Rain Man

I was in the supermarket line yesterday morn, 6:30 am or so. There's only one line open, so we're all piled together from all walks of life-- local construction workers finishing their shifts, sleepless office workers like me, to mysterious folk who feel compelled to buy a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a tub of Cool Whip first thing in the morning.

At any rate, I'm standing there waiting my turn and scanning the headlines of the news items that truly impact our lives. How Angelina stole Brad. Get Fit by Eating Lard and Watching TV -- ask us how! Suddenly, I'm jarred from my reverie. "NO WAY! THAT %W@^&!!" I resist the urge to turn around, thinking, poor guy, he is suffering from Tourette's. But just like any rubber-necker on a highway accident scene, my will power gives out and I gawk. This man had freshly pressed pants and a starched dress shirt on, and appeared to be a typical white-collar commuter. Save, of course, for the fact that his arms were flailing wildly, and he was blurting out a stream of expletives as his face grew redder and redder. Then it stopped. The man stopped talking, instantly calmed down, and started scanning the checkout line magazines.

Turns out he has a Bluetooth earpiece on and was talking wirelessly via a cell phone tucked away in a pocket somewhere. Y'know, call me Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer, but those things are just plain disturbing.