While waiting in line to vote this morning, a young woman in her early 20’s was a few folks in front of me. The woman was frustrated at how slow the line was moving. She was muttering things under her breath about how the people behind the check-in desk should move faster and figure out what they are doing.
Of course, the people behind the desk are volunteers or only getting paid enough to buy a cup of coffee. And it is obvious that they are trying their best.
However, this girl disagreed.
As she huffed and puffed all rudely, I looked back to see how many people were now on the line behind me. As I turned, the woman in back of me smiled and moved her finger in a way that asked me to move closer so she could whisper something to me.
Now, before I tell you what she whispered, let me describe her so you can get a visual image in your head of who we are dealing with here.
She was probably in her late 80’s, white short perfectly permed hair, maybe as tall as an Oompa Loompa, navy blue polyester pants that came right under her boobs that showed a lifetime of aging, and a cotton long-sleeve shirt that had a large fall maple leaf on it.
She shook her head as she steadied herself on my extended arm, trying to keep her balance when I suspected she should probably be using a cane.
Then she said it. She said the line that made me almost pee my pants in public.
In her softest, sweetest, grandmother voice she says, “Bitches don’t have any respect, do they?”
I kid you not.
This little old lady, wearing foliage on her blouse, dropped the B-word as if she was guest rapping on the new Eminem album.
And as the young “bitch” girl walked out, my rapping grandmother shook her head, pulled up her pants up higher and added, “She better not have taken’ the damn last jelly donut either.”
Lucky for the girl’s sake, the jelly donut was untouched by the time I got up to vote. I seriously think that grandmother would have hunted her down and cut the bitch. I’ve now learned, you don’t mess with a grandmother, her voting and a jelly donut.
