This isn’t a WTF moment with a stranger as much as a funny moment with a stranger.
My girlfriend at the time and I were grocery shopping at the local Wal-Mart at around midnight. We’re in the checkout line moving stuff from the cart to the conveyor when a guy speeds into the lane behind us holding a box of condoms. Impatient, he keeps zooming back and forth between our lane and the one next to us (we’re the only two lanes open) which also only has a single cart. Finally we’re paying when they announce over the speakers that they’re shutting off the registers for 15 minutes (they do this every night).
That poor fucker. I still can’t help but laugh when I think about it, though.
Once at a restaurant, a older lady asked me which meal I ordered. She was a tourist from down south (Georgia) and we talked for a couple minutes. She ended with “well, bless your heart” before departing. I thought it was a slightly odd but not unpleasant encounter.
Later on, someone laughingly told me that “bless your heart” is always used as insult or condescension by Southern women. Ouch. Can’t remember exactly what I said, but I must have rubbed her the wrong way.
When I first got my cell phone I got a call for Fred from what sounded like an older woman. I answered not Fred here wrong number.
She called back “Fred”. No this is not Freds phone you have a wrong number.
She call again, “Fred” No, no Fred, what number are you callling? She gives me my cell number. Sorry but Fred does not have that number, you need to get Freds proper number.
She calls again “Fred”. No you are calling the wrong number, please get the proper number.
She calls agaqin “Frred”. No you have the wrong number please do not call this number again.
The phone rings again and this time it is a man, “Can I talk to Fred?” Yes you can talk to Fred if you call Fred on his cell phone not mine.
He calls back “Can I talk to Fred?” No please do not call again.
He calls again. I hit the button denining the call.
He trys several more times, I finally had to turn my phone off.
I have a picture of my husband carrying our older son in a front carrier, posed with his hands on his waist and his chest stuck out proudly. The caption reads “Babyman!”
Go in to use the library’s two stall women’s bathroom. One stall is occupied, so I take the other one. As I’m sitting there, I realize the feet of the other person are pointing the wrong way.
I finish my business and I’m washing my hands when this young black guy comes out of the stall and sees me, the middle-aged white lady. Talk abvout a WTF? for both of us! Finally he asks “Is this the ladies room?”
I go through the inner door, hold it open, then open the outer door and look at the front, making sure he sees me do it. “Yep” I say.
He says “I’m sorry” and walks out without washing his hands.
It’s about time that women were let into what seems to be a very well-kept secret: a large number of men don’t seem to feel it necessary to wash their hands after using the toilet.
Why it never occurs to these men that women would rush away shrieking en masse from them if they knew they did this, is left as an exercise for the reader.
(If it’s any consolation, men are certainly a lot better about washing their hands than they used to be.)
I think you missed the part where salinqmind said he/she was sort of zoning out, not really looking a head and touched the woman by accident. Shit happens. It’s not like saling was intentionally grocery-cart tailgating or anything. No need to get your knickers in a knot.
I’ve been guilty of the opposite. Like reading the ingredients list on some can while I’m waiting in line and the person behind me has to do an “Ahem!” to bring me back to earth, because everyone’s moved up a spot and I’m still standing there in doofus-daydram land.
Wife a cute young blonde, two kids? I met them in the MickeyD in Puerta del Sol, where I got to explain to the “gentleman” that the problem with going to exotic countries is that they have exotic customs, ask him which part of “I am sorry, we do not have barbeque sauce, only ketchup” did he not understand and have him apologize to the poor waitress. The wife was surprised at first, laughing quietly by the time they headed off in search of a table.
Just out of college, I lived in an apartment in kind of the shady side of town. Late one weeknight I went to the shady grocery store to pick up some things. There were very few people in the store. I take my things to the checkout lane where there is a drunk caucasion woman about age 35 and a young African American boy, maybe age 12. They are checking out a cart full of groceries. The woman sees me behind her and gives me a look like I just kicked her dog. The following exchange takes place.
Woman (loudly): Yes, he’s my son!
Me (confused): Ok.
Woman: A lot of people ask me what happened because he’s black and I’m white.
Me: Not really my business.
Woman: Well, I was raped.
Me: ?!?!?!?!?
Woman: And I kept him. And he’s a good boy, goddamnit.
Me: ?!?!?!?!?
All the while her son is standing in front her with his head down, facing the opposite direction. He did say a word. Woman begins to cry, finishes checking out, grabs her bags and her son and heads out the door. The checkout clerk and I just looked at each other after she was gone, both of us speechless. I probably should have done something since she was obviously under the influence and had a child with her, but I was just too dumbstruck to react.