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Jul. 15th, 2004 08:10 amI went to the grocery last night after work. That, marred by the store having only broccoli crowns instead of proper broccoli with stems, was also rather more Faulknerian than it should have been. Ah, the weight of living in a small town. Even mundane actions have unexpected history behind them.
As I was going into the store, a man about my age, holding a small girlchild by the hand, said my name. First AND last, so he wasn't really guessing. He knew me and he was standing there with a reasonably pleasant expectant look on his face, expecting me to know him. I looked at the man. He was vaguely familiar but I couldn't pull up a name or place him. I smiled and told him I needed a hint because that was the polite thing to do. He gave me a first name, enough of a hook that I drew his last name, his identity as the sixth-grade bully who made my fourth-grade life miserable, and the fact that he finally left me alone when I threw an orange drink in his face (I held onto the cup part, he got the 'drink' part, with the ice. It was biggie-sized.) in the alley behind Kim Foor's house.
I smiled weakly, said his last name, and that I remembered him. He smiled. I allowed as how I had to get on with my shopping and hustled my ass in the store because I didn't figure saying the rest would be polite. I don't think I'm supposed to remember how he took advantage of being bigger and older to beat up on the little strange kid that nobody liked very much. If I do remember, I'm certainly not allowed to point that sort of thing out in front of his (five years old? six?) small daughter in a way that she would understand and remember. That would be rude.
I did the right thing, I think, at least by the rules of the fucking martians who also inhabit this planet. God, I wish I could understand them. What the hell was he remembering? Did he think we were friends? Was he doing that to see if I remembered? To see if I'd blow it off and be polite or if I'd throw it back in his face? I'd never DONE anything to the bastard, then or now. What cause did he have to pick fights with me in 1979? What cause did he have to interrupt my grocery shopping in 2004 so that I'd have to be polite to him after he dredged up very unpleasant memories of me being helpless and small and victimized by his (at the time) huge sixth-grade self?
.
I will never understand normal humans. Never.
As I was going into the store, a man about my age, holding a small girlchild by the hand, said my name. First AND last, so he wasn't really guessing. He knew me and he was standing there with a reasonably pleasant expectant look on his face, expecting me to know him. I looked at the man. He was vaguely familiar but I couldn't pull up a name or place him. I smiled and told him I needed a hint because that was the polite thing to do. He gave me a first name, enough of a hook that I drew his last name, his identity as the sixth-grade bully who made my fourth-grade life miserable, and the fact that he finally left me alone when I threw an orange drink in his face (I held onto the cup part, he got the 'drink' part, with the ice. It was biggie-sized.) in the alley behind Kim Foor's house.
I smiled weakly, said his last name, and that I remembered him. He smiled. I allowed as how I had to get on with my shopping and hustled my ass in the store because I didn't figure saying the rest would be polite. I don't think I'm supposed to remember how he took advantage of being bigger and older to beat up on the little strange kid that nobody liked very much. If I do remember, I'm certainly not allowed to point that sort of thing out in front of his (five years old? six?) small daughter in a way that she would understand and remember. That would be rude.
I did the right thing, I think, at least by the rules of the fucking martians who also inhabit this planet. God, I wish I could understand them. What the hell was he remembering? Did he think we were friends? Was he doing that to see if I remembered? To see if I'd blow it off and be polite or if I'd throw it back in his face? I'd never DONE anything to the bastard, then or now. What cause did he have to pick fights with me in 1979? What cause did he have to interrupt my grocery shopping in 2004 so that I'd have to be polite to him after he dredged up very unpleasant memories of me being helpless and small and victimized by his (at the time) huge sixth-grade self?
.
I will never understand normal humans. Never.
