File this under "that mickey mouse stunt would earn you a tail-whooping in my neighborhood"

I.
We are flying to Denver via Houston. Our flight to Houston left National at 6 am – meaning that we have been at the airport since 4:30 am and that we woke up at 3:45. We are both napping, in and out of sleep, stuck in the endless cycle of drowsing off, snapping to attention, and drowsing off again. Through my lovely Shure headphones, I dimly hear the flight attendant’s request that “at this time, passengers are requested to discontinue the use of electronic devices.” No worries – my earphones are just in because they blot out noise. They aren’t even connected to my ipod.

And a couple minutes later, the busybody next to me taps my should. “Sir? Excuse me…sir?” I manage to lift one eyelid halfway up, remove my left earbud, and wait. She points one row ahead of us, across the aisler. “That young man over there wants you to know that you need to turn off your music.”

I turn my attention to this kid, who is maybe 16. I feel bad, but I give him a look that says, “Do you have nothing better to with your time? How is any of this your business?” I hold the end of the headphone cord up to show him it isn’t connected to anything. In my best customer service tone, I smile broadly and say, “THANKS for your concern. It’s REALLY appreciated.” I think about adding, “I keep these in to drown out idiotic comments like yours,” but there’s never really a chance that I will say it. Though it does feel good to think it.



II.
We are shopping at a Target in Thornton, Colorado. Looking for bulk quantities of granola bars and other things that will help us make it through the 1000 miles or so of driving that we have ahead of us. Forgetful of our typical shopping routines, we just walk right in and start cruising the aisles, forgetting to grab a shopping cart. I offer to sprint back for one.

I pull a shopping cart of the long line of jammed carts, and turn around to head back towards the inside of the store. A few feet away from me, an older woman is approaching me, hands held out, as if she is ready to receive a gift. I look confused. She walks up to me, pulls the cart away from my hands, and intones a sing-songy “thank you so much!” and walks away with my cart. I stop and stare at her, looking not at all happy. “Are you fucking kidding me, lady?” I think. I look back to Ms. Abstract Citizen and her friend Magee, an incredulous look on my face. I get a new cart and stroll out to meet them. “Did you just see that? Did you. Just. See. That?”

I am not wearing red. Nothing about me suggests that I am a designated cart-getter. In fact, my shirt is bright green and reads “BRASIL” in golden letters.

Both events happen only a few hours apart. I am slack-jawed and irritated by the presumption of goodwill everywhere, the idea that intrusiveness is thought by some to be polite by default, or that kindnesses are things to be snatched away from my unsuspecting hands even as I watch in stunned silence.