Grandma’s and tween’s; Stuck in the middle.

  Yesterday I ran into the grocery store for a Sunday paper and the cashier, an older woman with a crotchety edge about her, made the comment to me, “I thought this was a place of employment, not a fun-house.”

    Apparently there were two other cashiers over at the service counter who were laughing too loudly for her approval. The store was very empty; only two registers were open. The adjacent register was cashiered by a younger girl who clearly had a too-eager-to-please complex. Were she nearer to the laughing girls, she would have rolled her eyes at this woman. Instead, she encouraged it. “Phsssh. For some people I guess this is just a fun-house. A fun-house with a paycheck,” she agreed, but her tone wasn’t very persuading. The crotchety woman kept eyeing me, waiting for me to chime in about work-ethic or the good ol’ days or something. I was thinking, “Um, hello, rub your lenses, I’m like 22. Not a dinosaur.” I didn’t say anything. I gave a very curt smile and reached for my receipt prematurely. The young cashier rambled on in agreement, not coming up with anything new, simply repeating the same thing in different ways. “It should be a place of employment, but some people think it’s a fun house.”

    (God, make it stop.)

It didn’t. The crotchety woman held my check out of my reach, holding me prisoner to her snide remarks. “I’m sure glad my mother raised me better than that.”

    At that, I left my receipt, grabbed my bag, and bolted, giving the two laughing cashiers a sympathetic glace. I worked in retail for roughly 7 years, and one thing I did learn was that laughing at work, especially when the store is slow, is a heck of a lot less distracting than giving your two cents about your fellow co-workers to a customer. Ugh. On my way out, I thought of things I should’ve said, like, “Yeah, your mom did a great job, you turned out nice and judgmental.” But it occurred to me that I was judging her, so I was glad I held my tongue.

    It is amazing the generational differences between people, particularly women. My grandma’s generation was very concerned with what is proper and what is not, where as the girl’s a decade under me might ask what proper even means. There’s this store called “Justice for Girls” here with all tweeny bopper clothes fit for a Barbie size J-Lo. Saturday night, Chris and I were walking around the plaza and when I saw these two girls, probably about 8 and 10 years old, finger drawing hearts on the foggy store windows. When we passed, I made a comment to Chris, “Uhhhh uh,” I said, “I felt like walking up and pinching those little butt cheeks visible under those underwear-posing-as-jean-skirts. Man, when we have a little girl!”

   And there I was the very next morning, looking bug eyed at the dinosaur cashier for her point of view. I think I just have to give up thinking I know anything about anything.