Open Letter...

I call this post "An Open Letter to a Twenty-Something"

Dear Twenty-Something Girl at Wal-mart who was wearing the sunglasses and standing at the front of the line,

I can speak on the behalf of all of the people in line behind me (there were about 7 ppl behind me) when I say this: I wish you would have just let your cell phone vibrate in your purse.

We all stood there and watched as you put the checkout lady "on hold" while rifling through your purse, searching for the vibrating cell phone. None of us knew exactly what to do so we just stood in wild excitement as you combed the contents of your bag and fished out the phone. When you read it, you smiled. The text was apparently cute, because you smiled when you read it. The fact that you thought we should all wait behind you as you read the text caused us all to believe that something big was in the works. An announcement of some kind? A flight plan change? News from a doctor? Since you didn't scream out in emotional anguish, or dash madly out of the store, or dial 9-1-1 immediately, we all safely assumed that there was no emergency. We were correct in our assumption, weren't we? WEREN'T WE!? You smiled and we all stood. And waited. And waited. The line in which we stood was frozen in time and somehow, at the same time, revolved around you. You were the sun, the life-giving sun, and we were planets locked within the prison called gravity. As the phone vibrated, the orbits, our orbits, ceased and life ceased. Our lives ceased to move on while you read your phone.

Eventually you put your phone away and invited the check-out lady back into your life. A collective sigh of relief gushed forth and the planets began their revolutions. You swiped your card, signed the little sign-thingy, took your bags and receipt and pranced out into the parking lot and fresh air and vehicle. The rest of us continued to stand in line, a little more late for whatever we were going to do.

Let me tell you this: If I ever see you again (especially in any kind or form of line where I am behind you) and your phone begins to vibrate in the deep, dark recesses of your bag, you better not even start to undo the bag's clasp. If you do, I will forcibly take your bag from your tan little claws, empty its contents onto the floor, spy your phone, and kick it so it slides under the women's clothing racks. No one will be hurt and I hope not to damage your phone, but I'm not waiting in line for you to read and respond to a text ever again. Ever.

Signed,

The Collective Group of Planets