There I was, a few nights ago, at the Sarasota WalMart looking for light bulbs. I had slipped into my cynical me, condesceding toward all things redneck.
That particular version of me features a lot of head shaking and eye rolling. At trucks, sub-woofing their way through the parking lot and nearly running down people in their pajamas and self-propelled shopping carts. At missing teeth. Muffin tops. At gaudy tattoos on backs and legs and necks. Camo.
That me also specializes in mumbling things like "oh yeah, that's a nice outfit." Or seeing an especially odd couple and saying "mm hmm," as I walk past them, which only I can traslate into "you two are perfect for each other." I once said, "hot dogs are that way, lady."
The great thing about this attitude is that it reinforces that I am so above everyone else. Never mind that I might be buying Toasted Almond bars and windshield wipers. That's just a coincidence.
That night, I eventually found my way into the sporting goods department, where I was condescendingly thinking about how much rednecks love guns. Man, those hillbillies and their shotguns.
As I was looking into the case, I noticed a typical Walmart shopper - a man with a goatee in a white t-shirt, grey cotton sweat pants, and a camo baseball cap. A little overweight; shabby.
I turned, sensing he was too close. No one.
And then I realized the painful and surprising truth - it was me.
Man, I need to pull myself together.
Until then, I'm going out to my truck and eating one of these Toasted Almonds.
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