I judge people. I do, all the time. I'm judgy. I am Judgy McJudgerson. And I enjoy it. I enjoy it a lot. Superiority is one of life's finer pleasures, and I have it down to an art. One of my favorite kind of people to judge are women who try too hard to be pretty or young. We have a regular customer in our store who looks about fifty, because she is about fifty, no matter how hard she tries to plump it away.
Everything about this poor woman is fake. She is: Fakey-lady. From the top of the brown roots in her fried orange hair to the impossibly high heels that force her to take tiny steps like she lived in the time of foot-binding, she has completely enslaved herself to a false standard of beauty. She has puffy injected lips, big, obviously fake boobs, and her skin has been deep-tanned, probably every day, for at least twenty years. She wears nothing but short shorts and skirts and low-cut shirts.
She doesn't just look silly, she talks silly, too. Every time Fakey-lady comes to the register, she brings a whole pile of books, but then only buys one or two, taking about ten minutes every time to decide which ones, asking the cashier's opinion of each one, whether we've read them or not. (We don't like it when customers try to make us choose for them, we imagine that if they don't like our recommendations, they will come back and complain.)
So obviously, I think I know Fakey-lady. I think I've got her pegged. Especially after I rang her up myself, and she did her little decider-dance with me and made me have to call up two extra cashiers to get through the rest of the customers. But after all the other customers were gone, and we finally decided on two books (and then left and came back for more money (and then added a tote bag to her purchase)), she managed, just like all the others, to surprise me.
See, even though her total was still under one hundred dollars, she handed me just over one hundred, and a random amount of change. And I knew I was wrong about her. Usually, when a customer hands me a random, over-large amount of cash, it's a guy, and he hands me the money and looks at his shoes and says: "Sorry, I'm an engineer." Because when someone pays like that, what they are looking for is even change. And indeed, Fakey-lady's change was exactly $30.30.
So I was happy that Fakey-lady is now Math-in-her-head-lady, but on the other hand, it makes me really sad. Just because she's smart doesn't mean her life is perfect, or that she is immune to believing silly things like that tanning and lip injections will make her young and beautiful. So now, what silly things am I doing and believing?