The World According to George

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By George Hawrylenko he really didn't seem the type. I mean, she was all blue-haired and granny-glassed with one of those librarian strings hanging down from her spectacles. She looked like the sort that would go out of her way just to find the crispest $10 bills to include in the birthday cards she sent along to her grandchildren. From all outward appearances, she was a sweet, old gal. At least, that's what I thought until she flipped me the finger. In all honesty, I probably deserved it (I usually do), but nonetheless, I'll tell you how the entire situation came about. Like most of my seedy interactions with complete strangers, it happened while I was shopping for groceries. To start, we probably arrived at the store at around the same time. In all likelihood, we both stepped through the same automatic doors, nodded at the same cart-keeper and rejected the same rotten strawberries within scant seconds of each other. We had a perfectly anonymous shopping relationship until about the third aisle. You see, while she took one snaking path through the rows of products, I took the exact opposite - our paths crossing only when we both reached the center of each aisle. Our first encounter took place in front of the salad dressings. We did that awkward dance that people do when they are each trying to get out of someone else's way. Unfortunately, we both seemed to be in a hurry and our little two-step was something of an annoyance. It was painfully obvious that the polite smiles we offered each other were utter fakes. The soup aisle was the site of our next scene. Admittedly, I was dawdling, but I don't buy soup regularly, so I had no idea where my favorite flavor was hidden. I guess I was taking too long because the lady in question simply stepped in front of me and defeated my choice of tomato soup by reaching for an exceptionally carnivorous brand of steak and potato. I swear, the savage woman actually clacked her dentures at me before victoriously spiking her can of soup into the grocery cart. I figured that I would avoid her completely before reaching the toilet paper aisle. I dallied around one of the end displays before finally plunging into the lane. I was reaching for four rolls of the cheap one-ply as she wheeled by behind me with the economy-sized, aloe-infused, high-end stuff. I think she even sniffed over her nose at me as she fantasized about the hemorrhoidal misery that I was probably subjecting myself to. I decided that it was time to really put on the speed. After all, the last thing I wanted was to be stuck behind her while she rummaged through the gallons of milk in search of the absolutely last expiration date. I quickly made my way to the cooler, grabbed a container that turned out to be just a couple of days shy of cheese and exhibited some excellent broken-field shopping as I weaved my way to the check-out aisle. I was just about to indulge myself in some tabloid article when I noticed the familiar, blue rat's nest standing in front of me. I really felt emasculated when she thumped her own gallon of milk down onto the check-out counter. Sad, isn't it? There I was, still trying to catch my breath after virtually running through the dairy section and this geriatric case somehow blasted by me without my even seeing her. Utterly defeated, I paid my tab and wheeled my shopping cart into the parking lot. I was sure that I had seen the last of my newest archenemy and tried to put the entire matter out of my head. I loaded up the trunk, returned my cart to one of those steel corrals and settled in behind the wheel for my drive home. I had just shifted into reverse when I noticed the familiar white lights of someone backing out across from me. Always the courteous driver, I shifted back into park and waited, as did they. I decided to quickly take advantage of the opening and shifted back into reverse. Unfortunately, the reappearance of those white backing lights told me that the other driver had the same idea. We played this game for another couple of tries before I finally surrendered by flashing my brake lights a few times. I almost choked on my own tongue when I saw that ominous tuft of blue hair sitting behind the wheel of the car behind me. Without missing a beat, the woman rolled down her window, gracefully extended her hand and flipped me the bird. She even double pumped her elbow to make sure that I appreciated the full effect before she sped off into the night. I suppose it could have been worse, though. I mean, have you ever been mooned by someone in their 70s? Take it from someone who actually has some prior experience here. It's not pretty.