Ha! I love gen chat. Lately we have been getting religious debates and some of the things I see pop up hurt to read.
Sorry, the set-up is a bit long.
Around two years ago I was working as a shift manager in an interim job at a local chain gym, actually THE gym, since the other few small ones aren’t much competition unfortunately, but that’s a different story.
Anyway, there was a regular who was a “Tennis Member” (the type of membership that cost the most). A Mr. Willie Rock (sort of his real name, but not really). And this guy was the very epitome of the arrogant “do you know who I am/ I pay X dollars to this gym each month” moron with the biggest most inflated sense of entitlement and an ego to match that I’ve ever seen.
He always had to act like a jerk to the front desk girls (or me if I was there helping them out). This gym had a electronic card key system and one had to scan one’s card to get the gate to open. And you couldn’t just scan your card 19 times for you and all of your kids, you would have to have them scan their own, or allow the front desk girl to check them off on the computer as they entered. He always threw a huge snit fit at this and had a few girls in tears from time to time.
His biggest asshole moves were saved for when he called in to reserve a tennis court though. Members were required to give their member number in order to reserve a court. PERIOD. Otherwise anyone could call in and reserve a court, tennis member or no (and people did try). If this happened, legitimate tennis members got screwed out of their court times.
But the fact that it was for HIS benefit never mattered to Willie at all. He’d call up, rattle off his name, court time and favorite court at breakneck speed and then get all annoyed when the girls or I had the audacity to ask him for his member number.
Every blasted time he’d say “why do you need that?” And we’d politely explain that it was to prevent someone from using his name and getting a court. We’d rarely get to finish answering his question as he’d start railing at the poor girls.
Once he got me and did his usual “why do you need to know that”? I started into the standard explanation and he haughtily said “OH! Now you’re just bantering!”.
I’m sure what the moron meant to say was “blathering” or perhaps “blabbering”. But while I couldn’t out and out insult him, I did indulge in a little giggle and a sweetie sweet “pardon? bantering”? (they randomly recorded our calls with customers, though had I known that my dream job was just a few weeks around the corner…OOOOH I’d have loved to have had fun with his idiocy).
-checks bits-
Nope, I’m still a she
Back in my younger days, I had very long hair, as did my ex. He and I were walking down the street, hand in hand, and a couple of rednecks in a red pickup truck came up behind us, leaned out of their windows and screamed “DYKES!” And then, as they pulled past us, they got a good look at both his long facial hair and both of us laughing hysterically at them. They got back into the truck very quickly after that.
My favorite mis-insult was that, as a teen, I made my mom so mad once she called me…
a son of a bitch.
No…I’m not making that up. 
Well, as my mom likes to say, “some very decent women just gave birth to sonsabitches.”
A coworker who’d gone to pick her husband (also a coworker) for lunch got accused of being dressed unprofessionally. She explained that she was on maternity leave and profesionally dressed as a 9-mo-pregnant woman. The guy who called her unprofessional actually answered “really? You’re pregnant? Oh! Congratulations!” What did he think, that she’d been eating too much?
Living in New Jersey for the past 30-odd years, I have always heard *ignorant * used to mean “rude” or “inconsiderate.” It’s my guess that the old gent in the supermarket meant exactly what he said.