How many times have you overhead a conversation at the grocery store debating the merits of certain products, and you wanted to scream out "NO, NO you idiot! That totally sucks rocks!" Well, you probably have a much better vocabulary than I do, and don't think of the phrase "totally sucks rocks." But at any rate, do you try to enlighten the proletariat?
Or, when you see someone reaching for the most processed, least food-like boxed dinner (like Hamburger Helper), do you feel like slapping and shaking them?
I might need anger management therapy.
No, I don't actually DO any of that, but I sure think about it. Sometimes I will even offer my opinion if someone looks hesitant, confused, or if she pauses just a little too long.
Once an elderly lady was peering intently at packages of frozen chicken breast. She seemed to be reading the labels, so I commented to her that it was a shame that we had to pay for water and chemicals since all the chicken was "enhanced." The woman looked at me blankly, so I pointed to the small print that said "may contain up to a 15% solution." The blank stare didn't change, so I tried one more time to explain how the enhanced chicken wasn't less expensive than unadulterated chicken if you factored in the amount of water you were buying - plus it was chock full o' chemicals. The woman nodded quickly and scurried away, presumably to escape the freaky chicken evangelist. (She kept the chicken.)
Sometimes people seem grateful for the insight I provide (especially guys - although sometimes I think they are just trying to strike up a conversation). A few people have thanked me profusely for explaining something or teaching them something new. But more often than not, if I offer an unsolicited opinion, I get a weak smile and the person slinks away. Recently I've been keeping my big trap shut, even when it pains me to do so. For instance, this week while passing through the "international" aisle, a man and what I assumed to be his daughter (please let that have been his daughter) were looking at pasta. They picked up a bag of Delallo, which I consider to be a mediocre pasta, and the man said, "well it's from Italy." So are Fiats, but they aren't very good! (Actually I owned a Fiat and loved it dearly, but then again I have a live-in mechanic. Anyway, you get the point.) The sad thing was, the Barilla was right behind them, is a superior product, and it was even on sale. They paid twice as much for half the product. But I just walked on, because I know that evangelism isn't appreciated, no matter how knowledgeable the provider.