Entitled People

I was just havin a good ol time walkin thru the big department store, wanderin around and lookin at stuff like I always do. But my peaceful stroll got interrupted real quick when I heard a loud voice from the next aisle over, talkin about how she just deserved the best of everything, like it was her birthright or somethin.

It was a beautiful day at Oakhaven Park, the kind where you just enjoy watching folks and trying to figure out what they're thinking. But that peaceful feeling didn't last long, not after a young woman with a fancy cat stroller rolled in acting like she owned the whole place.

I’ve worked in customer service long enough to develop a sort of radar, a quiet hum in the back of my mind that picks up on anything out of the ordinary. That afternoon, my radar pinged, but what it found near aisle five was a woman pushing a shopping cart with an utterly unexpected passenger.

The morning rush at "The Bound Page" usually settled into a comfortable hum, a rhythm I knew by heart, and I often found myself playing little games with human interactions to stay sharp. I was wiping down the counter when the door chimed with a little too much force, and a young woman with a sleek pet carrier marched straight up to me, announcing she was there for a drink from yesterday that we'd "messed up completely."

My weekly grocery run was usually a quiet, meditative ritual, a small pocket of control in an often chaotic week, but today, the familiar hum of the fluorescent lights vibrated with an undercurrent of impending discord. That discord materialized into a whirlwind of floral print and indignation when a woman, clutching a carrier with a fluffy ginger cat, marched straight to the front of the express checkout line.

I was just trying to get my groceries, minding my own business on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. But then, I heard it – that familiar sound of someone being loud and making a scene, a siren call to chaos right there in the produce aisle.

The big store was a loud splash of yellow and orange today, but I like watching when many people are around. As I walked past the customer service desk, I noticed a woman with a very serious face, and it looked like something exciting was about to happen.

The park was usually my sanctuary on a Tuesday afternoon, a place where everything was orderly and the quiet allowed me to get lost in a good book. But my peaceful routine was about to be shattered when I noticed a young man with a certain swagger heading straight for another woman's picnic table.

I always like a trip to the hardware store; it’s usually a quiet, simple place where you can just grab what you need. But last Tuesday, things got a bit different when a lady came in with a cat in a stroller, right past the "Service Animals Only" sign.

The pet shop was a calm, clean place where I usually just watched the shimmering fish, letting my usual sadness for caged animals fade into the background. That quiet calm was instantly disturbed when a lady with a fancy cat carrier marched in, and I could almost feel the fluffy white cat inside already losing its patience.

I went to the pet store on Saturday, mostly just to wander and make the afternoon feel a little less empty. But what I found waiting at the fish food counter was a lady with a tiny tiara, a very serious face, and a cat named Lord Fluffington the Third who demanded a very specific kind of attention.

The oppressive summer heat had me wilting, packed into a long line, my sensitive ears already thrumming from the cheerful cacophony. I was just trying to manage my own anxiety when a new disruption rippled through the queue, heralded by a woman who clearly believed the world was a red carpet rolled out just for her.