Wednesday, I went to the Credit Union.
This is why we have blogs, folks, so we can disseminate important information such as what I did Wednesday.
At the Credit Union, it was just in the middle of lunch time, and there were 6 adult patrons ahead of me...a man with two kids who figured the stanchions were playground equipment...a man and his wife...a county police...a guy with one of those bandanna skull cap things going on...and a woman with two little girls going ring around the rosie with the stanchion back where we were, at the end of the line.
The young mom bailed, rather than wait. But everyone else was willing to wait. There were two tellers trying to take care of everyone, and there were cars at the drive-thru window with people in them to take care of, and neither of the tellers was standing around eating cupcakes and talking about who had what for lunch yesterday. They were working, we were waiting, and the line was moving.
Although, it didn't move quite as fast as it might have, because one patron, a woman roughly my age (and it has been rough on me) started reproaching the branch manager, who had gotten up from her desk to assist the tellers in getting the rush taken care of. "You should have planned for this! You know tomorrow is a holiday! You shoulda you coulda you oughta!" she caterwauled, as the manager tried to tell her that one teller was coming back from her break in just a few minutes and that she, as manager, was not allowed to open a window but was back there doing what she could to help out.
"Well!," explained the irate customer, who then turned on her worn heels and aimed her battle wagon my way. I ran through my checklist of things she might want to stop and berate me over, but she passed by with a curious, "I guess I showed them! And now my day is made because I shrieked at someone" kind of look on her face.
Of course, her querulous behavior cost the next person in line about a minute of his time; had she just taken her banking stuff with her and moved on, he would have been there all the sooner. But noooooooooooooo! She had to be heard, sounding off.
Next stop was the Giant delicatessen for a 1/2 lb. of Pepper Jack cheese, the perfect thing to add little zest to a plain chicken breast sammy. There, I found myself in line behind one of those people - again, a woman in my general age bracket - who could not be polite. Does it really take so much more energy to say, "Could I have a half-pound of braunschweiger, please?" Apparently so, because she cawed, "Gimme a half pound of braunschweiger!" when the young man asked what she would like.
For those unaware, braunschweiger is liverwurst, a sandwich food made from some animal's liver. If it were the only sandwich filler for sale in this world, I would never eat another sammy.
Have we become a nation in such a hurry that we can't wait for five minutes to be helped at the credit union? If so, what are we hurrying to get to? The next thunderstorm? To go home and watch You Tube videos of people falling off their roof? To be home in time to see Dr Phil humiliate a neurotic in the name of better mental health for all?
Are we so bereft of the manners we learned in first grade that we can't even say "please" or "thank you"?
There is an old expression in Spanish: "Cortesía de boca mucho vale y poco cuesta." It means "a courteous word costs little and is worth a lot."
Today, won't you thank someone for slicing some liverwurst for you? Or, thank them for NOT slicing any liverwurst for you!