WARNING: This blog post is a rant. A rant about old people.
So Ashley and I quite like a good carboot, jumble sale or vintage fair. We like a good rummage (naughty, no inappropriate connotations here, thanks!) and so a vintage jumble sale at the weekend seemed great. I actually got dressed in this recent freezing weather, and we set out on a little adventure to locate the church hall at which this sale was held.
It started at 11, and we arrive at 10 minutes past and it’s already buzzing. We can already kind of smell a musty, old people smell, of denture cleaner and residential home pot pourri. And we aren’t even in the car park yet.
So we get to the window, and its like the hoard of middle-aged mums at the Next sale on Boxing Day. Just older women with second hand things. We exchange a thoughtful glance- it’s £1 each entry. Shall we risk it? We see another room teeming with excitement, so decide it looks decent enough.
We were wrong. So very wrong.
From previous blog posts, you may realise I suffer from Pedestrian pavement rage. It’s real, believe me. I cannot stand slow walkers, people who dilly dally from side to side, and most of all- the shover. Who thinks there place on the path is worth more than yours. Oh no, HOLD ME BACK, I just can’t stand it.
So you can imagine, this extremely busy environment was never going to end very well… So we pay, and we turn to the left. I’ve just been bumped into. Apology? No. Nope, none, nada. Nowhere to be heard. That’s 1.
We exit the small hall quickly but then abruptly (and then very slowly) join the troops, so it seemed, marching slower than a sloth into the main hall. It was in a square shape, going round in what was supposed to be an anti-clockwise direction. A rather rotund middle aged man has different ideas. He nearly takes me out trundling in the opposite direction. That’s 2.
I turn to Ashley with visibly gritted teeth, thinking ‘I will have to say something’; literally biting my tongue not to. So we move around a bit more; still painfully slowly of course. And the person in front of me stops. She just stops. No warning, JUST STOPS. So I walk into the back of her. I mean, where else was I to go?! She turns around and tuts. You can imagine my face. It’s of utter disbelief. HOW AM I BEING RUDE? YOU STOPPED ABRUPTLY, AHHH!!
So, by now I’m pretty ticked off. We reach the end of this hellish one-way track, moving like a slow moving shoal of fish. And I do this dramatic sigh, hoping everyone around hears it, in addition to my bitching “Why are people so rude? Just ask me to move!”
Now, this is the best one. We pop into the next room, although ‘pop’ may be the wrong use of word, since it took us a good minute to make it to the other side of the puny hall. And the woman behind me not only shoves me into the table and makes everything shake, but she stands adjacent to me, AND STILL THINKS IT’S OK TO LEAN UNDERNEATH ME TO GRAB A CRAPPY PAIR OF CLIP ON EARRINGS. THIS IS NOT OK!
So, when us young’uns are supposed to have some respect, perhaps our elders should set a good example.
Beware, rabid old ladies at jumbles. They’re stronger than they look, and move quicker than you’d think when they see a good bit of bric-a-brac. I will no longer fall for the cunning façade of old age.
… Sorry. Rant over.
BTW, I do love all my Grandparents, this is no dig on them haha, I’m sure they tick people off too!