Life in My Years

Something lurid and sensational was brewing in the air.

I was making my usual lap around my local bookstore, looking for just the right books to cozy up with for the afternoon, when I noticed that someone, somewhere in the store, was speaking quite loudly. The voice was vague and distant as I ambled through the history and biography aisles, but by the time I reached McCarthy, Cormac, the voice had become angry — rising in sharp dramatic peaks and cutting vigourously through the usual quietness.

The scene took place near the center of the store next to the information desk, and people were scattered all around nearby; some were staring unblinkingly at baby-animal calendars with a frozen concentration, while others shamelessly glued their curious eyes to the spectacle, as if some novel street-act were suddenly transported to the middle of the bookstore. Free entertainment!

She was a large woman with a big stomach and small eyes and crimpled yellow hair that hung limply above her round shoulders. I’d seen her many times around the store, talking to co-workers, picking up books and magazines people leave strewn all over tables and chairs, her face usually looking as though she’d just been insulted by someone. A male chauvinist, maybe. Today, that idiot of a man had apparently crossed a line and he was really going to get it — right between the eyes.

As it turns out, the chauvinist was a middle-aged Chinese couple. They looked to be in their mid-fourties, but their little boy, who was with them, looked to be only about seven-years-old.  He was hugging a shiny new book close to his chest, and stood a little distance away from his parents and the woman, watching them with large eyes.

She was yelling. The sound of her voice was piercing and hostile; her finger jabbed in the air at them again and again, her mouth made round, open shapes, and moved carefully — elongating her syllables and enunciating her S’s and T’s with the relish and precision of an overzealous theatre actor. The Chinese couple didn’t seem to have a chance to say very much, but when they did, their voices were quickly smothered by the sheer force and volume of the woman’s loud and vocal irritation.

I don’t know what the dispute was about — something about the pricing of the kid’s book, I think — but I remember feeling uncomfortable, and embarrassed for both the woman and the parents. I continued walking past them to the horror and reference aisles. By the time I’d made a round trip around the store, a tall man was now standing next to the Chinese couple, wearing a khaki hat, a security badge, and a slightly bemused expression.

The Chinese woman looked flustered, her husband frustrated, and I could hear him starting to say something to the yellow-haired woman; but it sounded nothing more than the mumblings of a child when compared with the oomph and kick of her interruption: “I told you that al-ready sir!”

There was a brief pause, and the man dared speak again, opening and closing his mouth a few times — but he was soon struck dumb once more by the woman cutting him off, then throwing up her arms and rolling her head like you would with your eyes.

There was something in her exaggerated gestures and her expressive voice — which projected impressively across the room in a way that would have made my old public-speaking teacher proud — that made me think she rather enjoyed the attention of all the eyes and ears on her handling of the situation. She seemed to grow ever more spirited as more people started watching, and with all her little dramatic flairs, it was as if she were playing some sort of satisfying role; she’d made it abundantly clear with her body, face, and voice that she was dealing with imbeciles — and who doesn’t find something satisfying about being not only vastly superior to other people, but also unreservedly ripping on them when they get on your nerves by exercising their abject stupidity? And who doesn’t enjoy watching it?  That’s one reason why everyone likes House, is it not? Even if she wasn’t coming across as vastly superior, she certainly was coming across as the most articulate person in the fray when compared to the other two, with their heavily-accented English and voices you could barely hear.

“Okay, you know what? I do not have the time to stand here and talk any more to you,” she said. “I have already spent too much of my time…” At which point, the man tried to say something again. This seemed to push her over some sort of edge.

“Okay, that’s it. Get out. GET OUT of the store right now!”

She swept her arm with a heavy gesture that ended with one authoritative finger pointed straight at the door with formidable command. The security man shuffled his legs a little at this new development, but seemed unsure about what to do, so he just stood there. The Chinese man was still trying to say something, but she simply raised her voice another notch.

“GET. OUT. Get outta the store! NOW. GEDDOUT. ”

Each word was like a punch, hard and fast, and she kept retracting her arm only to repeatedly direct it back out toward the exit.

It became quiet then — no one watching said anything, and the Chinese man didn’t try to talk anymore. He just looked at her. The little boy stood there holding his book, and looked at her. The security man went into action then, and said, “Come this way sir.” He proceeded to escort the mother and the father out of the store, and we all quietly watched them leave, with their little boy trailing behind them.