We had another frustrating trip to the supermarket today. Now they’ve got these arrows taped to the floor, and you’re supposed to follow them. If you actually did that, it would take three or four times as long to buy your groceries, thanks to the need for constantly having to change your plans because of shortages.
So I was going the “wrong” way down the aisle, because what I wanted to buy was out of supply and I had to back up and look for a substitute, when some woman came along and sneered, “Hey, what about the arrows–old man?” This was so fantastically rude that I lost my temper and replied in Anglo-Saxon. She answered in kind.
I guess my grey hairs were showing, and somehow that gave her an entitlement to insult me. “Old.” As in stupid. As in worthy of disrespect. What do you want to bet, though, she’s going to vote for Joe Biden, who’s older than me and almost completely potty?
Oh, let’s all be good little soviets and follow the arrows on the floor!
No thanks. Bad enough we have to wear the masks and can’t buy rubbing alcohol. We don’t have to encourage tinpot tyrants.