I wanted to smash her face in with the heaviest can I can
find.
I pondered on this deed as I looked coldly at a petite,
short haired lady waiting in line with me. I have endured ridiculously long
lines, idiotic credit card owners, whiney children, burned out cashiers and
dirty looks from the male baggers – the many and routine trips to the grocery
has honed my almost non-existent temper. But that lady in the senior citizen
line tapped into something evil within, not to mention her weird fashion sense
of knee-length shorts, stripped green shirt, colorful floral wedges, and pearl
bangle made me cringe.
I was waiting in line with my husband and mother-in-law who
insisted on her 65-peso senior citizen discount. The queue was only two senior
citizens short, with the first grandma looking almost smug at the cashier swiping
the dona’s haul. For what felt like thirty minutes to all the people behind her,
the riche-looking grandma was sitting on a Monobloc chair, thankfully so because
she wore very skimpy shorts no decent woman with such huge legs and web of
varicose veins should. Next in line was a very thin grandma sitting on the
two-seater Monobloc beside the chewing gum display. Beside her was this plump,
30-something lady I’ll call “Betty” from here on, who sat with her feet on the
plastic couch just as she would in her home, with a dull look on her flat, fat
face as she and her frail mother waited for the fat madame to go.
I caught my mother-in-law looking at Betty and presumed she
wanted to sit on the chair meant for the elderly. We had been walking in the
mall for hours, which is an impressive feat (pun intended) for someone her age,
but her face was hinting the need to sit. Betty did not budge for Ma, who had
started to pace to and fro to rid herself of the boredom and probably numbing
of her legs from the long walk.
An old couple shortly joined the line. The old, otter-like
grandpa carried the small package of meat, while his wife who looked like a
typical hairless cancer patient clung onto his flabby arms. I looked at Betty, and from then on I had the
murderous thought running into my head.
It did not help that Betty was now lying on the two-seater
while her mother was unloading their purchases. Sure, Betty might have ignored
Ma because she looked capable despite her age, but the hairless grandma is
hard, if not totally immoral to ignore. Even the most shameless MRT passenger
would feel like a saint at the sight of this fat, butch, fashion-zero loser who
was totally not giving a damn.
Her mother was now paying for her groceries, and it was only
at this time Betty finally rose from her recline. I was unsurprised she was not
wearing rings, and was quite relieved by this because no man had to suffer with
a horribly apathetic wife such as her. As the insidious thoughts waned, the
lingering question on why and how a person became such had started to gain voice.
Maybe Betty had sacrificed her happiness for her mother, I
thought as she instructs the bagger to cram all her paper bags into the tiny
reusable one. Maybe she has given up on life and is merely enduring it for her
mother’s sake. Maybe she was sick and her lack of courtesy was a manifestation of
her envy for the senior citizen. As watched the mother and daughter go, I felt
pity for Betty as she carried the heavy bag of goods, which could never compare to
the heaviness of her existence.
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