“So, how are you?”

Did you ever notice that some people are just TOO happy all the time? I mean, I consider myself to be a happy person, no real complaints. That being said, I’m complaining constantly. About everything. Like today, when I braved the supermarket with a low-grade fever because we were down to the bare minimum and even though Maverick and I ate out all weekend, and Bianca always manages to fend for herself, Charles was about to morph into Jose Ole and I was literally frightened when he told me I was out of “Pam” and he was having trouble getting his quesadillas off the baking sheet and he really prefers to make them in the oven as opposed to the microwave. So I drag myself out of bed, trying to make excuses in my head for why my lousy kids don’t ever come along to help me, since they always have something to say about what I did or did not purchase, and meander through the Foodtown in a fog because I left my shopping list on the counter at home. I text the kids to text it to me when they get out of bed, but I get no response, so I have to recreate the list in my mind, knowing full well that I’m forgetting whatever were the three most important things. For safe measure I double back and grab some canned soup (in case what I’ve shopped for doesn’t amount to even a single dinner), toilet paper (on the strong possibility that someone is using the last role at this very minute) and tampons (because when your in your mid-forties, you never know). Then I thoughtfully choose the check out line that does not have the very sweet and friendly challenged man doing the bagging. Not because I’m mean to emotionally challenged people, the way you think I’m mean to midgets, but because I am a control freak about bagging. I have a system that works for me. I like my bags organized by the final destination of their contents: pantry, freezer, cabinet, laundry closet, fruit drawer, veggie bin, etc., etc. I also am trying to be “green,” and even though I never remember the reusable shopping bags that are on the floor of my car, I try to make up for it by loading up the plastic bags nice and full and heavy. I am pretty strong, and it’s fewer trips back and forth to the car. Anyway, this man, Mark, means well I’m sure, but it makes me crazy that he only puts two or three things in a bag, completely randomly…like a carton of eggs with a big can of tomatoes. I’m usually pretty good at avoiding his line, but last month he must have had on some new, quiet shoes made for detectives because one minute he was two registers down, and the next second he was right next to me. UGH. I knew that I had only ten minutes once I got back home to put everything away, so I needed my system. So I said in the nicest way possible, “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t mind bagging my own stuff!” And man, oh, man, I guess it wasn’t nice enough because he turned on the heels of his detective shoes and stormed off, and I’m not positive but I think he may have directed an obscenity or two at me. I felt pretty awful, but I was pretty glad that I got rid of him too.

But back to today. So I find the line that doesn’t have Mark and I load up my stuff pretty quickly because the woman ahead of me doesn’t have too much. And just as she finishes counting out her singles and her change and her coupons and double checks that she got double points, and then decides that she does want to run back and grab that crumb cake that was on special, would I mind?, she drops her roasted chicken. And the greasy juices pour out all over the floor. And she picks it up and starts to head out. WTF?? I’m watching to see if she is actually going to just walk away from the mess she just made, that is about to put my life in jeopardy because I’m not that sure-footed or coordinated, and if I land my foot on even a drop of that chicken grease I’m going down like a bag of dirt. Which might not be all bad, considering I would sue the crap out of the Foodtown and maybe all my financial problems would be solved. I’m actually considering the possibility of this for a couple of seconds, but then remember that I’ve got what is sure to be a winning Power Ball ticket in my purse, so I stare her down before I point out the mess she made to the check-out girl. The customer then decides that she is owed a new chicken, and someone runs to get that, and the poor check-out girl is wiping up the mess with paper towels. And the customer is just standing there watching her, like she had nothing to do with it all! Amazing. Her new chicken arrives and she’s off, despite the fact that lowly-check-out-lady is still wiping the grease with crappy paper towels and the announcement for “a clean up at register six, stat” is being ignored. I’m told to “stand back” until it’s cleaned up, and now I’m starting to realize that this is akin to the BP oil spill because all the cashiers are abuzz, uttering phrases like “OSHA regulations” and “chemical cleansers” and “cat litter” and “these paper towels suck.” I’ll tell you what sucks. My luck.

So if you asked, “Hey D. Parker, how was your morning?” I’d tell you this story and then I’d answer, “My morning sucked.” I wouldn’t tell you this story and then say, “But my morning was fantastic! Really!” And this is my point, believe it or not, that I’m starting to notice that there is a large number of folks who act too damn happy, and everything in their world is just the best, no matter what. Their kids are great, they’re just so in love with their husband, they had just the most fantastic time last night, their entree was the best thing to ever come out of a kitchen, they just are in love with their new colorist and their trainer and their car and their job, and their dog never chews anything or shits in the wrong part of the yard and they love love love that new book that you hated. I’ll tell you what: these people are all a bunch of cross-eyed liars. And here’s some advice for all you liars out there: when someone asks you how you are, or how your kids are or how you like your fancy new whatever, they don’t really want to know. They are just being polite, and the proper response is “Good, thanks, how are you?” Unless you have something stupid to complain about.