The Jerk Store Called...They're Running Out Of Passive-Aggressive Beyotches

Tap, tap, tap...is this thing on?

Will the lady who walked up to the counter after Mrs. Hillbilly Mom at Casey's on Friday please get over herself?

There. Now that announcement is out of the way. I can get on with this little tale, even if I can't include EVERY jerk I encountered on Friday. You see what lies ahead, don't you? It's JERKAPALOOZA! A five-part series!

Friday I headed to the bank to deposit a reimbursement check from Farmer H's workplace, for some materials he had bought at Lowe's. Since the bank is near a Casey's General Store where I buy scratch-off tickets if I'm in the neighborhood...I stopped to buy a scratcher. Just one. A single ticket. Not so much BUY it, as trade in a winner for it. I like to vary my source.

Three tweenage boys were at the counter when I entered. Two were buying a single piece of gum each, and the other was just there to use the restroom, which is not really for the public. The clerk let him go, though. I'm pretty sure those dudes were truant from the last day of school, but it wasn't really my business, not being a teacher nor patron of their district.

As I stood behind the gummy boys, looking at the scratch-off case, already knowing the ticket I was getting, a bleachy-haired stocky woman strode up holding a cup of coffee. Let the record show that I was there a good two or three whole minutes before she came to the counter. There is a register to the left of the scratcher case, and one to the right. The left register was not being manned, and the boys were interacting with the clerk at the one on the right. I was simply waiting for them to move out of the way to wait for their pooping friend. Because what tweenage boy is going to ask to pee in a Casey's bathroom when he has the equipment and a tree to do his business elsewhere?

Bleachy-Haired Stocky Woman stood a bit to my left. Waiting her turn, I so naively imagined. Yet when the boys stepped toward the door, Bleachy-Haired Stocky Woman lunged forward. Like she was cutting line in front of me. Like my activity that day was to stand and admire the scratcher case. Since I'm RETIRED with nothing else to do, of course. Her action startled me.

"Oh. Go ahead." Because she WAS, you know, going ahead of me, taking a step. I KNEW I was there first, and it was my turn, but nothing people do in a convenience store really surprises me anymore.

And then that Bleachy-Haired Stocky Woman stopped, gave a little motion with her coffee cup, and snottily said, "You go ahead. It's perfectly fine." Like she was doing me a FAVOR!

I really wanted to stand there and insist that she cut in front of me. Just because we both knew I was there first, and maybe she'd feel a bit of guilt the rest of the day. Nah! That wasn't going to happen. I just wanted to out-passive-aggressive her. But I didn't. I get enough of that practice at home with Farmer H. So I went ahead and traded in my ticket. Which, I might add, was a loser. Thanks, Bleachy-Haired Stocky Woman, for that karma.

I was there first, you know.