If you need proof that sometimes I’m an ass..

I waited patiently at the counter of the inconvenience store. Not only is it perennially short staffed, but it was shortly after the expected shift change. I waited two to three minutes for the clerk to do her thing.

A woman came in behind me. I could hear her stamping her foot and muttering under her breath. “Geez, take your time buddy.” That’s not all she said. But you get the idea.

I turned politely and said,”I apologize for the wait. It’s shift change.” I smiled and nodded. The look on her face could best be described as a hybrid between spoiled milk and what a fart would look like if it took human form.

She rolled her eyes and ignored me.

To my delight, it took the clerk another two minutes to finish. The clerk exchanged a commiserating glance with me at the other customer’s behavior. The staccato click of the woman’s feet tapping the floor sounded like a drummer who took too much ephedrine.

I’m fairly quick on the draw. But giving me even a minute to plot my verbal revenge?

When I was done, I thanked the clerk and told her it was no imposition at all for her to have taken a bit to get her day started.

The woman behind me flung her items on the counter as if she had been attacked by wild bees.

“Hey, Karen, I hope you have the day you deserve,” I told her as she briefly made eye contact.

I heard the gears grind in her head as she attempted to understand exactly how I had had insulted her.

The clerk burst out laughing before she could stop herself.

Because I was already in an altered mood, I bowed slightly and made my exit.

I hope Karen does have the day she deserves.

X
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There are few opportunities to deploy clever comebacks. Usually, the moment passes, and I think of the perfect response afterward. The French phrase “L’esprit de l’escalier” describes the experience of knowing the ideal reply later. Believe it or not, we have an obsolete phrase in English that encapsulates the same idea: “afterwit.” I vote we bring it back. 

This morning, I proudly used a comeback promptly. 

One of the late-nighters stood by the eternally malfunctioning soda dispenser. These denizens of the night are sometimes called zombies because their higher brain functioning dissipated at least six hours earlier. 

“You look familiar,” she said. 

“I don’t know how. I’ve been in prison for twenty-two years.”

The late-nighter missed the humor in my reply. The clerk looked up and tried not to smile. She’s accustomed to my idiocy. People have a variety of mistaken beliefs about me, all of which I actively encourage. 

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before,” the late-nighter added.

“Well, I used to be in a LOT of adult films.” I didn’t crack a smile. 

As I left, the late-nighter asked the clerk, “Who the hell WAS that?”

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