Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Living in a John Hughes Movie

I don't really get to see much of the town that I live in because of how much I work. I don't shop here except for the little Mom and Pop store on the corner, because I tend to go to places open 24 hours because of the jacked-up schedule I work.

I've suspended my Yuppie meals on wheels while I'm on vacation, as it seems a bit to extravagant to spend that type of money on food when I am home all day long.

The town in which I live reminds me of one of the 80's flicks John Hughes made famous. There is definitely a "wrong side of the tracks" section, the rich section, and finally the middle class section. We never seen the middle class section in John Hughes flicks because middle class doesn't have the same drama as being very poor or very rich, or at least that's my theory. You know they couldn't have all been either rich or poor, but I digress...

I live in the more progressively climbing middle class area. We are by far the smallest area in the town, but we have premo property because we are on a big lake. The rich folk have the other side, and the poor folk live off the lake in houses that used to be weekend homes for city dwellers. They are now small little shacks that were never meant to be a permanent residence.

Doing anything in this town is interesting with the mix of people. You are likely to see mullets, BMW's, stretch pants, Gucci purses, and Julia Robert's 80's type hair in the same day.

This always makes for an interesting trip to the grocery store.

I hate going to the grocery store here. Most of the cashiers are from the "po' side", and if they think you aren't from the "po' side" you automatically get attitude when you check out.

There is also a major culture war going on in every isle, as the rich look down on the poor and the poor sneer at the rich. Then there are those of us who are "pseudo rich", meaning we are not rich enough to keep up with the rich, but rich enough to be sneered at by the poor.

As I went down the baking isle to located Splenda, I ran into a rather shocking site. It was shocking for two reasons.

1. This woman had on a half top and low rise jeans and it is like in the 30's here.

2. This woman had on a half top and low rise jeans and was extremely overweight.

She wasn't like those young girls who are just pushing it with a little pooch of fat hanging over their low rise jeans. She was like as big as one of those women on those joke birthday cards. If I had to manage a guess I'd say she was 350 lbs. All you could see was pink shirt, fat roll, fat roll, fat roll, jeans.

I know I had to have a look of shock, horror, disgust, or a mixture of all three on my face. A teacher in high school used to tell me that I should be a stage actress because I have such an expressive face. I have big dark brown eyes that tell all the secrets of my soul.

This woman obviously saw the look of horror/disgust/shock on my face and said, "What are you looking at?"

For the first time since kindergarten I worried that I just may get my ass whooped. Not only did my Coach purse and Ugg boots give me away as a possible rich person, but I was a thin blonde giving her this look.

I really didn't mean to, but it was such a shock, a total what the fuck? moment.

I know that people are fatcentric and feel comfortable with their bodies. This is great, except for it's unhealthy and obesity is about to surpass smoking as the number 1 preventable death in America.

I don't want to see that shit. I'm sorry if that sounds mean or uncompassionate or stuck up. I don't. want. to. see. that. shit.

I would never hurt someone's feelings on purpose, and believe me, I know what it is like to battle with weight, especially a large amount of weight. I couldn't help it. I'm still in shock at the site of it. Be honest now, wouldn't you have been in shock?

So I mumbled a "I'm looking for Splenda?" (I'm looking for Splenda? What is that For F*ck's Sake!) and tried to put my most innocent looking face forward as possible. She mumbled something to her friend, and they left the isle.


Or so I thought.

I went to check out, and who was in the line next to mine? Yep, Half Top Girl and her faithful side kick. The cashier rang my groceries up, pausing to ask rather loudly if I knew that the peppers I had selected were organic and 3 times the price of regular ones, and oh of coooourse I probably knew that. (What'd I tell ya about the cashiers there?)

Half Top girl started talking rather loudly to her friend about rude people should get their asses kicked. How some people just think they are so much better then others.

Fuck me running.

I decided that if a confrontation happened in the parking lot I would stick to the old, "If you touch me I will call the cops, press charges, and your ass will rot in jail" speech that had saved me a couple of times in my early 20's from jealous girlfriends.

Yeah, that would work. I'm sure this chick would understand jail (snob alert).

She ended up not doing anything as we both left the store, thank God, and was behind my SUV until it was time for her to turn down that road that looks an awful lot like the one that Duckie and Molly Ringwald lived on in Pretty in Pink.

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