I’m annoyed that my name and driver’s license number were collected and sent over cyberspace to a mysterious data collection site today. All I wanted to do was purchase a decongestant for my hubby who has been on the fringe of misery all week thanks to high grass pollen. Now I feel like a criminal even though I did nothing wrong. I guess “innocent until proven guilty” is on its way out of our collective mentality. I bought the medicine, so my name goes on a list. If I buy it again, my name will go on the list again. Somewhere a computer is tracking my purchases…a fact that gives me the heebie jeebies.
I’m also annoyed that a county guru raised the value of our home to the tune of an extra ten thousand dollars. Why? We haven’t done any improvements. The lawn looks the same as it did this time last year. The roof is a bit older, the floors may creak a bit more, and a couple of windows are due to be replaced. I’m irritated that someone who has never stepped foot in our house or walked our property has magically settled on our home’s value…for tax purposes, of course, based purely on home sales around my neighborhood. The more our home is worth, the more taxes we “get” to pay.
I was mentally griping about the decongestant purchase and the higher taxes when an officious woman at Target stopped me at the door and asked to see my receipt.
“Lady, I’m so tired my eyeballs are about to fall out of my head. Do you want to be responsible for picking them back up and calling an ambulance? I just unloaded fourteen tons of food onto the conveyer belt only to slug the same contents back into this over-burdened basket that I can barely push…and you want me to show you a receipt?”
That’s what I thought in my head. But my mouth said,
“Let me find it.”
And I juggled my sore arms around my Bermuda triangle of a purse and miraculously came up with the miles-long receipt. Then my sore eyeballs and I stood there for hours while she read through every item I purchased. I think she must have had x-ray vision because she didn’t pick through the overfilled bags in the cart. Instead she gave me an officious nod and waved me on my way.
Which annoyed me again because once I got the cart stopped for her intrusive receipt reading, it took great effort to get it rolling again. My petite stature works against me in the physics department of grocery cart pushing. You try pushing a full cart whose handle is level with your chest and see how easy it is to maneuver!
It’s been one of those days. Now, please excuse me while I go tune my violin to the correct whining frequency.