I wandered off to a coffee shop, a bit late since the person who I was going to meet today for coffee was sick and that skewed my morning a bit. I was heading there during ‘rush hour’, which is fine because the line is usually steady and people are in and out quickly.
Not this morning.
No, this morning there was a line because one of the two registers was being occupied by a befuddled elderly East Indian man, probably in his 60s with a bad hair dye job waiting for his wife – I think it was his wife – to get the prices for every single coffee cup they had on display.
Granted, one of my pet peeves is that in Trinidad and Tobago, it seems companies don’t understand putting prices on things makes things easier for everyone. But this woman, an East Indian with a light complexion and a Northern American accent – I suspect a forced version of Canadian – was being ridiculous, going back and forth to the shelf at what was clearly a busy time. Her white blouse highlighted the brown frames of her glasses and made the black hair dye look unnatural, her scowl a natural one that had been baked in with wrinkles.
I suspect husband and wife dyed their hair together, and I suspect that he may have been strapped down for it given his nature of just standing by and looking awkwardly at the line as the line stared at him.
She was completely oblivious to her surroundings and the people there, including her husband, which is why I did not have the AI generate what I suspect was a henpecked husband.
The baristas were trying to force the line through one register and were doing their utmost. One took my order, which was my regular order, as I advanced within hearing range of the odd oblivious dyed couple. They were ruining my rhythm. I did not like this.
I added, as they took my order and pseudonym for that shop, with a Marine Corps trained voice projection, “And I’d like to know the price of every coffee cup you have in the store too please.”
The baristas dutifully did their best to hide their laughs and smiles. The line, however, felt strongly about being quietly enraged by the horribly dyed twosome who had raised our ire. I did not. I waved my hand at the baristas, signifying that this is not what I truly wanted and they should ignore the request.
At the register now – they were still there, on the other register, finally making their way through the menu. It had been at least 15 minutes of rush hour, and during that time only 3 people had made it to the cashier because it was taking 2 baristas to deal with this woman’s incessant questions about the coffee cups.
I was the 4th. As I cashed out – it only took me a moment – I hear her saying, “Oh look they have dragon fruit!” and I looked over at her and laughed, simply shocked by how oblivious she was to the world around her. People were trying to get to work, she was wasting everyone’s time because a wild hair had impaled her posterior. She didn’t care about anyone but herself, and she was feeding the stereotype of well-off women in Trinidad. It was difficult not to hate her. I found solace in laughing at her.
She was laughable. She was so oblivious that I knew that the only thing she would understand was scornful laughter, so I laughed – and this broke her concentration. She looked at me, shocked. I said very quietly for her benefit alone, “People have other places to be and you’re the obstacle right now, you ninny.”
I’ve taken to calling people ninnies today. I don’t know why. It just rolls off the tongue.
She was still processing what I said when I walked off, awaiting my drink.
At this point, a new terror entered the lives of people in the coffee shop – one of the guys ahead of us felt the need to impress everyone with his loud phone call. He had a combination of dreadlocks combined with an undercut – I don’t know what you call it – and he was regaling everyone and the person he was yapping at with where he had done photoshoots.
Speaking for myself, I wish he had gone away to do a photoshoot instead of yapping away about them as we waited for our drinks. But again, oblivious to people around him, he yapped and yapped and yapped and yapped, projecting his voice with no reason.
I took to staring at him, since he clearly wanted attention, and this unsettled him, so he started walking around and trying to avoid my gaze as he yapped. Drinks were piling up on the counter, and he was still yapping. He finally picked up his drink and sat down – a drink that had been there for at least 4 minutes while he was trying hard to impress someone other than me.
Why are people so oblivious to those around them? When I get a call or have to speak on the phone, I don’t want to do it around people. I certainly don’t want to do it around people I don’t know.
It would be nice if all the oblivious people were stuffed onto an island where they could be rude to each other until some semblance of manners became sustainable among them.
Perhaps that’s where I live.