That's nosey. Not to be confused with Noisy, which this place is definitely not. That is unless you are talking about the noise and sound of gossip and twenty questions of which this place is full of. In that case it is indeed Noisy. In fact it's really loud! Because you can't go anywhere without someone asking you what you are doing, spending your money on, eating, mailing, dating, driving, drinking.......hmmm....
Sometimes I just want to slip in and out of town, do whatever business I need to do and get home quick. Impossible! Prying eyes, prying questions.
As a test today I went to the post office. I had 12 padded manilla envelopes to mail. My daughter asked me if I wanted her to go in with me. I said, "Yeah for support...just watch this." There was a line and there was a woman behind me. Of course I knew her. I know everyone. I've lived here for 21 years.
I had the padded envelopes in a box because they were too many to hold in my arms. "What do you got in there? Looks interesting" said the woman as she cast a glance into the box. As I mentioned, prying eyes, prying questions.
I got up to the counter and the clerk start weighing out my packages. She weighed them one by one. Weigh, stamp. Weigh stamp. The twenty questions started. She tried to make small talk. "Are these things people order from the internet?" "No" I replied. I have learned, in a small little place to just answer the question at hand and not elaborate or explain. However that does not mean the questions will stop.
The clerk tried to fish me out. Her curiosity was on the hook and I hadn't satisfied it. She tried to bait me some more:"I don't have a computer except this one I use at the post office." "Hmmm" I said. "That's interesting."
The clerk continued to weigh the packages, one by one. Weigh, stamp, weigh stamp, weigh stamp. She gave me the tally and I pulled out my card. By now there was several more people in the post office, my mound of stamped and weighed 12 padded envelopes and a postal clerk whose curiosity I had failed to satisfy.
My payment made, the clerk pulled my receipt out of the machine in a grande flourish, trying one last time to reel me in. "Thank you very much. You get the grand prize for the longest receipt of the day."
"Your welcome." I said and walked out, moving the next person further up in line to their postal interrogation.
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2 comments:
Well said.
Sadly, by not telling a story about whatever was in the packages, even a made-up story, the vindictive gossips in a small town will create their own tales. "Oh, she's been sending crack cocaine through the mail for years." "Crack? No, I heard it was pornography." "Really? I understood it cash stolen from the VFW last week..."
I've overheard some incredible whoopers from the town wags while quietly sipping my morning coffee. For me, it's one of the worst things about living in a small town.
Life sometimes goes full circle. I remember Mom telling me that as a teenager one of the things she most enjoyed about moving from the small town she grew up in to the big town of Columbus, Ohio was that "everyone didn't know your business". She didn't care for small town living. But I thought it would be "more connected" than living in a big city.
Mom was right.
I'll have you know I've moved off this island about 5 or 6 times (that I've heard), that guy I was seen picking up at the ferry twice (so he could first look at my car, and twice pick it up because he bought it) is my boyfriend (that one really got around) and ummm.... these are just off the top of my head. ha ha....
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