Judge Not

I was followed across the Wal-Mart parking lot by a family of five. Mom, Dad, three kids, all under 10. Baby in Camo.

Suddenly, the Dad cried, “WHAT the FUCK! What the FUCK! Look at that 2010 Corvette in a disabled parking spot! I work hard to earn a living and that fucking bastard is taking MY MONEY out of MY PAYCHECK so he can live off of disability and buy himself a fucking Corvette!”

I slowed down to let this guy pass me (and so I could see if he veered over to the ‘Vette and keyed it).

I quietly seethed, “I can’t see the Corvette but maybe it’s a temporary tag. Or he might have bought the Corvette and then became disabled. Or his very generous sister might have bought him that Corvette. He well might have a trust fund. I’m sure he would trade his Corvette for your Aerostar van if you let him throw in the disability too. Ass.”

I was so steamed I dogged him through the grocery aisles of the Wal-Mart. Just to see if he’d slip up and beat his kids so I could pay witness to his dickitude.

Instead, his family suddenly stopped by the pudding and he had to hustle his kids out of my way.

“Kids! Get out of the young lady’s way. Sorry about that, ma’am.”

I fumed, “Oh, you think that ‘young lady’ remark will save you from my wrath. Hah! I should kick you just for that. That, and for the extra limitations you are putting on the disabled. I’ll make sure to get a Porsche when I’m disabled, fucker. Oh, and for cursing in front of your kids.”

Then I got mad enough and I Gypsy Cursed him instead. “Not today,” I thought, “but soon, you will become disabled and will be judged by every mindless angry uninformed bastard around you.”

Minutes later, he had a limp. Not making this up. Why do Bad Things Happen to Good People? Because they piss me off.

Anyway, I lost track of him, but found him again when we were checking out. It took him a long time to check out, because his kids had to decide on a treat, and he had to check out separately from his wife, and then they had to return a plum. He turned to me and said, “Sorry about the wait, Ma’am.”

“It’s fine, I said coldly. (Look upon the face of your doom.)

Then he began planning his weekend with his wife.

He said, “Well, we can go to the flea market, but I’m not renting no wheelchair for your brother. That’s just a waste of money. Why won’t he let me put one of those lifts on his van?”

“Ahh,” I thought smugly, “There you go. That’s the rub. He’s having to cater to one of those damn disabled people!”

“I can’t get over it,” he ranted. “It’s like that guy in the parking lot, pulling in to a disabled spot in a Corvette! What the fuck! Here I am a union-based carpenter making $800 a week and I’ll never be able to buy a Corvette!”

When he left my body language was so loud that when I lifted my eyes to the cashier she blurted, “If he’s making $800 a week why is he using WIC?” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!”

“He was using a a WIC card?” (Foreigners and The Higher Classes: WIC stands for Women-and Infants-in-Camouflage. No, it’s Women, Infants and Children. It’s a government program to provide nutrition for young families. Back in my day the young moms had to go pick up blocks of cheese.)

Now if I were a hideous judgmental bastard, I would say, “Hey, first I am using my tax dollars so your can kids to go to our government-subsidized school system, and now I’m buying plums for your ratty brats!” But no. I was content just to have set in motion his comeuppance. Better watch your back, dude. Carpentry can be dangerous.