Yesterday, I went to get a Father's Day card from Walgreen's for my dad. I picked out a very nice card, a gift bag, and some tissue paper. My intentions were pretty obvious. Nonetheless, when I was checking out, the be-spectacled clerk said, "YOU look like you would be interested in my specials today. Two for the price of one, M & Ms." It took a while for the slow cogs in my brain to register the enormity of what just happened. The Walgreen's clerk just called me fat. I couldn't let him get away with it. "Are you calling me fat?" I asked point blank, hoping at least for a lame apology. "No, you just seem like someone who likes candy." Not helping, fucker. "So, like a fat person?" I asked. He finally realized his mistake. "No, I mean, you're figure looks like it could stand to have some candy." Nice try, ass. I'm not buying shit from you.
While the experience was HUMILIATING, I think, what pissed me off the most, was that this man who I don't even know, took it upon himself to judge me. And that got me thinking, how many times do I judge or am I judged daily?
I know I'm judged I'm a daily basis. As we've already discussed, I'm clumsy, I sometimes chew with my mouth open (which horrifies me and I'm trying to be more concious of), and I often spill things on myself. Just the other day I was driving in the car, belting out a rap song while simultaneously picking my nose (like you do) and some soccer mom gave me the dirtiest look I've ever seen. Was I embarrassed? More like annoyed. Hey Honey, I bought this TSX, I can pick my nose in it and sing badly if I want!
Speaking of cars, I recently judged another based on their choice of automobile. As I was leaving the Fairborn Regal movie theatre, I saw a Niessan, with doors like the Delorean in "Back to the Future," you know the kind that open up? How do I know they opened like that? Why because this gentleman was cruising around the parking lot with one door open. As if that wasn't enough to put him in the douchey Hall of Fame, his undercarriage was lit in neon and purple and his license plate said, "I CANDY". When I saw this, naturally I doubled over and laughed so hard I almost broke a rib. "What a douche!" I said between gales of laughter. "Shh! His door's open, he can hear you," said Matt. "Oh my God, I can't breathe," I snorted, still doubled over. In this instance, I think judgement was warranted. Never mind that upon further inspection we saw the car's operator was wearing skinny jeans, spiky hair, sunglasses (at night), and a muscle-tee.
So is it ever okay to judge? The Bible says no. But I'm pretty sure even Jesus would at least crack a half-smirk at "I CANDY" and his sex mobile. Maybe as I type this, the Walgreen's clerk is typing the exact same thing about the fatass who had the nerve to get offended when he said she looked like she liked chocolate. Touche, candy man, touche.
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