Supermarket Rage or Trolleys at Ten Paces...

I am so angry, so very, very angry. I have just returned from our little rural supermarket where I have had a lovely interlude with a local lunatic. Nope, not anger talking, the truth... because this is the second incident with the same nutter in the last two days.

I suppose I need to start at the beginning. Yesterday morning, bright and early, I picked up Wise Woman for her quarterly blood tests (need to check no return of insidious lurker). We arrive a few minutes after the local pathology place opened, popular as ever, we were seventh in line (they have a number system). A couple more people arrive, grab numbers, sit. Friendly repartee and conversation, jokes about it being the hub of the town abounded. THEN in she storms. Under five foot tall, full of venom, spitting mad.

"YER KIDDING ME! IT'S JUST FRIGGIN OPENED AND UP TO NUMBER TEN ? I AM FUCKIN PISSED OFF, YOU HEAR ME, PISSED OFF...." Yeah, we hear you, this waiting room is tiny, we have no choice but to have our eardrums bombarded..."THREE FUCKIN HOURS EVERY WEEK I WASTE HERE. HAVE CANCER AND HAVE TO COME IN EVERY FUCKIN WEEK. I AM PISSED OFF, REALLY FUCKIN PISSED OFF!"

Grabs number, all the time glaring around as if her rage will force someone to meekly offer their place. Not a chance in hell after that tirade, sister. Off she storms, muttering, cursing, giving all the evil eye as if we were responsible for the crap in her life. Much mirth and laughter follow her departure, and quite a few comments on anger management courses.

Fast forward to today. Standing in the aisle, Boy 1 and Boy 2 join me after borrowing some library books. Talking to one of my oldest and dearest friends and her two kids. Not blocking the aisle, though Boy 1, reading his book, was probably a little too far in the centre.

I didn't hear her until she shoved past Boy 1. Apparently she asked him to move over (I didn't hear her so it couldn't have been very loud). He, lost in his book, DID NOT HEAR. So she pushed past and then loudly started ranting about what a rude child he is, what a terrible boy, how he has no manners, called him a little pig, all the time walking.

I see red. At this point I did not even realise it was the same nutter! My friend looks at my face, goes "uh-oh" (she knows how cutting I can be when my blood is boiling), grabs my trolley as I stalk off.

Turn into next aisle where nutter is still loudly denouncing my child. I storm up to her, and her husband, and go "EXCUSE ME!" She stops babbling venom for a minute, I jump in. "My son suffers from autism spectrum disorder. And aside from that, he did not hear you, I did not hear you. He is not rude, but you are. You should see someone about that attitude problem!"
"Well, how was I to know, he hasn't got a sign on him has he?"
"Neither have you, and I think you are far more in need of one!" I know I said more, but I was shaking with my own rage at that point. Ever been so angry that you cannot remember what you said? Well, that was me.

I stormed back to my trolley. Friend is doubled over in hysteria. Mind you, this piece of work still ranted the whole way around the shop. My friend overheard her still carrying on in the last aisle. And came and told me at the checkout. It was at this time I realised WHY she looked familiar. It was the head case from the QML waiting room!

What a piece of work. Every one faces adversity in their lives, everyone has problems. Do not use illness as an excuse, it is not. It is the same as me running around with a frown on my face, hating the world because my son has Asperger Syndrome. We all have bad days, but this one... well, I think she has bad lives.

And as for my ill-mannered boy? As he was faded out he heard not a thing. When we arrived home he happily helped his Madmother unpack the car, as in his words:

"I like helping. It makes me feel good to be nice."

Yeah, some bad attitude kid I have there. NOT!