That sound you just heard was not a test. It was an actual full red-alert siren sounded by newspaper editors who just read that headline and assumes I’m about to write something stupid that could get everyone in trouble.
“This can’t be good,” the copy desk chief just yelled.
“It can’t be stupider than usual,” the managing editor just responded.
Oh, really? Well, your fears are justified. I’ve had to sit back and watch all these fellas like Harvey Weinstein and Roy Moore get in trouble lately, and now it’s my turn. No, I haven’t had any improper relationships with women, nor have I been banned from any mall. Although, if you would like to ban me from a mall for any reason, feel free — I will survive.
Never miss a local story.
However, I’m about to make some women mad, maybe a lot of them. But I’ve realized something about you ladies lately, and I might be generalizing but it needs to be said:
Y’all are not very nice at the grocery store.
That has become quite clear in my recent trips to the grocery store, even though I kind of knew that dating back to my first job as a bag boy at the IGA in Oglethorpe, Georgia. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose bread got mashed. That’s why I’ve spent more than 30 years pushing for a ban on assault canes.
Still, I haven’t thought about the differences between the way women behave and the way we men act at the grocery store until lately. It became crystal clear right before Thanksgiving when my wife sent me to pick up an item about 40 aisles away in one of those mega-grocery stores where you can get meat, produce, office supplies, clothes, jewelry and brain surgery all without leaving the store.
I can’t even remember what it was that I was supposed to be looking for — perhaps it was that blackened seasoning in case I finally won the family snipe hunt at Thanksgiving. (Foiled again, by the way.) But crossing from one side of the store to the other during holiday dinner shopping allows for an awful lot of interaction with folks.
Every time a lady would shove her buggy out of the aisle and into the busy thoroughfare right in front of where I was walking, I’d say, “excuse me.” even when it was clearly their duty to yield. The response would be either an angry grunt or a rolling of the eyes.
Yet, every time I’d bump into a fella, both of us would either nod apologetically, or have some exchange like:
“Oh, sorry, excuse me.”
“No problem, excuse me.”
Has anyone else noticed this? Is it just me? If I were a woman, I’d probably just angrily grunt and roll my eyes upon encountering me, too, so it’s possible it’s an issue just with me.
Still, we men ought to be able to go to the grocery store without fear of being run over by a woman with buggy rage or beaten with a cane by a lady whose bread got mashed. We may never get equal rights at the Piggly Wiggly, but it’d be nice if we could at least get an “excuse me” every now and then.
Order Chris Johnson’s latest book “Wastin’ Away Again on Margaritahill” at KudzuKid.com.