Old White Guys

I have reached my limit with old straight white men. On Monday mornings, when everyone else is at work, I get a lot of old white straight male customers, and for the most part they are rude, oblivious, and presumptuous. Most of them say as little to me as possible, and when forced to respond to my questions use as few words and as few syllables as possible. On several occasions they just ignore me. One guy reached over my computer to grab my pen without asking and hit a button on the cash register. They have this air of aloof superiority that is extremely off-putting, especially considering the concerted efforts of a lot of old white straight men to hold the country back for as long as possible, preventing change and promoting old-fashioned ideals, racism, homophobia, misogyny, nationalism, and disregard for the planet and their fellow human beings. Who the hell do they think they are?

There are a few exceptions. There was one nice old man who was not only polite and cheerful, but also seemed to read books. All the other lame guys are buying magazines, old airplane magazine, sports illustrated swimsuit edition, war monthly or whatever the fuck that magazine is, muscle car weekly, etc. Then on certain Fridays there’s the extremely creepy and socially awkward gentlemen casually buying the latest issue of Penthouse. The especially pompous old white guys just buy newspapers and act like I’m purposefully wasting all of their precious time because they have SO much to do that day.

I had another old white man tell me what exceptionally large hands I had, and that I should have been a pianist. I’m not sure he was entirely straight, but he was old and white. He told me a long story about restoring a beautiful old piano for his ungrateful daughter who decided she didn’t have the space for it and gave it to her aunt. Oh, how he lovingly described the effort he put into restoring that old piano and how he made it shine and sparkle again, a beautiful piece of furniture for any home. He went on about how ungrateful his daughter was for not appreciating all the time, effort, and expense he went to that she never asked for or expected from him. I commiserated with him like he was making some sort of valid point while staring at his strange, bright white curly hair. He almost looks like he’s wearing a powdered wig. It was also weird how much he went on about my large hand and how big it looked when I held out his change.

Needless to say, I am looking forward to my vacation. I love my job, but sometimes the old white guys start to get me down…