What an insolent little thing. The gall of this girl! Is she genuine?

I went to a Walgreens store to buy some spirits for the holiday when I got stuck in a line longer then route 66. It stretched a mile long all the way to South Dakota, and was flaunted by colorful individuals who converged to the store in search of a good bottle to cheer their jolly souls.

There were two lively gentlemen to my back who were eager to get to the front so bad that they were capable of trampling or devour everyone in line if it would facilitate their journey; and in front of me were a mother and her daughter. The girl all tattooed up – she had one in her shoulder, one in her lower back and another in her neck – hearing nose bound and foul designer nails longer then a train, spent her time on the phone – who she was galloping with I have no idea but the immense phone barking really got my tail going.

We must have spent at least a good twenty minutes in line and she was conversing non-stop without interruption. The thing that elevated my temperature the most, it was not in view of the fact that she was whispering but breaking the sound barrier. I felt like taping her mouth off with a big tape or put her on time out; whatever had to be done to shut her up, I was willing to do.

It was not like she was performing in her living room before a live audience or that I objected to her being on the phone; she needed to understand that she was in a public place and by that it meant, she needed to be mindful of the rest of us. She needed to be judicious of those surrounding her and being in such close proximity, it became exceptionally relevant. Perhaps, miss manners had not delineated the rules but I doubt it. If you don’t have it, you don’t; it is simple as that.

She took some time off, long enough to babble with this guy who appeared to be the store Manager. He popped out of nowhere pimping himself to the girl’s mother and was all smiles as he begun making conversation with her.

They came across like two long time friends, two dogs in heat. She did not seem lost either as she begun to counter back, hitting him with an all friendly exchange. He threw a line and she responded; she threw and he responded.

By the looks of things, he looked like he was having a grand o’l time and for a minute there, I thought the guy who appeared to be in his late twenties (but who knows! Now a days you can’t tell, for all I know he could be in his early twenties) was going after the daughter until I noticed he was gunning for the mother instead. How clever, nice going man!

He was being fresh and it was such virile taunting taking place that an animated chick in-fight between the mother and the daughter broke out unexpectedly. It was nasty and classless but entertaining nonetheless!  Apparently, the daughter was not so keen on the mother’s happy go lucky act that she demanded she stop flirting. Hum..!

“Whatchdoin? I saw ya… you fresh and all. Why dontcha ya stop?” “I ain’t doing nothing”, the mother responded. Yeah, she was not doing anything alright but the guy looked a litttttle toooo cozy for her comfort but a great cougar she was on her way.

The unflattering wrangle put an end to the heat dance. It was not the most pleasurable thing to watch, particularly how she insensately talked to her mother (my mother would have smacked me) but it was lovely to witness the event none-the-less. Oh, it was not like she was concerned about her mother. Not!, She was just being vicious.

It was not like the girl stopped chatting; she did not take her “hears” off the phone or abstained from digging the imposter store manager wanna be while snapping at her mother. (We learned later that the dude was not the manager but he worked at the store, on the other side and just stopped by for what? Could not hear his raison d’être.). She was being feisty and injected herself into the conversation full force with a conundrum smile and would not stop quiver until she got her prayers answered. She was in a mission after all, one could argue; she wanted to know if he could get her a job but how serious was she being about it, that seemed to be the million-dollar question.

“How old are you”, he asked her.

“Eighteen”, she said.

“I am sorry but there is nothing I can do for you. You must be 21 to work here.”, he replied.

“Not even on the other side since it does not sell liquor?”, the mother intercepted.

“It doesn’t matter. You see, we hold liquor license and although, they are two different places but operate as one”. He explained to her in his macho suffix that even I believed him.

“I do not have any cashier job right now unless you want to work as stock person, something that I am pretty sure you are not interested.” Before he was allowed to finish his sentence, he already knew the answer that she would not be interested in the stock job. Hum…!

“Oh no, not stock person; no way”, she responded in a jiffy. Bingo, she did not flinch; she did not wish the stock, just like he predicted. She wanted the “prestige” clerk job.

No she didn’t?! Did I hear her right; she just rejected a job offer? She just indicated that she would not work as a stock person? She really believes that she has choices, options in this economy! Ok, whatever!

Yes, she did and I heard her right. Without missing a beat, without removing herself from the phone, without even giving it a thought, she did say it for the world to hear and her not to notice that even if she was offered, she would not be taking the job because it “ain’t good enough for me”.

How dare her, how dare her? Did she know that many successful “big” people learned their ropes the hard way; they paid their dues before they reached the mountaintop? Many begun small and made it big; many had to scrap walls to make it big; many had to pick up cotton to make it big. They started at the bottom and worked their way up. Christiane Amanpour, CNN Chief International Correspondent begun as a desk assistant on the Foreign Desk; P. Diddy started as an intern at New York’s Uptown Record; Sir Richard Branson of Virgin Atlantic begun selling records he made, out of the boot of his car to retail outlets in London, to name a few.

What rattled me the most was not her or her dim membrane; it was the mother’s who I thought was more interested in flaunting her “in heat” glands then polish her daughter’s lack of tact. She did not even scold, suggest or make her see that she does not have much to pick from in today’s market; she should have shown her the ropes and make her spot the truth. She needed to bestow some value on her daughter and could take the opportunity to do so but failed miserably.

I wish I knew how the show ended and what happened to the “job application” script but I don’t. You see, it was my turn to pay and out of the door I was.