I was at the store the other day, minding my own business at the checkout counter, waiting semi-patiently behind two Romanian women who seemingly bought every item on the clearance rack, pondering whether or not I'd actually wear a shirt with a sassy phrase on the front of it......and then I heard her, less than a foot away: a little old lady, holding her meager soon-to-be purchases, waiting in line alongside me. She tried talking to me, making antiquated quips about the mundane situation we seemed to have found ourselves in collectively.
I ignored her--pretended as though I didn't hear her multiple times, keeping my head straightforward, lips pursed, tuning out the din of people-chatter as I furrowed my brow, reflecting upon the sassy-phrased shirt that would soon be mine if I hadn't the soundness of mind to talk myself out of it. The bitty was distracting me from a very serious buying decision, and I didn't like it--no sir, not one bit.
Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking: "That poor old lady! She's probably lonely and needed someone to talk to. That was mean of you to ignore her!"
Sure, it probably was, but here's the thing: I could tell from the get-go that she was one of them. No, I don't mean elderly. Something much more terrifying than that: an idle conversationalist.
Allow me to explain.
