Old Folks

This post will undoubtedly brand me as the Anti-Christ Blogger who kicks stray dogs and tells children that Santa Claus isn't real, but I don't care.

Picture it: this afternoon, Starbucks. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice an elderly woman, not on line, slowly inching her way in front of me. Doing her sly side-shuffle, she eventually maneuvers directly ahead of me in line. It's clear that, A) she's trying to cut the line, and B) she's 100% aware of what she's doing.

"Excuse me," I say with polite firmness. "Am I in your way?"

"Oh," the Old Line-Cutting Battleaxe murmurs, "I'm just getting my refill."

I take a deep breath, and decide to let it go; a refill isn't such a big deal, and isn't it the holiday season? Thanks and giving and fa-la-fucking-la-la-la? So, I bite my tongue, force a smile, nod, and let her ask for a refill. Then, the OL-CB whips out her credit card, and starts reeling off a completely new order.

"Excuse me," I say again, this time with (I imagine) chilling authority. "This is a line. I am on it. And unless I'm missing something, I don't believe that you have a right to cut in front of me."

A brief stare-down ensues.

"Oh, yes," the OC-LB murmurs again, "you can go ahead."

"Oh? May I?" I ask sarcastically.

OK, that last sally probably was bitchier than necessary, but I was steamed. I respect my elders, but there's a trend I've noticed lately, where some of them think that they can cut whichever line they please, as if old age gives them some sort of line-jumping privilege. It's happened to me at the theatre, at the grocery, and now, at Starbucks.

And if there's one thing I can tell you, regardless of your age, it's this: do not come between this queen and his caffeine unless you wanna get cut.