I can't tell if I'm just a total curmudgeon or if social etiquette really has declined this much.

Both, probably.

I figure it's got to be somewhere in the middle. But it's starting to get to me and that's the part that's bothering me the most.

I'm leaving the pharmacy today, sitting at a red light after what should have been a quick in-and-out. It wasn't. First, I'd waited in line for my turn to use one of the tablets at the counter. You know, those setups where, after punching in your info and getting the time-intensive admin stuff out of the way, a pharmacy tech finally comes to help you. It's... ok, well actually it runs pretty smoothly—smooth enough, anyway. But that only seems to be the case for some folks.

Because I couldn't help but notice the older gentleman in front of me at the counter wasn't having such a seamless experience.  He had these hunched shoulders and a scowl that read somewhere between anger, exasperation, and defeat. Not his voice, though—that just sounded like anger.

When it was my turn, I got hit with an error message and was told to please get in the other line to wait for assistance. Then I wondered what my face looked like to the next crop of folks behind me as I shuffled past them.

"Looks like we have your prescriptions but they were never sent through... so they didn't get filled."

Oh, good. Great.

Perfect.

They told me they could do it then, which was nice, but it'd be about 15-20 minutes. Which was... fine. With time to kill I went to use the bathroom. Those public restrooms are never my first choice, but I hadn't been anticipating the extra waiting time. I really had to go. So I caved. I was focusing on easing my shoulders down into a more non-combative, normal-person position when the bathroom handle starts jiggling violently.

"Occupied" I say.

CLINK. CH-CH-CH.

"ONE MINUTE" I reply.

What the hell? Not even a fucking knock?

After washing my hands and suffering through one ridiculously ineffective dryer, I open the door. A woman, maybe in her early twenties, is glaring at me as if I've just hurled an insult at her. And I most definitely hadn't. I mean, not unless you count my inner monologue, which I'm not.

Whatever.

Have a nice life, lady.

So here I am, sitting in my truck at a red light, trying to figure out if I'm a total curmudgeon or if social etiquette really has declined this much. As those thoughts are swirling through my brain, the car in front of me starts rolling forward.

No... no way.

I watch their brake lights fade.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

With a rev of the engine, they pull through the intersection and drive past both "No Turn On Red" signs without a second's hesitation.

* * *

Is it just me??

onward.

For more on this daily column, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.