Why not?
Today Marie has decided to celebrate her birthday with our friends from Etampes by organizing a “drinks and snacks party.” I know, it sounds a bit ridiculous when you put it like that, but it's usually a really cool thing to do.
So I head to the Grand Frais shopping area to pick up a few things I need, including some poop bags for dog walks. I enter Maxi Zoo, whose name (Maxi) is no exaggeration. At the checkout, there's a woman who must be in her fifties and who, probably for the sake of consistency, is probably about five feet tall. She is chatting, smartphone in hand, about which dog food she would like to buy, but not this time, next time, when she'll come back to Etampes, because she has seen that Maxi Zoo is cheaper now... Well, cheaper than Whatever, but yes, Whatever, on the internet, don't you know it? She saw the ad again yesterday on Facebook, but she's not sure what she clicked on her smartphone because now she can't find the discount and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I find my packet of "poopbags" in the middle of the store and head back to the checkout... where she's still blocking the way with her stories, since she has one or two items for today that have already been scanned but not yet paid for. After five minutes, I politely ask if I can pay so they can get on with it. At that point, the lady looks down at me from her height of five feet and says:
— “Oh, but of course, Monsignor… if you're in such a greaaaaat hurry, go ahead!”
I clearly understood the irony in his tone and noticed her falsely reverent gestures, but I replied that I did indeed have a few things to run after, hence my request.
Then, out of nowhere, that thing happens:
— “Oh, but you know, we can fuss and bother as much as we want, we'll all die in the end, and you too, sir... (mocking tone).”
And now, I know it's mean, but I couldn't help indulging in this little pleasure, quiet, smooth, light:
— "I think I know yes: I have cancer."
— "Ah... uh... rfrm... rho..."
The saleswoman, very cleverly, leads her over to the shelves to look for the price of the kibble, in search of the lost discount, while another salesperson takes care of my payment. Even though I had my back turned to her, I could sense her embarrassment, her doubts (does he really have cancer or is he just messing with me?), the discreet amusement of the person accompanying her, and the efficiency of the store staff in defusing an awkward situation.
It was the first time I had done that since I found out about my condition, especially as I didn't want to talk about it too much, but I felt like I was in the shoes of Benjamin Malaussene at the customer service desk of his department store, except that I wasn't pretending. I could have said something like “Death to morons", but ridicule doesn't kill: it splatters, which is more fun. 😉
