Store Wars

The small town I live in serves as the hole to the doughnut that is the town that surrounds us. Ours is the older community, with a defined downtown, historic buildings, and a diverse population. The town that surrounds us, once nothing but farmland, is now populated by upper-level suburban homes and at least eight age-restricted, gated communities. While I loath the idea of stereotyping the residents of these communities, it is still very true that many of them consider themselves somehow privileged and in charge. Nowhere is this more apparent than at a certain shopping center.

Heaven protect the young mother who enters the grocery store with a baby in the cart or a child in tow. Rather than friendly, grandparent-type shoppers, she is more likely to encounter hostile seniors who resent the small space the store devotes to baby food and diapers. They consider this grocery store their social domain, and often plant themselves in the middle of an aisle making it impossible to pass. Any attempt to politely get by is met by angry looks and sarcastic comments. The more children you have with you, the stronger the reaction.

More than once, and certainly more times than can be chalked up to coincidence, I have been virtually run over by a little old lady pushing a shopping cart. This is a trick they especially like to play while waiting in line behind me. It seems that my cart, loaded with tons of food for feeding 3 teenagers, annoys them.

The same thing happens in the small Chinese restaurant and pizzeria. Show up there at a certain time of day without a senior discount card, and the stares are icy. “Don’t seat us next to those children,” is a common request. Even thought my three children are college age, they are still getting the “you don’t belong here looks.”

I’ve come to the understanding that those who live in gated, age-restricted communities become so insulated that they actually become agitated and afraid when faced with people who are not in their peers. As a whole, they have a sense of entitlement that somehow translates to believing that they alone should be patronizing the stores and restaurants near their communities. In fact, even though I now stand on the doorstep of 50, I am not yet included in the group.

Not too long ago I was in the grocery store with my 19 year old son. As we opened the trunk of my car to deposit our bags, a gentleman of about 70 or so approached us.
“What kind of car is this?” he asked.
“A 1997 Plymouth Breeze,” I replied.
“Wow, its really in good shape,” he said. “I hear they don’t make Plymouths anymore.”
“No,” I answered. “Daimler killed Plymouth.”
The man laughed and I was about to get into my car when a petite lady of about his same age began shouting at me.
“Leave him alone!” she screeched. “Don’t talk to him!”
My son and I could barely keep ourselves from bursting. I held up my hands in a gesture meant to show that I did not have any intention of continuing the conversation. The woman continued to berate me as I got in my car. Then, she yanked the man by his arm, hissed something about not letting him out of her sight, and dragged him off. Apparently, it’s not only the groceries that are off limits, it’s the menfolk too.

I’m thinking of spending my 50th birthday in that shopping center parking lot, perched on the hood of my “hot” car, flirting with all the gated community men. I might even buy some groceries.

Humor