We have a food co-op in our town. You order online every other week, and the following week you pick up a huge (think large duffel) bag full of produce. It’s run entirely by volunteers, so I went to help* unload it from the truck and sort it into individual orders. The truck was half an hour late delivering, and when it finally did arrive, the driver was in slow mode. Really slow. He shut off the truck and started texting. One of the other gals had to go to the door of the truck and talk to him to get him to grace us with his presence. The lady in charge was totally not impressed. She had the back of the truck unlocked before the driver got out.
Now before you think that she’s completely over the top, let me explain how it works. The truck is supposed to arrive at 4:30. We have one hour to unload and sort all of the produce for nearly 100 people. Pick-up is from 5:30 to 6:00. We’re talking about a tight window. If your stuff isn’t picked up by 6:00, it’s donated to the civic center, so don’t be late. Since it’s such a tight time frame, the people picking up tend to get upset if it’s past 5:30 when they are let in. Most are pretty understanding if they find out the truck was late, and certainly, if we open late, we’ll stay open late, but we’re in a borrowed space, so if another group is coming in behind us, we need to be out.
So the driver was late, and the director was antsy. Since I’m one to always give the benefit of the doubt, I figured since we were his last drop-off that he was tired. Maybe he was, but he sure acted like he had a nice wide lazy streak, too. The director hopped up in the back of the truck to help off-load pallets, and he kept talking in a half-joking way about liability. He was ignored. She moved like greased lightning; he moved like drying river sludge. There was ribbing back and forth, and then he said, “I don’t take this much flack from my wife.”
I said, “Then you better go on home and give her a hug!”
I don’t know if he heard me or not, but his next comment was about his “old lady.”
Most of you know it takes a lot to offend me. You have to really try to offend me. People disparaging others** offends me. I believe in mutual respect. Eric doesn’t call me his old lady, and I don’t call him my old man. I let Mr. Personality know I thought that was wrong, and so did some of the other women, and that just egged him on. As he was getting ready to move the last pallet, I was trying to decide if he was arrogant or stupid. Or both.
In the end, because we had so many people working and we kicked butt, we had everything off-loaded in 15 minutes, and we were able to send Mr. Personality on his way. We did get everything sorted on time, again because we had about 25 volunteers, all in over-drive. My fridge is full, and I’m happy about that. As for Mr. Personality, all I can say is he better be glad I don’t have his home phone number.
*Lest you think I’m completely altruistic, I do have ulterior motives for helping at the co-op. Pick-ups are on Wednesday, and I have band practice at 6:00. It’s a good 15 minute drive to get there. Volunteers get to grab their stuff and go as soon as the sorting is done. On Wednesdays, I need every extra minute I can get. If I can’t help sort, I better be the first in line.
**I’m pretty much equally offended with regard to gender. Disparagement of women will get me cranked up, but I also get annoyed with all the so-called sit coms and commercials that portray men as stupid. They don’t get my ratings.