Another Poor Report Card For Mrs. Hillbilly Mom

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not wait in line well with others.

There. It's out. As if you hadn't already surmised such a characteristic. I just can't help myself. Somewhere along the line, I latched onto that concept that life is fair. And so are convenience store lines.

I've hesitated to tell this tale. Don't want to seem petty. But I am. MRS. HM IS PETTY! Not to be misread as pretty. Petty.

There I was, standing in line at the gas station chicken store. My daily hangout. Waiting right there in the aisle between the chicken-ordering counter and the giant bottles of whiskey. Nobody was behind me. In front of me was a woman in cowboy boots and boot cut jeans, waiting to purchase a case of Busch. The boot lady. Not me. She was second in line, behind a short lady jawing about scratchers.

At the chicken counter was a boyfriend with a whiny boy. You can tell a boyfriend from a dad. A dad won't put up with crap from a kid. A boyfriend will. This kid was being catered to. His mom was off searching for just the right bottle of soda for him ("Baby, what do you want?"), and he was asking the chicken-packer if the long john in the case had vanilla stuff inside. It did. Much to his dismay. So Boyfriend asked if he wanted something else. Chicken nuggets, perhaps? No. He wanted a pizza pocket. Which had to be cooked.

The store started to fill up. It's a small store to begin with. Only three aisles. The proper line is the one I was in, of course. You know that if you're a regular. Or even a local. The crowd filling up the store was neither. Not trying to be politically incorrect, but they were not from here.

A man was the first to enter. He got in the chicken-ordering line behind Whiner and Boyfriend, who got their chicken, and moved to the back of the store, by the coolers, to wait for the pizza pocket, I guess. A couple of other people were getting in line behind me, after filling their own various-oz soda cups at the fountain. Then people began pouring in.

I noticed a tall thin lady by the door, at the side of the counter that is not really a line. She didn't know that. She wasn't from here. "Oh, is there a line?"

Cowboy Boots said, "There's no one behind ME!"

As you might imagine, that did not sit well with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. "I'M behind you!" Where did Cowboy Boots get off? Did she think she was being magnanimous, giving cuts behind her in line? I didn't say any more, because it WAS possible that the tall thin lady came in while I was running my 44 oz Diet Coke. My view was blocked by that tall counter of whiskey. So it's highly possible that Tall Thin Lady was actually inside before I got in line.

The Scratcher Buyer paid and left, and Cowboy Boots picked up her Busch and put it on the counter. Tall Thin Lady looked at me, and I nodded. "Go ahead." Not at all smart-alecky, but normally, because really, she might have actually been ahead of me. It's not like I was in a rush to get back to Farmer H. Fair is fair.

An older woman came in with a middle-aged woman, and stepped right up to the counter. I guess she could feel the waves of OH NO YOU DIDN'T coming off the rest of us. Even Tall Thin Lady, waiting next in line, said, "You need to go get in line."

Old Woman said, "What? This is busy. You mean there's a LINE?"

Yeah, lady. That's kind of how it works in the civilized world. She let out a huff, then came directly behind ME, where the chicken man had gotten in line with his fowl right before the soda people had put their lids on.

Old Woman looked at Chicken Man, and said, "Oh, are you with the group? We can just get in with the group. Come on. We'll get in with the group."

Chicken Man didn't say anything one way or the other. Old Woman and her middle-aged pal stepped in front of him, cutting in front of everyone else lined up around the back of the store. Nobody said anything.

Is it wrong of me to be put-out by this behavior?

They were friendly enough, looking up under my arm at the scratcher case. I moved my magical elixir to the other side (without spilling it!) so they could see. I even told them the tickets I'd won on lately. They knew a thing or two about scratchers. But it still sticks in my craw that they cut line. Even thought it wasn't ahead of ME. And nobody stopped them. Is this the beginning of the end? The downfall of society? People cut line, and nobody dares to call them out? Are we becoming a nation of bender-over-backwardses? Or fraidy-cats?

I probably shouldn't even mention it. I don't know what "group" they were. When I left, I saw a short white bus full of wide windows parked at the side of the building in the handicap space. I don't know where they were from, or where they were going. Could have been a church, or a tour group, or a family reunion, or prison visitors, or a casino bus. In fact, it DID look like that short bus Auntie and I used to ride to Harrah's on Wednesdays. But Harrah's is long gone from this area.

Even if they were fellow gamblers...fair is fair. The polite thing to do is get in line behind the people who were there before you. NOT find a person from your group, and step ahead.