The Accidental Wingman

Earlier, I was out for my morning walk. About a mile away from the house, I found myself waiting to cross the street. Suddenly, out of nowhere a young man appeared on a bicycle. He was very thin and I imagine 18 or 19. He was wearing street clothing suggesting that “guy on a bike“ might be more descriptive than perhaps, “cyclist.” He smiled broadly (at my clothing it almost seemed) as if we were old friends. I looked him up and down and could not place him. My task wasn't difficult in that I do not know a huge number of people in that age group. He said "how ya doin', man?" I said "great" and tried to step to the left to clear his bike and cross the street. He extended his left arm and hand out to stop me and offered his hand. Still confused, I shook his hand. Still smiling, he asked “What you been up to? Where you on your way to?” At this point he must have unraveled my nonverbal communication and understood that I needed to know what the heck was going on here. “Man, there’s a girl back there that I want to talk to. Just stand there and pretend you know me,” he pled. I looked down the block and saw the young woman of his intentions. My first thought was that she was way, way, way out of his league. What, was she going to do, ride on his handle bars while her $300.00 pumps swung in the breeze? I looked over at the bike guy and said “I have got to go,” and hurried across the street. He called out to me, “Hey man, you just gonna leave like that?” I pretended not to hear him. To the beautiful woman walking down the street: You’re welcome!

Sit Where You Can

I walked in to the small medical office waiting room. All 13 seats were taken. The oldest person sitting looked about my own age. There was a woman of roughly late thirties-early forties sitting with her four noisy teens. Three were definitely boys and I suspect from "her" attire that the fourth just wanted to fit in. They had defied the “No Eating or Drinking” sign and clumsily dropped a chocolate muffin on to the carpet. “What are we supposed to do now, mom? We’re still hungry.” There was no answer from mom. Near the door was an elderly woman who obviously at some point had confronted the ravages of a stroke. She looked even though the effects of her malady, 70-ish. Her expression was grimaced. I sensed the expression was from bracing herself against the wall for support rather than any permanent effect of her stroke. I offered a sympathetic half smile, but she was beyond empathy/sympathy; old girl needed a friggin’ seat! I looked at each person seated silently questioning, do you see this woman? No one seemed to notice or care. As well, I am not trying to make it their responsibility, but I also wondered why the office personel had not asked someone to give up their seat for the woman? Finally a seat became available. I, of course insisted that the poor woman sit. She gratefully accepted. Most of those seated gave me a look as if I were that arsehole who works too fast on the production line making everyone else “look bad.” The topper was when one of the teens tilted his head towards me and made the international limp-wrist sign. To my shock the teens and their mother had quite the giggle at my expense. While I do believe that manners and good grace are inexcusably important, I had no idea that they were usually accompanied by a limp wrist and thus defined sexuality and as such were laughable. The very idea that one might sit while an elderly stroke victim woman leans against a wall is inhuman. Please understand that I get no accolades for doing what was absolutely correct in that situation either. WTF is wrong with people?

Wrong-Aid

Yesterday, as I walked along around two in the afternoon, I remembered that earlier that morning I had dropped off two prescriptions at a Rite Aid Pharmacy down the hill from the house. The sky was overcast and I was glad that I had my umbrella. I walked at a steady clip in that I wanted to avoid getting caught in the rain. In my right hand, I carried the umbrella and a small bag which contained a bad of Starlight Mints. I had purchased the mints a few blocks back at the Dollar Store. That small bag was twisted as to remove most of the air and fit neatly in my palm. The umbrella dangled from its strap from my pinky finger.

As I entered the Rite Aid Pharmacy store, I continued at the same pace as I had outdoors and made no stops, but went directly to the pharmacy “Pick Up” window. There was a short line in front of that station. There was also a patient at the window receiving service and one in front of me in line. The woman in front of me cooed an infant who apparently was named, “Profit.” My brain quickly pondered whether the mother was deeply religious and or a great fan of capitalism. I was distracted from Profit by what was next transpired.

The pharmacy at this particular Rite Aid location is situated in the back corner of the store. The counter forms kind of a backwards L with the “Pick-Up” counter/window covering the short part of the letter and the “Drop-Off” counter/window at the very end of the long part. As an aside, in third grade I was taught the names of these two parts of the Letter L, but like so much from that simpler time, I cannot recall. As I have stated, my thoughts concerning the motivation of naming a child Profit were interrupted. That interruption took the form of the chubby security man hopping onto the “Drop-Off” window counter to my right. My OCD brain had immediate issues with his big butt sitting on a Pharmacy counter. He stared and I stared back. I assumed that he was staring because he had not quite gotten my mental telepathic message “Get your filthy arse off that counter.” Unfortunately, that was not why he was staring. He was staring because something about me said to him that I had or was going to steal from that store. I don’t know… Maybe, I walked too swiftly when I came in to the store? Maybe, because I had a small bag in my hand when I came into the store? Maybe, it was the tie and starched shirt or the glasses or the blackness or the stupidity of the security man? Perhaps, it was some of these things or all of these things or others that I know nothing about. Never mind that I don’t steal. Never mind that I have never had so much as an overdue library book, that day I fit some moron’s profile of a store thief. I fit that profile so well that the store manager came over and went inside the pharmacy area and also casually stared at me and then she finally made an annoyed look and then left to return to her work (I assume).

Once I realized what was going on, I continued to stare in an attempt to make this fool twice as uncomfortable as he had made me. Finally, he whispered audibly enough for me to hear (to the pharmacist) “Watch this guy.” The pharmacist looked over at me with an expression which suggested he had been told a joke which he did not get. I stared back and the Pharmacist looked away. The security man then hopped down and walked quickly away.


I waited my turn and received great customer service from the Pharmacy Assistant. I thanked her and headed for the door. When I reached the mat of the front door, to the right of me I heard “he’s leaving.”


I looked up at their logo and shook my head "Rite Aid: With Us It's Personal."