Women are a Trip

I was out this morning with my mother doing some grocery shopping at Walmart. Way back when before I finally stopped procrastinating with my writing, I worked for Walmart.

For 5 years I worked the midnight shift at the store where my mother has been for 15 years. I left in 2007 to take some college courses while working part time. When I needed full time work I went to another Walmart location and worked there for almost 3 years before getting my current job. As of July 15th I’ve been at my current job for 4 years.

Anyway, we’re at the register paying for our food when this inhuman shriek shatters the silence of the store. Running up to us is one of my mother’s old co-workers, let’s call her Ms. A.

To give you a little background on Ms. A, she got fired from my mother’s store ages ago for attendance. She had a son who got into some trouble with the law that actually made the local news. He was the hired gun in a murder for hire plot that went awry. The proposed victim caught him hiding in his house. I know some charges were filed but I don’t know what became of the case.

She rode her unemployment until the wheels fell off so now she’s working for Walmart again at the store where I used to work.

In all actuality, I don’t know her; she’s barely an acquaintance. With me working midnights and her working days, we barely crossed paths. She only knows me because of my mother. We’ve never been to lunch, had a girl’s night out, or even talked beyond a polite hello. I don’t know her and she definitely doesn’t know me.

I knew Ms. A had been sipping the Haterade because instead of greeting my mother with a ‘Hey how’s it going?’ she greets her with a ‘Hey Tina Turner!’. Flaunting a long dormant rebellious streak, Mom is rocking a poofy Afro style wig which looks good on her. Now mind you, this is not a look Tina ever wore. Ms. A is trying to be funny.

Ms. A goes on and on about the wig and she never even says it looks nice. Her little comments are razor sharp barbs, an attack in the disguise of friendly conversation. I immediately see it for what it is and upon later discussion my mother knew what it was also.

Ms. A looks a hot mess, with her greying hair slicked back into a nappy miniature ponytail. Her skin and clothes are dirty and she’s in need of some dental work.

After she finishes with Mom she turns her attention to me. I remind you again that I do not know her. She asks me the exact same question she asked me 6 months ago when we crossed paths at her store.

“You ain’t popped out no baby yet?”

First of all, the question is inappropriate and again I don’t know this woman. Second of all, I’m looking for Mr. Right not a baby daddy. If that was the case I would have had kids years ago.

Coming from a virtual stranger this question could be considered an insult. What if I didn’t want kids? If I were a woman who was having fertility issues, how would this question make me feel? Neither is the case for me, but the question is still derogatory and deeply personal.

Mom steps up. ‘Well why would she want a baby without a husband?’ and shuts her down.

Ms. A then talks about one of my Mom’s old coworkers who she happened to see in the store the other day. While she’s criticizing this other woman’s appearance I see her pattern.

To cover her faults, both in her personal life and appearance wise she tears down other women. She uses her little critiques to make herself feel better. I’ve seen it time and time again with other women and I’m immune to it.

Once again we go our separate ways, until the next time.

Now she’s already got two strikes against her in my book. The next time she approaches me with her bull, I’ll be ready. I’m just dying to know how her son’s murder for hire case turned out. If she wants to get into my personal business I will gladly return the favor.

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