"Oh my gosh! They ARE NOT staring at you, and they don't give you a second thought when you walk past them. I swear, you're the grumpiest forty-four year old I've ever seen!" my wife said while unloading the dishwasher yesterday evening, "and those little old ladies would probably help you if you weren't so prideful and ask for their assistance."
I had just walked into the kitchen upon my return from the grocery store. Usually, during the Christmas season, I am tasked with running a few errands for Kristi which usually involves a mile long list of things needed to begin and complete her baking needs. As always the dreaded bell ringers are posted at every entrance to every store. When I say every, I mean every. Heck, I think I saw one standing outside the bathroom door the other day. It should be noted that the ringers provide a necessary service to their organization, but I feel a twinge of guilt every time I walk past and don't deposit a few dollars into their kettle. Anyway, immediately after Thanksgiving, the ringers begin to do their thing. As always, when I pass them, I dig into my wallet or pockets for a few dollars to deposit into their kettle. By mid-December I always feel like I've given my fair share and should be done. So, by that point I simply walk past, smile and give a cheery greeting, usually "Merry Christmas". It's then that the ominous stares begin.
"Dad, aren't you going to put some money into the kettle?" Sidney asked while looking up at me and speaking loudly enough for most of the county to hear.
"Not today. I've given plenty already."
"I think he's staring you down," she continued as the automatic doors to the store slid open.
"Oh, I doubt it. Maybe he likes my jacket or perhaps the way I've creatively combed what's left of my hair. Well, maybe he's staring a little bit," I said as we continued toward the baking isle.
We stood silently and studied the list which resembled a bill of materials for building an aircraft carrier. "How does she expect me to find all this stuff?" I asked, still slightly concerned about the staring bell ringer outside in the cold.
"Heck if I know, but maybe if you give me half the list and you take the other half we can finish faster," Sidney surmised while eyeballing a pack of Hershey's chocolate morsels.
"Good idea," I answered, as I ripped the list into two pieces. "You take this part and I'll take this one and with any luck we'll be out of here in no time." With that, my daughter disappeared into another section of the huge building.
I decided that I would most assuredly need a cart to haul all of the items on the list around the store. Marching with purpose back toward the front to where the carts were lined up, I could see the shivering bell ringer standing just outside of the automatic doors. With steam coming from his nostrils, he turned and stared at me, surely thinking, "there's el cheapo again getting ready to load up his cart and yet he can't even spare a dime for the needy!" I gave him a halfhearted smile and quickly galloped out of his sight.
Standing and staring at the seemingly endless varieties of sugar, I became suddenly aware of a little old lady standing directly behind me. "Oh no," I thought. "As if it's not enough that I've made the bell ringer mad, I'm holding up a militant old lady from getting her groceries." I began to sweat, and the more I perspired, the more irritated she became. My philosophy concerning little old ladies in the grocery store was formed years ago. Occasionally my wife would make a list and send me to the grocery store just as she had that day. There was always something on that list that I'd never heard of and would go from isle to isle looking in vain for the item. Invariably, some old lady would cross paths with me on each isle. The look was always the same. A scowl as if to say, "Beat it novice. You've got no business in my store. Get out of my way and quit holding me up. I ain't getting any younger you know?"
I gave up on the confectioner's sugar and headed for the pie crust section. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of Sidney speeding past with her cart almost half full. I still didn't have a single item. Still nervous about having to cross paths with the bell ringer upon our exit from the store, I stood once again studying the various pie crusts. Again, I became acutely aware of the eerie feeling that I was being watched. Directly behind me and breathing heavy, was the same little old lady from the sugar isle AND a friend. "Oh great, not only am I being followed by Granny Clampett, but now she's formed a coalition!," I thought, while becoming increasingly nervous. I cut and ran, speeding for distant isles and the safety that a hasty retreat would afford me.
Luckily, I didn't have anymore close encounters of the elderly kind, but we did pass on several occasions. Sidney finally found me and was able to complete my part of the list. We then ambled toward the checkout line.
"Dad, the bell ringer is staring at you," she said, while studying a candy bar that would surely wind up on the conveyor.
"No he's not. In fact there's someone totally different there now," I said while unloading our cart.
A slight smirk crept across the child's face and then she spoke once more, "Just kidding."
I was able to dodge the newest bell ringer and make a mad dash to the car. I wasn't about to look back and suffer the wrath of being stared at by two scorned bell ringers. Finally we made it home.
I bolted through the back door into the kitchen where I found my wife emptying the dishwasher. "Don't bother sending me to the grocery store again. I can't take the pressure of being stared down by a wayward bell ringer, and don't get me started with the militant old ladies who think I've invaded THEIR store,"...
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