A few weeks ago I was pulling into the Starbucks parking lot in Big Red Truck and this person in a minivan nearly took me out by pulling in front of me. I had the right away. I didn’t respond in kind or in any way, actually, other than slamming on my brakes. However, she gave me a look like, “how dare you??!!!” and then “stupid redneck woman driving a big truck.”
I decided to choose to take the high road and ignored her (hello…my truck could CRUSH your stupid little mini-van) and jumped down from the cab of Big Red and headed to the door to purchase my morning sweet nectar of life. The mini-van driver literally ran to the door to beat me there and then not hold the door open for me.
What. The. Heck.
Did she hate the color red? Was the deep, vibrating roar of my dual exhaust too loud for her? Did her high school boyfriend leave her for a chick in a truck?
I was totally perplexed by her passive aggressive behavior. (And actually amused by it at this point.)
She ordered her fru-fru drink (not that there is anything wrong with that) and stepped over to wait for it to be prepared. (My grande no-room bold was quickly served up and handed across the counter to me.) The girls, er…excuse me…baristas behind the counter were talking back and forth with me (like I go there regularly, or something) and I could feel her hater glare on me.
The new sweet girl behind the register suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! You have a tattoo…can I see it? What is it? What does it mean?” And right after that I heard Miss Hater Britches give a loud, “I KNEW it!” snort followed by a …”nothing but redneck white trash” snort.
I extended my arm across the counter to show off my awesome tat and explained that it is a heart (a very girly heart, by the way) with the initials of my nephew (ABO) and why, at the age of 50, I got a tattoo. The girls behind the counter made all the right comments and we shed a few tears. I looked over towards the drink bar, and my nemesis she was giving me a look of sympathy.
Oh. No. You. Didn’t.
I said goodbye to the girls and turned to the hater (whose fru-fru drink was still not on the bar) and just looked at her. Y’all that know me…know the look I am talking about.
And I left.
I actually felt sorry for her.
Yeah…I drive a Big Red Truck. Yeah…I have a tat.
But don’t go assuming anything about me.
And, by the way, this lesson was totally for me and the judgments and assumptions I make. The life lessons that I have learned and my family has learned, over the last year have been many. I’m thankful that, for the most part, we get it.
Love you guys. See y’all tomorrow.