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So last night, at the Container Store (which is exactly what it sounds like, if you’re not familiar), I’m in line and when I’m next, and shuffle down to the open register, the woman clerking it closes it and apologizes. I shuffle back to the line (which formed while I was shuffling, so those people in it didn’t realize I had been in line) and get in the back of it. The clerk woman followed me and said, rather sternly, “You were in the front. You need to get back into the front.”

I wasn’t in a hurry, and I didn’t want to be rude, and it wasn’t a big deal, and I tried to say all of these things to her, but she was really kind of hostily insisting I get in front of all these purchase-laden working parents. I didn’t. I stayed at my place in the back of the line (which was short, I was third) and she kind of muttered something under her breath I think was “If you wanna be stupid, fine, be stupid.”

“Polite,” maybe, some people would say I was being. “Appropriate,” I would say I was being. “Stupid,” yeah, maybe a little, but I wasn’t in a hurry, and other people clearly were. They had families to get home to and dinners to cook and I had to get home to eat leftover pizza and wrap presents. Not exactly high-stress activities.

And then, all three registers cleared at once and all of us in line got to go simultaneously. So I waited zero extra minutes. Being stupid. Or doing the right thing. Whatever.

Dad says it’s $343 if you punch someone in South Carolina to get out of jail (not counting if they sue you for medical expenses due to your punch, lawyer fees, etc.). There are some people I’d happily pay $343 to punch. Not that Container Store woman though, I’d just try to keep apologizing to her and explain that sometimes, yeah, I want to be stupid.