The Most Dangerous Place

In this age of the pandemic, the most dangerous place for me seems to be the egg department of the local market.

People just seem to bottleneck in that corner.

I, of course, stand back until the area clears, reach in, check the date on the egg carton then — to maintain social distance, not get caught up in the next wave of customers, step away to a safe distance, where I open the carton, check to make sure the eggs are in pristine condition.

That generally works for me, but not always.

There have been a few occasions when some impatient someone got too close, even reached over and/or around me to grab something, and I’m just SICK OF IT!

Like yesterday.

I was already in a mood because Illusive Unfriendly had, for the first time since moving here three years ago, was actually out on the patio sweeping away the many cobwebs.

She’d rebuffed my welcoming her to the quad when she first moved in by yelling at me that, “I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE!”, doesn’t and hasn’t spoken to any of us since, so I walked by as though she wasn’t there — walked by without the usual good morning and friendly wave I give to other residents.

As I passed, I hear her say, “Hello, how are you”.

Say what?

I am not a forgiving person.

Being a spiritual student, I’ve tried but, depending on the offense, I just can’t get there.

And it wasn’t just her chasing me off when I was trying to welcome her. It was also that she complained to the office and complained to the office and complained to the office about “That woman upstairs disturbing my peace at 3:30 in the morning bouncing a ball”. Of course, the only thing I was doing at 3:30 a.m. was sleeping but, when she learned it was noise coming from someone doing laundry in the laundry room, the complaints stopped, the noise no longer bothered her.

That really chapped my hide that the noise was a big deal for her when she thought it was I making the noise, but it no longer mattered to her when she learned it was not me.

I concluded from that, and chasing me off, plus the fact the people she purports to not liking doesn’t seem to include men, that it’s women she doesn’t like, and me in particular because of jealousy — in that I’m old and pretty, she’s young and ugly.

That’s okay by me.

She doesn’t have to like me, so long as she doesn’t bother me, and she doesn’t — no further complaints, no nothing, until yesterday’s “Hello, how are you”.

I wasn’t having it.

She had her chance.

It’s too late now.

So, I dead eyed her and continued on to the market … angry because, how frigging dare she.

At the market, I wait my turn in the egg department and, after grabbing a carton of eggs, I turned around to step away and check the eggs, only to see some teen girl had come out of nowhere and was so all up on me that I almost ran into her face, with my face, when I turned.

I LOST IT!

I began to curse a blue streak.

“GODDAMN IT! ... SIX FUCKING FEET!”.

Walking away, filled with rage, I didn’t see her reaction or the reaction of the person with her holding the cart (her mom maybe).

Back at the complex, unloading groceries, I spied Illusive Unfriendly leading two people through the gate, towards her unit.

Her mom and dad I assumed, as she looked just like her mom and, once again, for me it was you don’t exist — I dead eyed her. But that explains sweeping of the patio — relatives were coming.

Her mom and dad, catching my cold dark energy, are probably thinking people around here are so unfriendly, so rude, not knowing their daughter is getting what she gives.

At any rate, deciding I needed to come up with an iron-on transfer for the back of my top, something to the effect of reminding people to back up off me at the market, so I don’t have to curse, I went online and found not a transfer but a top I’ll be wearing every time I go to market.

So, other than the events of yesterday, it’s been a good week.

I’ve decided it’s far too risky to participate in Thanksgiving at granddaughter’s place, so I told her I’d drive up the week before to see their new home.

She understood, seemed okay with that, but the thing is … I probably won’t drive up the week before.

I’ve really no interest in seeing their home.

I know they’re proud because they paid an obscene amount of money for the place. I’m assuming because of the location because, looking at photos of the home, I don’t see three quarters of a million dollars’ worth of house.

I’d worry for their getting in so deep, except they were smart enough to put enough down so that their payments are just about what they were paying for renting that apartment on the beach.

At any rate, I’m a simple living person. Opulence doesn’t impress me so, though I told her I’d drive up to see the house, I don’t really want to and probably won’t.

Maybe next Thanksgiving, if the pandemic is over and done with by then.