Vox Nihilim

That tears it. I've decided. From now on when the supermarket clerk or the checkout person at the Quik-E Mart says "Thank You." in that unmistakably dismissive "I don't really mean it." way that signals the end of their time tolerating me, I will NOT say "You're welcome."

I know. I know. It's dickish and probably signals the end of the human race as civilities continue their inevitable slump back to the Cro-Mag days. But Kip-damnit! They don't even mean it! Here...lemme 'splain.

I'm in the Quik-E Mart this morning making my usual purchases of a porno mag and a spray paint can for huffing milk and cookies. The line is long. Like...ass-long. Like...I considered stealing my $1.25 worth of stuff because my time is WAY more valuable than the price of any commodity long. (Except for diamonds. I would wait in line if I was buying diamonds.) So I  make some general grumpy noises and take my place at the end of the line, all the while looking to make eye contact with one of the other patrons so that I can do the "Dissatisfied Customer Head-Shake (DiCHS)". I found no takers because it was early and everyone was buying coffee and still looking at their shoes. (I still shook my head, but it was for my own benefit.) When my turn finally came I dumped my diamonds on the counter and she rang me up. She didn't even ask if I wanted a bag! She handed me back my change without looking at me (and thereby totally managing to not notice how handsome I looked.) and said "Thank You."

And that's when I pulled my coup. I said "Mmmm." and walked out the door.

In my mind, she totally stopped what she was doing. She looked up expectantly as I walked defiantly away. She realized she had just objectified me and minimized my importance as her customer. She also super-regretted not giving me a bag and she spent the rest of the day wondering what a man with such an attractive back-of-the-head might look like.

What really happened is the guy behind me asked for some "American Spirits" and she asked to see his ID.

I recognize in these trying times as Wall Street burns, and Sara Palin rides around on her dinosaur trying to out-cute Tina Fey, and people look at their retirement accounts with the exact same anticipation as one looks at the closed door in the Dentist's office behind which an alarming number of drilling sounds can be heard, that the necessity for civility only increases. I also recognize that I am sitting here fretting about not saying "Thank You" three hours after the run-in, so really instead of being all anarchy and piss, I just feel guilty. But still, we have to draw the line somewhere, don't we?

Now can I get a plastic bag from someone...this paint isn't going to huff itself.*




* Thanks to the Grey Street Girl for teaching me the ins and outs of huffing paint. It is a rare woman who goes to such lengths for her man.