Overshare Ambush

I have been the victim of an overshare ambush twice in the past three weeks. A what now, you ask? An overshare ambush. It's when you unwittingly step on a hornet's nest of information by asking a simple question. It's happened to you, hasn't it? For me, both of these ambushes took place at local retail outlets.

Incident number one went a little like this:
Checker: hwmmhdhwh
Me: Excuse me?
Checker: How are you ma'am?
Me: I'm great. How are you?

Let's pause here for a moment, since this is where things veer south to crazy town on TMI airways. When you ask a stranger "How are you?" It *should* elicit one response: I'm fine or I'm ok or Great! How are you? Something in that vein. And maybe that's rude, me asking you how you are when I don't really want to know how you are doing. But I didn't make that rule, I'm just following society's norms. When we lived in New York, I noticed that people sometimes replaced "Hi" with "How are you?" and they didn't want you to respond at all. And that kind of annoyed me at first, until I realized the little switcheroo. Anyway. I ask, How are you, you say I'm fine. Moving on.

Checker: Ugh. I'm having serious, like, man issues. At first he was texting me "Ohhh you're my valentine. And, like, I like you so much. All day. And now he hasn't returned my texts for like a DAY. I mean, don't say I'm your valentine and then not talk to me. Who does that? Like, what am I supposed to think about that?
Me: (Pause. THIS IS NOT FOLLOWING THE AFOREMENTIONED PROTOCOL) Oh, men. They're so confusing.
Checker: I know! And it's fine because, he's like, driving to Alabama all day so I don't have to like, think about him, like, all the time, but I still do, because I'm a female, and it's like in our DNA or something to overthink things. But at least now he's far away. Whatever. He's like, so stupid. Why do I even care?
Me: Yeah, who needs him? (Can I please leave now?)
Checker: Yeah, seriously! Thanks for shopping at Home Depot!

You know, that reads like a conversation between me and a girlfriend. Except, we were total strangers and this happened over a quart of KILZ primer and a package of sandpaper.

Incident number two was yesterday, also in the checkout lane.

Bagger: Wow. Your baby's cute.
Me: Aw, thanks.
Lucy: Thhhppppt.
Bagger: My brother's got 4 kids and the youngest is about her age.
Me: So, you do a lot of babysitting then? (Smile, uncomfortable laugh)
Bagger: Nah. I do enough of that for my dad. Yeah, I'm getting him a real nice birthday gift this year: I'm having him committed.
Me: To...(insert proverbial hornet's nest) to what?
Bagger: A, like, mental health care facility. He's totally whacko.
Me: So, you think it's dementia?
Bagger: Nah, more like PTSD, and a laundry list of other things.
Me: Wo-
Bagger: Yeah, he's a real awesome guy. So, that'll be fun. And he's so controlling to my mother. Like everything she does...Yeah, such a jerk.
Me: Wow. That must be...stressful.
Bagger: Yeah. Have a nice one!
Me: Um, good luck with that?

Here's the thing. I've got a real soft spot for people in the customer service industry. I've had countless low-paying people treat you like gah-bage jobs and I know what it's like when people see right through you. So, you know...I kind of care about how they are doing when I ask, but seriously this is a craz-y. Do I look like a psychiatrist? Stop ambushing me, people!