To add on to my last blog about the people of the QC not knowing what to say in public around strangers, I thought I'd discuss a discussion I didn't so much overhear but stand in the middle of at Target the other night.
I stood in the book section of Target having the same internal debate I have every time I shop at Target: "Why in the hell am I here? I hate this store so much. Should I buy a book?" The answer to both questions, if you're curious: "The Ladyfriend made me go to Target; no." I picked up the biography of John Adams that has been a fixture on retail shelves since 1801, when a rough looking couple, both dressed in orange, joined me in the book aisle.
The man, one foot shorter than the woman, wore a brighter shade of orange than the woman. He had a small goatee, unevenly shaved, and looked like he'd rather be playing in a beer league than shopping for these "books" people mention every now and then.
The woman, one foot taller than the man, wore a more subdued shade of orange than the man. She had wild, puffy blond hair last seen in White Snake videos circa 1987 and looked like she'd rather be walking around with Tommy Lee or Bret Michaels.
The man stood to my left, looking at Democratic presidential candidate biographies. The woman stood to my right, looking at books about puppies. I stood in the middle, now looking at fiction recommended by Oprah. We went on like this for some time, undisturbed and unawkwarded.
Suddenly the man got irrationally upset (he had Hillary's book in his hands, maybe it wasn't so irrational) and said to the woman (and to me a little), "We're going to be here for like a half hour aren't we?"
The woman, smiling because she had yet to read the part in the puppy book where the puppy gets rabies, bites Marko, and has to be shot by the farmer, laughed, and said to him (and to me a little), "Well we're already here aren't we?"
Let me make abundantly clear that when either the man or the woman spoke, I looked directly at the speaker. The speaker, as good speakers do, made eye contact with both members of their audience. They wanted me to be involved in this conversation. I just wanted to leave Target and possibly break something on my way out the door.
The man said, "Well this is why you're always complaining at home that you're tired all the time."
I thought, "Uh oh."
The woman said, "I'm so sick of you complaining that all I do is shop, and I'm really sick of you complaining that I never give you any lovin'."
I thought, "Hee hee. I call sexual relations, 'lovin'' too."
The man said, "Well when I go to bed with my hand in my pants tonight, know it's your fault."
I thought, "I go to bed with my hand in my pants every night. I didn't realize I needed to allocate blame."
The woman said, "Like you said, your hand knows you better than I do anyway."
I don't like conflict. I'm not good at conflict. In tense situations I usually crack inappropriate smiles which upsets the people with whom I conflict. Since the woman was last to speak, I remained fixed on her. I smiled because I thought, "Maybe this is all a joke. Maybe this couple is having a jolly go at me."
The woman did not smile back. She quickly glanced at me and then stared (icicles? death bullets?) at the man. I looked at the man. He looked sad (even though his night held masturbatory promise) and did not return my glance. I shut the book I held in my hands, (sorry Ken Follet), backed away slowly from the book aisle, and walked over to the Disney movies (where I knew I could find solace and comfort with shopping soccer moms).
So to answer the question posed in the title of this blog: "Not the couple dressed in orange and not me."
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