Fried Green Tomatoes... and 65 lbs. of Unidentifiable Pork Cuts!

DISCLAIMER: I don’t like your grandma. She may make the best cookies, always have candy for me, and always be ready with lasagna and pie whenever we hang around… and I’ll act civil around her for your sake… but if I catch her in the street, motherfucker… if I catch her in the street! Where was I? Oh yeah…

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2007.  I had just started at the place that now employs me, and one of the jobs I originally had to do was pick up meat products from the supermarket.  This job has changed a little since then, so I don’t have to do it as much, unless there is an emergency project needing to be done.  And it has led to a few odd occurances. 

This is one of them.

I pulled into the parking lot of the nearby Stop & Shop, with my lunch in tow.  I figured it would be decent to listen to a video game magazine podcast, and eat a sandwich, before going in to buy 65 lbs. of unidentifiable pork cuts.  (I’m not even really sure what my company does with these meat tests, because I never actually see the product when it’s “done” and I’m not exactly sure I want to…)

I clicked on my half-broken iPod (at the time), flipped to my podcasts, and heard the weird digital intro when I noticed the parking spot across my way and two to the left was suddenly filled in by a brown minivan that contained a lady in what seemed like her mid-thirties.  I noted, as she got out of the car, that she must have recently had a flat tire, because she did a kick test on her wheels before pulling out her phone to call someone.  While she was kicking the tires something odd happened.

From behind me, I heard a screech of wheels as an old Lincoln Towncar peeled out from behind me, and flew around the far corner of the lot.  The owner of the minivan pulled out her phone as the Towncar stopped and rolled down her window.  The scene that happened next made me wonder if this little old lady was a Kathy Bates fan, or if she just liked watching good movies that guys don’t like admitting were good.  But as the window rolled down, I could see it, curly purplish-grey hair and thick rimmed huge glasses.

I didn’t have my windows rolled down, but I lowered the volume on my radio to hear what the woman was saying.  She must have married a sailor, because she cussed like one…  something like “Fuckin’ bitch! Stole my spot!”  The woman from the minivan stared blankly, and then hung up her phone.  Apparently, she must have argued that the spot was wide open, because the old lady in the Towncar started cussing her off again.  Suddenly the old lady hammered her gas pedal and rear ended the minivan.

I picked up my phone, and dialed 911.  Apparently the driver of the minivan had the same idea, as she picked up her phone as well.  The old lady then backed up and drove about six spaces down the lot and parked…  closer to the store.

Can someone explain to me what the hell goes through old people’s heads when they do things?  Is there some sort of unwritten rule that we are supposed to respect our elders, but not have them respect us?  That they have the right to turn left at a red light?  They have the right to cuss us out without repercussion?

Like I said before, America: I hate your grandma.