By Kenneth L. Hardin

It’s only been a few weeks into the new year and I’m struggling to be that new kinder, gentler version of me I lied to myself I would be this year. It’s not my fault, people are out here fake living their best-worst lives while infringing on the good nature of those who are simply trying to live.

On the last day of last year, I sat in conversation with myself trying to figure out what man I wanted to be when the calendar turned over. I told myself that for personal growth, I needed to be more tolerant of the cognitively feeble minded and try to see the world through their narrow warped perspective. What I learned from that exercise in pointless contemplative reasoning was that I should never engage in high level character assessment and behavior modification while sick with the flu and taking prescription codeine cough syrup.

I reverted back to the newer, old, intolerant me last week as I took my weekly torturous jaunt to the main post office here. I would rather paint my entire house with a Q-tip than visit that location. It has nothing to do with the staff as they’re always friendly and engaging. I simply hate having to endure being accosted by the parking lot predators approaching your car begging for money as soon as you pull in. My latest encounter was last week with a man walking up to cars, knocking on windows and begging for money. He tended to only approach women as they walked in and out of the building. When I entered his orbit, he asked to clean my windshield because his daughter was in the hospital and he needed money. Seeing that he had on sneakers that cost significantly more than mine, the old intolerant 2023 me told him to get the h*** away from me.

When I came out, he had cornered an older lady on the side of the building. She looked and sounded uncomfortable, visibly searching for a way to exit the situation. I approached them and told the beggar he was breaking the law. I pointed to the “no loitering” sign and told him that if he didn’t leave, I would call the police. He left that parking lot and walked over to the other one across from KFC. I drove around to that lot and started snapping pictures of him. He yelled at me, “Why don’t you leave me the f*** alone!” I yelled back, “Why don’t you leave these people the f*** alone!” He quickly slithered away. A gentleman in a black SUV rolled down his window and shared he was watching him and was about to do the same. As I drove away, I initiated another conversation with myself, telling me that trying to be Kenny 2.0 is a waste of time and energy.

The request for a personal encore didn’t take long. The following day, I was at the big box store down the hill from the post office. Even there, you have to maneuver past the beggars posted up at the entrance and exits into the parking lot. My car doesn’t recognize beggars and won’t even slow down to read their crudely made signs. The issue that brought out my resistance to idiocy on this trip had to do with the poor customer service posing as technological advancement and expediency. I find it outrageous that it takes you longer to check out than it does to shop there. I’ve spent 15 minutes walking the aisles braving the frigid temperatures inside the store only to stand in line nearly a half hour waiting to pay for my selections.

Because I’ve not wanted to celebrate my June birthday waiting in line, there have been times I’ve relented and conformed to the misguided mythical belief that self-checkouts lessen wait times and improve customer satisfaction. I’ve read the studies that support this fable, but I know a piece of paper will lay motionless and allow you to freely write anything on it. My biggest source of irritation comes when customer lines extend from the front register back to the clothing area on the traditional checkouts, and there are 2-3 employees huddled at the self-checkouts, but no one feels compelled to open additional registers. To add insult, they put well-meaning seniors in enforcement positions asking to verify your receipt. I never stop. How dare you ask me to stand in line for a millennium with a few items or become an unpaid pseudo employee, but then don’t give me the courtesy of acknowledging I did in fact endure endless hell to pay for the items.  I thank you for forcing low-wage employees to care about your profit margins but not at the expense of my dignity.

It’s early in the year and I’m just getting warmed up.

Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.