2002-09-23 - 10:47 p.m.

She was walking slowly through the fruit displays, when a thin, older man (maybe late 60s), with a deep tan and white hair and a thick silver chain, came up behind her. He feinted right and left, trying to get around her, and then just shoved his way past, snarling, "Take your time." I felt a flash of anger, and turned around to see my grandmother making her way over to him, where she retorted, "YOU take YOUR time, too." Which was pretty lame as far as comebacks go, but c'mon, she's 86. That made me laugh, and also feel a little like crying, because I can remember a time where she would have told him off scathingly. When she was younger, sharper.

And then she turned to walk away, as I watched, and he said, "Yeah, well, you won't be around much longer anyway."

Luckily for him, she didn't hear him. But I did. And I promise you, I had visions of dragging his old ass out the front door and beating him to a bloody pulp with my grandmothers cane. I was shaking, I was so angry. And so I yelled, across the aisle, with people staring at us: "What kind of an ASSHOLE are you? Don't you DARE speak to her like that! " He walked away, saying nothing, and I turned back around and tried to get a hold of myself. My grandmother asked, "What did he say?" And I just said, I don't know, but I didn't like his tone.

My grandmother, apparently, put it out of her mind, but I stalked the grocery store as she finished her shopping. I entertained little fantasies of turning a corner and running the cart into his knees, or hiding behind the pate display and sticking my foot out to trip him. As we were approaching the register, he came up behind her, and I stepped between them, facing him. "Do you have anything else to say?" I asked. He said no, and I leaned over and hissed, "I got some news for you, buddy, silver chain or no, you ain't far behind her." And then I spent the rest of the day thinking up all the really good things I could have said to him, instead of spending all my mental energy to keep myself from throttling him.

Talking that shit to my GRANDMOTHER. And I'll be looking for him, too, don't think I won't.

And later, reading the paper on the bed, I couldn't hold back the tears. And I wasn't angry, and I didn't feel sad, specifically, just, I don't know, emotional I guess. And that funk was with me still this morning, but by the time I came home, I was feeling much better, and after a couple of hours of music and a conversation with an old friend, things are definitely looking up.

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