idisagreecompletely

I don’t get it.

I really don’t.

I’m walking down the street, minding my own business as I am really craving cookies and since I don’t have any in the house, I managed to get up, put on my shoes, grab a couple of dollars from my purse and am on a mission from God to make it to the corner store to buy some.

Just a simple thing to do. I’m not bothering anyone.

Suddenly I hear someone spit and I look up. It’s such a gross and disgusting sound, isn’t it?

I mean, my stomach gets that nauseous feeling in it and I had just finished dinner and I could feel it start to move.

I hate this man suddenly. I hate the sound he made. I hate his total and complete disregard for the street that we all share and I hate the fact that he ruined a rather enjoyable walk.

I also hate the fact that I have to now cross the street to avoid him and where he spat because I sure as hell don’t want to see it and I’m going to have to look if I don’t want to step in it.

I don’t get this at all.

I got after a young employee one time for the same thing. We were outside talking during lunch. It was a gorgeous day and many of us were outside enjoying it before having to spend the rest of the afternoon at our desks and staring at computers.

Right in the middle of what I was saying, he turned his head and spit.

Right. There. In. Front. Of. Me.

I gasped.

“Susan, you OK? What’s wrong.” he asked.

My hand was covering my mouth. My eyes were as wide as they could be.

I was struggling not to throw-up and I wanted to slap him.

I finally found my voice. “I can’t believe you did that! That is so gross and I’m feeling a bit sick.”

“Do what?”

“YOU JUST SPIT ON THE CEMENT!”  I screamed as I jumped up and away from it. I had been sitting down on a chair and as I jumped up, the heel of my shoe caught the leg of it and it tumbled behind me as I jumped away. I started to fall towards him and used his chest as a buffer with my hands and pushed myself away from him.

This caused him to be pushed back and he lost his balance for a moment.

All in all, I looked completely stupid and uncoordinated, which does happen to me from time to time.

His face got red and he turned away. He looked down at it then looked behind. He looked everywhere but at me.

“So what? It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? Then why are you looking so embarrassed?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” I said. “Now clean it up.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

I glared at him. He was only 16, sweet as could be but I guess he was being raised by wolves. I had not been, My brothers and I were taught these things. I can’t ever remember my brothers, my Dad, my uncles or any male that I’ve known all this time to just turn around and spit in front of me or anyone else.

“Tommy, do I look like I’m kidding?”

He looked at me for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

“Well, you didn’t have to hit me, you know?”

“I didn’t hit you. I bumped into you and I’m sorry but doing that is just…wrong. Now, clean it up and don’t ever do that again.”

He glared at me for a moment. “Look, I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m sorry and all, but come on! So what?”

“So you think it’s OK to just spit whenever and wherever you want? Shit, why don’t you just whip it out right now and pee all over the street? Is that OK to do?”

He chuckled. “No, of course not.”

“Tell you what Tommy. I’ll make you a deal. You ever spit like that around me again and I’ll go into great details about my period. How’s that for a deal?”

You would have thought by his reaction that I had just admitted to him that I was Hitler and Bin Laden all rolled  up into one nice package and that I was here to kill him. He was paralyzed with fear and revulsion.

I always have a ace up my sleeve. Make no doubt about it.

“No, don’t do that. Stop talking about it! Geez, you’re insane, you know that?” he said as he bent down and used a Kleenex to start cleaning.

I stood there and watched him.

“Thanks Tommy for doing that,” I said.

“No problem. Just don’t talk about ‘that stuff’ to me, ever, OK?”

I smiled. “We’ll see.”

Every so often after that, as I would walk by his desk, I would pull a tampon out of my purse and swing it around.

Tommy never spit again. At least not that I know of.