Project STFU

Let me preface this by saying that I come from what many would say is a different world. A stark contrast to this area I reside in today. Growing up in the left coast I was privy to certain aspects of living which suited me just fine. I would walk the streets and noone would make eye contact, you'd have conversations with strangers that were brief and merely topical. The only place I had ever seen in which a patron was having in depth conversations with a store keeper was at Mr. Drucker's store, and it was mainly between Mr. Drucker and Arnold. In short people minded their own business. Flash to present in this land of 10,000 lakes I find talking to be what they mean when they say "Minnesota Nice". The amount of time people spend talking about the mundane and trying to dig into everyone's deepest darkest secrets is something to marvel at, or in my case want to take a sledgehammer to. Now don't get me wrong, I'm as friendly as they come. I enjoy the politeness of a hello and how to do when passing on the street or hallway. Given my affinity for every social network known to man may even give the impression that I love sharing my private life. Just dropping my pants and letting my naughty bits fly for the world to see. However like the old book says, look but don't touch. Just cause it may seem like I'm open and free doesn't mean you can roll up on me and persist in thinking you know me, or try to dig out some hot dish you can later use to spread around like butter on a dry biscuit and pass judgdment. As the good book says only God can judge, although I find it funny that many who toss out that line spend their free time watching shows like Judge Judy. I'll be honest, I'll judge you, but don't go thinking you can judge me.

Anywho as I was saying before I went on a rant within a rant, talking is peachy keen but like alcohol only in moderation and at the right place and time. One case in point I have a group of individuals that work near me at my day job. (Yeah, writing isn't my day job, what a shocker.) I use the term work when it comes to those yahoots about as loosely as MC Hammer wears pants. This group of middle aged men is what I imagine that show the View is like. Cackling old hens spending the day talking about every single thought that jumps into their heads, and working feverishly to uncover some deep secrets to start some scuttlebutt on. It doesn't stop there though, oh no. They have roles within that chicken coop. One considers himself a Fox News correspondent and takes pride in dispensing any and all mundane information he has in order to get a rise out of his counterparts. Another recites every computer related magazine article he's read the night before. Then another one in this trio of slackers spends his time dishing out lawn mower care tips. I don't even own a lawnmower. For some reason much like this states alcohol addiction they are extremists at all things chatty. Like I said before or didn't cause I got stuck on a rant, talking is fine when it's the appropriate time and the place. All day at work not really really cool. When the person you're talking to answers you with very brief answers, stares off into space, or even says he has to go pee about five times, that means back off and shut it. I mean what is that feeling of accomplishment like at the end of the work day. "Uffda that was a tough day at the office. I found out how to detune a Briggs and Stratton small gas engine, and I made my neighbor cry after I got a confession out of him about how he cries everytime he sees a parachute cause it was such a wonderful game to play. I sure accomplished alot, I should get a raise."

Now back to point of this rambling. I frequent a nearby store which will rename nameless when I'm in the need for provisions like soda and such. I've been in there several times and always noticed an unusually long line at the solitary register at least 7-10 people deep. At first I paid it no mind as I stood there with my boxes of soda and HoHos (remember what I said about judging), starting to whince as the boxes became heavier and heavier as I waited. Patiently I waited despite limbs turning colors and sweat streaming down my face. I figured well it's a busy day. As fate would have it the person at the register liked to have chats with every customer. Come on now, I can't be the only one that notices the long line of people waiting to get the heck out of the store. I mean there was someone damn near crying whilst damn near crushing a box of Preperation H in her hand whilst waiting in line. However much like the person at the register every customer that came up engaged in conversation that ranged in topics from what do you plan to do with these purchases, coupon clipping tips, best summer hot dishes (casserole),  to Sarah Palin all the while oblivious to the others waiting. After a half hour when it was my turn at the register I was short and put on my California attitude face, but it failed to stop this freakshow from asking about 100 questions. Once I finally got home and the feeling came back to my limbs I felt something had to be done but how does one get someone so obtuse to shut the hell up. Then it came to me during one of my flashbacks of the atrocity while I was in the shower,  that as typical left me weeping in the fetal position (more on that some other time). I will purchase random items that make little sense or have shock value appealing to what I call the WTF factor. This way he'll be stunned much like I am whenever I hear someone say Al Franken used to be funny, and he'll be at a loss for words. I'll call this brain child Project STFU.

Well thus far my couple of subtle attempts have done nothing but make the worker more talkative whilst drawing WTF looks from other patrons. However I refuse to give up. Time to kick it up a notch.

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