Amazing People

When I go anywhere with my eldest, I often times end up in the most amazing conversations with the most epic people. Last night was no exception.

We went to Walmart.

Needed milk (making yogurt today and probably going to try freeze drying a gallon or so) and I know that’s the best price and the furthest out “expiration date”. While we were there, I figured I could get the yarn for eldest’s trash panda hooded blanket pattern… so while the “kids” ran around I went to the yarn. That was central to everyone getting back together anyway so… it was a choice.

I don’t do shopping. I go, get what I need, get in and get out. I don’t do people on a good day. All in all it was a good day, but still…

That’s a lie. I do people. I actually enjoy people, but people I know in reasonably sized groups and people who live in my computer. I actually enjoy human interaction but, I guess, mostly on my own terms. Probably why I was way way way too happy to be told that I should work from home today to cover while team mates are 1. on holiday in Mexico and 2. at the social event of the month “in the office” where a couple hundred people are going to party on the plaza.

Anyway… back to Walmart.

Monkey Butt shops way better than I do. He looks around. Finds interesting things. And he people watches. Not only does he people watch, he compliments almost everyone he meets on something. It’s his version of always be kind. He also looks for the outliers… the people like him… the people that don’t give to $h17$ and a poptart if they fit in or not. People who take you do you literally and live their own lives.

Last night was no exception.

He found a guy (who was on his lunch break, who worked as a picker) just walking past that he had to compliment. Black bejeweled cowboy hat… Pink denim shirt with pins… pink beard and hair… pink lipstick and fingernail polish… rings on every finger… the man was epic. He made Barbie pink absolutely rock. Monkey Butt simply told him “I love your beard, man”. You really couldn’t see his hair with the cowboy hat on. That was all it took. We had the most fabulous conversation. He’s been working at Walmart for three years. I have no idea how we did not ever run into him before.

We talked about hair dye. We talked about family. We talked coming out stories. We talked about wonderful people and @$$ holes. We talked for… at least 30 minutes.

It made me wonder how many people look at me derogatorily. I walk around not really noticing how I’m perceived. It’s the benefit of having my own don’t give a shit attitude, I guess. I mean, I’ve had snarky remarks about my close from teenage girls before. I’m freaking 59 in a few weeks. Like I give a diddly darn what some teeny bopper thinks of me… oooh… mean girls… I know one woman of a similar age grew up to be a mean old bat. Those comments kind of stung… tbh, they still sting a bit… but again… it hurts that you made it your business to shit on my parade, not that I actually care what you think. It makes me try to take it up a notch.

The young man was an amazing person. Beautiful soul. Someone like I wish Monkey Butt could end up dating.

And he likes my tree tattoo a lot.

We talked about how people give him dirty looks. How people avoid him like the plague. How people say incredibly rude and ignorant things to him… about him loud enough for him to hear…

Why?

I don’t understand why people are so terrified of other people without provocation or reason.

Don’t get me wrong. There are people who I avoid like the plague (and hey… we know what the plague is now, right?). There are all kinds of people who I fully believe that should be avoided. Serial killers… mass murderers… child molesters… I get it.

I still can’t get my head around how Mrs Doubtfire is different than someone in costume in a public place telling stories to anyone. White panel van? Not so much. Dark alleys… even if you are harmless I will still walk faster because I grew up a girl and it’s what we are taught… but that’s not “you” that is society.

I remember bingo in New Kensington in the late 80s and the woman (well past middle age) that was (often as not) judge. Bear always told me that she was a he. I had no reason to not believe him. I had less reason to care.

I’m convinced that Aunt Bea and Helen were… closer than friends. It hurts my heart that they had to live in separate apartments across the hall from each other. Hurts my heart worse that, when we finally got equality for marriage, we are doing a 180 and being scared to death of/hating on not straight white males.

Why

I mean, seriously, why?

No, I’m not going to change anyone’s mind. Not any more than they are going to change mine.

It’s simply sad that people are so narrow minded that they miss out on amazing conversations.