You know that feeling when you just… see something, and it just *clicks* into place, but not in a good way? Like, suddenly, everything you’ve been feeling, all that simmering frustration, just coalesces around this one tiny, seemingly insignificant moment, and you realize it’s not just a moment, it’s… everything. That’s kind of what happened today, or I guess yesterday now, given the time. I was at the deli, which, if you live around here, you know it’s basically the only option for anything beyond basic groceries, and even then, it’s not exactly a sprawling metropolis of choices. It’s always crowded, always a bit chaotic, and honestly, the staff are usually stretched thin, which I get, I really do. Everyone’s just trying to make it through the day, right? But sometimes, sometimes you just see things that make you… wonder. So, I’m waiting, right? Just trying to get some cold cuts for lunch tomorrow, because someone said something about wanting that specific kind, and I’m trying to be accommodating, trying to avoid… the whole thing. Anyway, I’m standing there, and there’s this older woman, probably late sixties, maybe early seventies, just ahead of me. She’s got her little wheeled cart, the kind grandmothers use, and she’s just waiting patiently. And I mean *patiently*. Like, an almost unsettling level of calm in a place that usually feels like a cage fight for a decent baguette. And then it starts. First, this guy, probably my age, maybe a little younger, breezes in, goes straight to the counter, and just… starts talking to the person behind it. Like, he’s invisible, or we are. And the deli person, they just… serve him. Just like that. No "excuse me, there are people waiting," no nothing. The grandmother just… shifts her weight a little, a tiny sigh, barely audible. And I’m standing there, feeling this heat rising in my chest, because it’s not the first time I’ve seen that happen there, or really, anywhere in this town. Then, not five minutes later, it happens AGAIN. This time it’s a woman with a stroller, probably in her late twenties, early thirties. Same thing. Just cuts in, acts like she’s the only one who exists, and gets served. The grandmother just… folds her hands over the handle of her cart, looking at the floor now. And I can feel my own hands clenching, because this is the kind of stuff that just… it gets under your skin, you know? It’s not just about the deli. It’s about everything. Because it makes you think about how people treat each other, how they just… decide who matters and who doesn’t. And I keep thinking about someone telling me that I need to be more assertive, that I let people walk all over me, and I’m watching this woman, who’s probably lived a whole life, raised kids, seen things, and she’s just letting these younger people, these people who probably haven’t even paid off their student loans yet, just… dismiss her. And I think, is that what I look like? Is that what I’m becoming? It’s just… a gut punch. Because you see it, and you recognize that pattern, that feeling of being overlooked, of being insignificant, even when you’re doing everything right. You’re waiting your turn, you’re being polite, you’re not making a fuss, and still, you’re invisible. And it makes you wonder if it’s just something inherent, something about *you*, or if it’s just the way things are, the way people are. And what do you do with that? What do you do when the world just keeps telling you that some people are just… less? I didn’t say anything, of course. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. This town, everyone knows everyone. Saying something would just make it worse, make it *about* me, and then I’d be the one who’s "difficult," or "got an attitude," and then that thing would happen. That thing where suddenly everyone’s talking, and you’re just… isolated. So I just stood there, and I watched, and I felt that anger just solidify into something hard and cold in my stomach. Eventually, she got served. After like, three more people. And she just smiled, that polite, almost weary smile, and took her order. And I just… I couldn’t even look at her. Because I felt so much for her, but I also felt so much for myself, for that feeling of being overlooked. And it’s not just about cold cuts, is it? It’s never just about the cold cuts. It’s about being seen, about being respected. And sometimes, it feels like that’s just too much to ask.