Further snobservations

To the woman ahead of me at the drive-through: If you don't know what the name of the iced tea you like is, do what everyone else does and park your car, walk into the store, and stand in front of the cooler like an idiot. Please do not make the young man bring bottle after bottle to your car to present to you. It is 87 degrees, we are in an un-air-conditioned semi-enclosed space full of car fumes and he is a minimum-wage store clerk, not a sommelier.

To the man behind me at the drive-through: Dude, you can fluff your hair all you like. You can look in the rear view mirror with your sunglasses on and with your sunglasses off. Nothing is going to change the fact that you look like Prince Charles crossed with the banjo-playing albino kid from "Deliverance." Deal.

To the couple gathering plants at the side of the road: You two look like an ad for Alzheimer's awareness, what with her giant sun hat, bent back and ankle-length red dress and him with NO shirt, NO shoes, and what I am hoping was a pair of gym shorts and not, as it appeared, boxers. Ya'll scared me to the point where I wanted to stop and grill you to see if you knew where you lived and what you were doing.

To our law clerk: It is irritating enough that you have earned yourself the nickname "Snoopy" at work. It's not that we think you're a lovable beagle, it's that we think you are nosy. Did you really have to stop at my house just because you saw me taking the compost out? I hope that you weren't TOO insulted when despite all the hints, I didn't invite you in for a tour and/or to meet the dogs. When I am home, wearing my off-duty outfit of shorts & t-shirt without underwear, I am not prepared for guests. I am NEVER prepared for the kind of guests who pick things up, ask what they are, ask what windows I have open on my computer, ask what I'm eating for lunch and so on until I feel an overwhelming need to throttle you. You will never know how thrilled I was to see you leave.

And finally, to my father: I do love you. If I didn't, I wouldn't have sung Happy Birthday to you over the phone yesterday. But I'm middle-aged, Dad--it wasn't "so cute you had to put me on speakerphone" while you were at the register! I'm fairly sure that performance art is not a staple at most hardware stores.