Thinking back about the Christmas holidays, one day stands out in particular and what a day it was!  After I walked the dog and completed my pilates class, I set out to the UPS Store to return a set of golf clubs I’d ordered by mistake.  Of course there was a line out the door; and of course SOME people were testy . . . especially one lady . . . most likely in her early to mid-thirties.  She was surly, impatient, intolerant and VERY demanding.  

“I’m NEXT!” she barked to an unsuspecting milktoast man who handed his return to the clerk, needing NOTHING other than to drop off his fully-packaged and labeled box.  

“He’s just making a drop-off,” explained the harried worker.  Her demeanor defied her outfit. Her festive ensemble screamed the opposite: a green, white and red herringbone miniskirt with glittered threads woven throughout, cute Calvin Klein black ankle booties, white laced anklet socks peeking out, a crisp long sleeved button down blouse and an ELF HAT! Talk about a contradiction . . She was Irony personified!  I’d sure hate to be at whatever Christmas party she was headed to! 

My return fully processed and receipt in my hand, I decided to stop in at CVS to get a flu shot.  While standing in line at the vaccine check-in, I made an appointment on the CVS app for myself at 11:15 a.m., and just like clock-work, my turn at the desk happened at precisely 11:15 a.m.  I was instructed to go wait in Aisle 24 until my name was called.  A few minutes later, “Mary West” was invited to sit in the vaccine chair.  

“Hey!” I said to the pharmacist, “where’s the privacy screen?  I’m going to have to take my blouse halfway off and I’d rather not do it in front of the entire store!”  

“Oh THAT,” the pharmacist sheepishly began, “a homeless guy snuck in here and used the privacy area as a make-shift apartment bathroom and there was a lot of biohazardous material left behind so Corporate instructed us to remove the privacy screen.”  (As if that was o.k. and par for the course!)  

“WHAT?” I gasped, “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!  A HOMELESS guy violates your store and Corporate accommodates it . . . making it so law-abiding, rational, sober, tax-paying CUSTOMERS have to disrobe in front of God and everybody just to maintain their health?  I’ll tell you what . . . I HATE coming into this store!  It’s a rat hole!  The Gold Line metro station is RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR FRONT DOOR and there are ALWAYS vagrants and addicts lurking around!  Beef up your security and KEEP YOUR PATRONS SAFE!  What a joke!” 

The pharmacist agreed but said HE couldn’t do anything about it and that “Corporate” made all the decisions.  So . . . anger getting the best of me, I yanked my blouse ENTIRELY off over my head and told the pharmacist to select which arm he wanted to prick.  

“Watch,” I said, “I’ll probably be arrested for indecent exposure!  And, by the way, if I AM, you can bet that Corporate will be paying my legal bills!” 

After that total humiliation, I stopped in at PetCo to Christmas shop for all the dogs in the family.  There was a couple roaming the aisles with their two Jack Russell mixes.  Honestly, those dogs looked (and acted) like junkyard dogs . . . Aggressive, ill-behaved and ready to tear open and shred anything they encountered, including me! Oh . . . And the owners . . . Straight out of the bar scene in Star Wars!  The guy was rough. . . Tatted to the max . . . A box of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve of his too-tight T-shirt, short, slicked-back hair (kind of like The Fonz only DIRTY).  His girlfriend’s yoga pants must have been painted on and the sports bra she wore HAD to belong to her MUCH  younger sister (or former cell mate at the women’s prison!)  There was NOTHING left to the imagination.  NOTHING.  Scary Guy initiated a conversation with me (who was looking for non-squeaking toys for my very civilized, clean, groomed, powdered and pampered, NON-junkyard dogs).  

“Hey, Lady,” he started, sounding VERY much like an uneducated Rocky Balboa, “if you lookin’ for some bitchin’ toys, these here puzzles gonna be it!  Look (he said as the male junk terrier destroyed a box on the lowest shelf) . . . this little shit LOVES ‘em!”  

“Ya,” I replied with the full intention of keeping the conversation short, “I can see that!”  I grabbed an unchewed puzzle box from the shelf so Scary Guy would think I took his advice, but I restocked it on the shelf as soon as he and the girlfriend headed for the cashier.  After I’d made my selections, I made a bee line straight home.  I’d had enough “close encounters” for the day.