage that goes along with aforementioned kids doesn't make for easy photo shooting. I'm no paparazzi, let's put it that way. So when I can, I will take a photo. But at the very least, I will post here the best description of the asshole so you all can be on the lookout.
Perhaps if we out the assholes they will stop their assholing. It's worth a shot anyway.
My first post here is from an incident that happened last week. I have another from today that I will post tomorrow or so. But for now, let's start with last week, shall we?
My mom, the kids, and I walked into an overcrowded post office with a long, winding line to three working windows. After grabbing some shipping supplies and boxes, my mom and I packed up our loot and addressed it all. The kids were behaving as well as can be expected for a 5 year old and 3 year old in a cramped bureaucratic wasteland, but I knew they wouldn't last much longer.
I looked around at the line that had hardly moved, scanning past the cattle to slaughter and zoned in on a miracle of modern technology: The Self Checkout. No line. No wait. Just a machine and a friendly looking postal worker standing close by to assist me should I need assistance. It was like manna from heaven and I seized upon it.
I easily breezed through our packages, printing out postage for them all, until the very last box. It was a box that I needed to pay the post office for and the self service machine didn't give me that option. I asked the friendly looking post worker how I should pay for the box and he pointed me to that blasted, still standing line.
"You'll have to stand in line and pay at a window. Can't pay for packaging supplies here," he grumbled.
Is it any wonder then that people don't want to use these fucking machines?
Anyway, we stacked up our already stamped and ready to mail packages and get ourselves a place in line. At this point we'd been in the post office 20 minutes already. The kids were beginning to lose patience and quite honestly, who could blame them?
We'd been standing in line for about ten minutes when Roman began doing a wicked little dance that ended with his throwing himself down on the ground. It was all to impress a pretty little temptress of 4 years old who was standing directly in front of us. She wasn't to be wooed easily and he was giving this dance his all. I repeatedly told him to stop, but he was determined. There are times when disciplining a child can be more disruptive than the actual behavior you're trying to stop and this was case fast approaching. I backed off.
And then he threw himself down particularly hard and lost his balance in the process. He landed and slid into the feet of an older woman. He stood up and I made him apologize.
"Me sow-wee," he said with his head hung low.
"That's okay," said the nice lady.
Forgiven, he turned his attentions back to his crazy dance and the vixen tot his was bound to have as his own. Again, he threw himself down and again he lost his balance, this time bumping into the feet of a different older lady. And again, I made him apologize.
"Me sow-wee," said my baby boy.
"It's not okay and I'm not going to put up with it," said our inaugural Asshole of America -- a mousy brown haired woman of about 65 years of age with obvious gray roots, glasses on a chain around her neck, and approximately 5'6" and 135 lbs.
Of course, I didn't keep my mouth shut. I told her he had apologized and that she at 80 years old (age exaggerated to cut to her cold, cold heart) should be more forgiving of a 3 year old who is stuck in a post office line for over a half hour in the middle of the holiday season. I continued on and on for a good ten minutes about how horrible people treat each other and how there should be more kindness to one another, especially children. Others around me agreed. Asshole just stood there with a smirk on her face.
It was then that I realized I should start taking out my camera and exposing these people. She looked like a rather nice lady. Beware. She's lurking out there, ready to pounce. Another asshole in America.
We runneth over with assholes here.
Don't get me wrong. I've been all over the world and trust me, there are assholes in every corner of the planet. Hell, Seoul is teeming with them. But the fortunes of living in another part of the world are the cultural and language barriers. Asshole behavior can be excused as cultural differences or ignored completely due to the inability to understand the assholes' asshole comments.
Not so when you are home.
My idea for the Assholes of America series was to take out my ever present digital camera and snap a picture of the asshole then post it here. I still intend to do so, but the biggest problem is that assholes tend to asshole and run. Juggling two kids (soon to be three) and all the required baggage that goes along with aforementioned kids doesn't make for easy photo shooting. I'm no paparazzi, let's put it that way. So when I can, I will take a photo. But at the very least, I will post here the best description of the asshole so you all can be on the lookout.
Perhaps if we out the assholes they will stop their assholing. It's worth a shot anyway.
My first post here is from an incident that happened last week. I have another from today that I will post tomorrow or so. But for now, let's start with last week, shall we?
My mom, the kids, and I walked into an overcrowded post office with a long, winding line to three working windows. After grabbing some shipping supplies and boxes, my mom and I packed up our loot and addressed it all. The kids were behaving as well as can be expected for a 5 year old and 3 year old in a cramped bureaucratic wasteland, but I knew they wouldn't last much longer.
I looked around at the line that had hardly moved, scanning past the cattle to slaughter and zoned in on a miracle of modern technology: The Self Checkout. No line. No wait. Just a machine and a friendly looking postal worker standing close by to assist me should I need assistance. It was like manna from heaven and I seized upon it.
I easily breezed through our packages, printing out postage for them all, until the very last box. It was a box that I needed to pay the post office for and the self service machine didn't give me that option. I asked the friendly looking post worker how I should pay for the box and he pointed me to that blasted, still standing line.
"You'll have to stand in line and pay at a window. Can't pay for packaging supplies here," he grumbled.
Is it any wonder then that people don't want to use these fucking machines?
Anyway, we stacked up our already stamped and ready to mail packages and get ourselves a place in line. At this point we'd been in the post office 20 minutes already. The kids were beginning to lose patience and quite honestly, who could blame them?
We'd been standing in line for about ten minutes when Roman began doing a wicked little dance that ended with his throwing himself down on the ground. It was all to impress a pretty little temptress of 4 years old who was standing directly in front of us. She wasn't to be wooed easily and he was giving this dance his all. I repeatedly told him to stop, but he was determined. There are times when disciplining a child can be more disruptive than the actual behavior you're trying to stop and this was case fast approaching. I backed off.
And then he threw himself down particularly hard and lost his balance in the process. He landed and slid into the feet of an older woman. He stood up and I made him apologize.
"Me sow-wee," he said with his head hung low.
"That's okay," said the nice lady.
Forgiven, he turned his attentions back to his crazy dance and the vixen tot his was bound to have as his own. Again, he threw himself down and again he lost his balance, this time bumping into the feet of a different older lady. And again, I made him apologize.
"Me sow-wee," said my baby boy.
"It's not okay and I'm not going to put up with it," said our inaugural Asshole of America -- a mousy brown haired woman of about 65 years of age with obvious gray roots, glasses on a chain around her neck, and approximately 5'6" and 135 lbs.
Of course, I didn't keep my mouth shut. I told her he had apologized and that she at 80 years old (age exaggerated to cut to her cold, cold heart) should be more forgiving of a 3 year old who is stuck in a post office line for over a half hour in the middle of the holiday season. I continued on and on for a good ten minutes about how horrible people treat each other and how there should be more kindness to one another, especially children. Others around me agreed. Asshole just stood there with a smirk on her face.
It was then that I realized I should start taking out my camera and exposing these people. She looked like a rather nice lady. Beware. She's lurking out there, ready to pounce. Another asshole in America.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 8:49 PM
6 Comments:
I think the woman you are describing is Dylans BIG NANA, Dan's grandmother.. yup sounds like her.. I bet my mom would agree it was her.
Sounds perfect like a glamour don't section. I agree someone needs to out them. I would have went off on her. BUT...I went to the UPS store on dundee rd and there was no line and they packed everything for me and shipped, plus their ground mail gets there on Wednesday and I mailed on Saturday.
Well, you could look at it another way...the assholes may out themselves! Case in point - an older lady (60 somethin') in Dick's Sporting Goods tonight...who pitched a fit because a cashier couldn't leave the register (for obvious reasons) to help her get a jacket down from the top of a display! Maybe you don't need the camera after all. They will make their identity known to humanity without any effort on your part! A trip to Woodfield will prove my point! :-)
While her comment was remarkably rude, I can definitely see why she would be bothered by it though. Maybe she wasn't 80 but as an older woman couldn't having a three year old run into you be rather dangerous? What if he caused her to fall over? Never mind the obnoxious factor. So, while yes, she was overly harsh, I don't think her ire was entirely misplaced.
Clearly your son was more a danger to himself than others and the fact that he apologized would e good enough for me and should have been good enough for Grandma Heartless. Thats what kids do -- her soul is probably just as shriveled as her body. Good for you for speaking up.
What if the lady would have fallen over, broken her hip and ended up dead?!? Of course, shit happens and then you die. Some of us just happen to get knocked over by 3 year olds in the post office.
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