April 15, 2008

Don't you wish you were me?

I took an early lunch today to go to the store. I wanted to throw a roast into the crock pot for supper. There were only two lanes open at the grocery; the express lane and a regular lane. The store is not busy. The lady in line in front of me is an acquaintance of my wife's. I know her only well enough to say hello. Just after I get into line a stereotypical white trash woman/girl shoves in behind me. You know the type -- a peroxide blond with about two inches of black roots, early twenties, mouth breathing, gum smacking, nose pierced, overweight loudmouth. She is talking on her cell phone. The conversation involves how drunk she was last night. I am not eavesdropping. She is talking loud enough for the whole store to hear. I start to put my things on the belt. In front of me, the checkout girl discovers that one of the jars is leaking. They send the sack boy to get a replacement. The lady gives me an apologetic look. I am not concerned, these things happen.

"They only have one fucking lane open, can you believe it?", shouts the trash. "I hate this fucking store. Oh,my God, this old bitch in line is taking, like, forever. What is that fucking bitch doing? Come on! Unfuckingbelievable." says this epitome of lady-like breeding.

We all turn to give her the stare. She is oblivious. As I finally begin to check out, she is still complaining to her friend about how long it is taking. Every other word from her mouth is a cuss word. In a flash of inspiration I decide I will write a check, just to piss her off more. I am about to affix my signature when I hear her say "Oh Christ, he is writing a fucking check, come on dude". I quickly void the check and tell the checkout girl, sorry, I want to write this over to get some cash. The checkout girl starts laughing. I write very slowly. The trash behind me is about to stroke. I ask for my $25.00 in tens and fives and ones. The checkout girl very deliberately counts the money. I stand there a few moments longer to put the cash in my wallet, put my checkbook and pen in my coat pocket and store my receipt in the bag. Only then do I move away. Childish? -- you bet. Worth every minute? ditto. It is the little victories over the assholes that make life worth living.

I wonder if the bank would take a check written with Roman Numerals? That would really slow down things next time. How do you write $17.98 anyway?

$ XVII. XCVIII?

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