What I Think About That 3/5

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&quot;What I Think About That, with Hal Grumpkins&quot;

Dearest Readers,

You know what I hate? Rude people.

There was a great philosopher back in ancient times. She said &quot;If you want to see the true measure of a man, watch how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.&quot; Boy, if that ain't true I don't know what is.

This past Sunday, Rodney and I were down at the hardware store picking up a few odds and ends. I asked Rodney to come with me to help with the carrying. I think he was happy to get out of the house, but it's hard to tell with him.

So we finish up our shopping and head towards the checkout scanners at the back. I've got a couple of carbon-fiber two-by-fours in my hands, and Rodney's loaded down with these huge bags of polymer pellets for the assembler. This young woman's working the imager, making sure nobody's trying to sneak anything past. She sees me and Rodney and says, &quot;You know you should upgrade, sir! We've got a special running all weekend!&quot;

Now readers, I know Rodney's not as shiny as he once was, and his vocabulary's only a couple thousand words, but he's been with me for longer than this young lady's been alive. And I figure anything—human or bosonic—that can put up with me clattering around the house for that many years has got to be family.

I say &quot;No thank you,&quot; and keep walking.

&quot;For serious,&quot; says the girl, &quot;We got great prices. These old ones can't haul that much. He probably doesn't even have the pro-pree-oh-ception module, and even our cheap models got that.&quot; And then, dear readers, she reaches out and pokes Rodney right in the chest.

Now Rodney tries to right himself, but with all those heavy bags he's got no chance. His arms jerk out and then down he goes. Not a peep out of him either, bless his soul.

Now I am not an angry man, but let me tell you, I was angry that day. And not at the scanner girl. She was proper mortified, and was nothing but apologies after.

I was angry at the crowd that laughed at him. Poor Rodney, doing his best to not drop my stuff, and not a soul reaches out to help him. He falls and it's all chuckles from the crowd, like he screwed up a juggling trick. Those people would have dumped him in the trash if he hadn't gotten back up. Grabbed a new model and been right on their way without a thought.

I know Rodney's just a bunch of metal and wires and bosons flying around in his head. Thousands of other units just like him get recycled every day, replaced with newer, shinier models, and nobody bats an eye. They say he doesn't have feelings, and I shouldn't treat him like that.

But you know what he said, when he picked himself up off the ground? He didn't get mad at the girl. He didn't even notice the people laughing. Just turned to me and apologized for dropping my bags.

Rodney's good people. And if how we treat our inferiors is how we get measured, well, I don't think we're measuring up.

And that's just what I think about that.

Hal Grumpkins