To sort of quote Darth Vader. . .
The bad thing about being a slightly hippie-minded person is that you tend to run into the same bunch of people all over the place. At least if you live in a small town, anyway.
So there's this guy by the name of "Tom," which (no offense to any of you Toms who is actually a normal human being) in my somewhat limited experience is a name that only rather strange men seem to have. Or I guess it's that boys named Tom grow up to be rather strange men. Or maybe it's that boys named Thomas, who choose to go by the nickname 'Tom' grow up to be losers. Or it could simply be that I have met all the People Named Tom who are either deranged, losers, or have the personality of wallpaper paste, and the rest (whom I have yet to meet) are lovely people. Anyway. . .
Let's start with how I know his name is Tom. It was kind of a no-brainer, (Mace Windu's first words) because a couple of weeks ago when I first encountered him, a child at the park went from whining it at him to literally screaming it at him. His response? To come and cater to her every whim of course. And when she started calling him names? Well, pretending to cry was his response of choice. It was pretty icky and certainly did not inspire my respect. He then proceeded to show his Prowess at All Things by beating the little boys in the group at everything and gloating about it. Did I mention that Tom is about 50-something? I sense insecurity. I eventually came to the disappointing (38 seconds in) conclusion that he was a part of a homeschool group that had come to the park that day.
So of course he showed up at the co-op on Friday, where he proved to be just as icky as he had seemed at the park. I noticed him, of course, and carefully avoided eye contact (and anything else that could be misinterpreted as an overture of -- well, acceptance of him as a part of the gene pool,) but the woman at the counter beside me wasn't as well-informed as I was and thus, when some utterance came out of Tom's mouth, rather than simply becoming more absorbed in her tallying (as I did) she looked up and answered him. At which point he asked, "How did you know I was talking to you?"
"You were looking at me," she said.
He then proceeded to mock her with that false sort of humour that has just enough undercurrent of meanness to let you know what sort of person you're really dealing with. Do you know the kind I mean? If not, consider yourself lucky. :) "I just said it, and then looked around to see who would look at me." He continued, but at that point I stopped listening because on some visceral level he bothers me too much for me to afford the nasal sound of his voice any more lodging in my head. I mean, who mocks someone who has been trying to help them? People like Tom, that's who. Maybe I should have said something to Tom about what a rude ass hat he is. I think I'd like to call someone an ass hat just once. ^_^ But I'm not that good at confrontation. On the other hand, I'm sure (most unfortunately) that I'll be seeing him around again, which gives me plenty of time to plan. . .