Grinds My Gears: Aristocracy

It’s just a friggin’ supermarket, don’t come in here and tell the whole world you’re the queen…. of the world. You’re not fucking Rose. Or maybe, you just rose from the dead.


I wasn’t really present when this situation happened. It was just told by a friend.

So she was in line, all ready to pay her groceries when suddenly an old woman approached her, showed a baby picture and said, “Do you know her? I’m her grandmother. I took care of her ever since she was a baby. I’m the one who brings her to school everyday.”

Not only that, as my friend was just nodding and saying her empathetic response, “Oh, oh, oh. Really? Okay.” Ms. Queen of the World added more information that I don’t think was essential throughout this grocery conversation.


“Know what, I know all of the cashiers here. I actually go here almost everyday because I just live nearby. Oh, and did you know that the owner of this supermarket is a friend of my dad? Anyway, I’m just so saddened with what happened to the career of my grandchild because that kind of process was very painful for her, but still I’m proud of her. I’m so proud that she married  a very handsome and rich guy that she doesn’t have to work that much anymore because he’s a good provider. Well also, we come from a family who provides really well. It’s really in our blood, being born rich.”

My friend mentioned that she and the cashier kept looking at each other, so annoyed.


I mean guys, what’s the point? So what if you know a lot of people or so what if they know you back? What does it prove? Does that make you a better person? Does that make you the first in line now because, well you know the owner?

From what I know, bragging doesn’t make you a better person.

Or does it make you sound remarkably pitiful?

Tell me.

What does being the noveau riche make you?


10 thoughts on “Grinds My Gears: Aristocracy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s