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Aisle Stick Around To See What Happens

, , , | Right | October 9, 2019

(I’m in line at the supermarket at the main railway station and it’s packed; the lines reach the aisles easily. An old lady is queuing at the beginning of one the aisles with a little private shopping trolley beside her. I’m in the queue next to her. A young woman comes up to her; she wants to get past her, but with her trolley beside her she pretty much blocks the space, though she would just need to put the trolley in front of her to make room to pass.)

Young Woman: *politely* “Excuse me? Sorry? Could you move your trolley a bit?”

(The old lady pointedly looks at the woman and then turns away, not moving.)

Young Woman: “Excuse me. You are blocking the way; please move your trolley.”

Old Lady: “I’m standing here; just go back around the aisle if you need to.”

Young Woman: “Why should I? You could just move and let me through.”

Old Lady: “What are you, too lazy? Get lost!”

(Everybody is watching the free entertainment and wants to see how this goes down. But, it seems that the smarter person gives in. The young woman huffs but lets it go to walk back to the aisle. The old lady THEN scoots forward as the line moves, and grumbles under her breath. Suddenly, the young man ahead of her speaks up rather loudly.)

Young Man: “Did you just call her a b****?!”

Old Lady: “That’s none of your business!”

Young Man: “Oh, it definitely is; that was my wife!”

(It’s like in a western when the big baddie enters the saloon. Everybody is all ears, the beeping of the cashier is slowed down to an absentminded slow pace. Fittingly, the young woman just comes up from her detour and gets into the obviously close one-armed embrace of the man. He gives the old lady a stern look, and she gets out of line to slouch back into the aisle with her head down. As I am paying, I notice the old lady talking to security close to the checkout. She seems rather agitated and points at the checkout with the couple, who are just getting to pay. I deliberately take my time to put away my stuff; this I want to see, like everybody else. The security guy talks in his mic and listens to his earpiece a bit. He nods to whatever he says and makes an inviting gesture to the old lady towards the checkout with the couple. Her look is triumphant and as they both get near the checkout, she confidently yells:)

Old Lady: “There they are, the [German Racial Slur]s who attacked me!”

(Everybody is silent and listening, no beeps of scanned products are heard. The security guy then cooly says:)

Security: “There are two ways to handle this right now. Either you apologise to these two nice people and I just ask you to leave on your own, or we call the police to help you find the right words and the door.”

(The old lady’s face at the realisation of her plan failing publicly is a show I would pay money for; so many colours, indeed. She looked at the security guy and then at the couple. After some seconds, she pressed out something that sounded enough like “sorry” and then flew from the store.)

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