obey the rules. often enter. organize your material.
home / archive / rss / bchase@gmail.com
Sun, 06 Mar 2011
Horror of Humanity I once tweeted, "The only reason I've never pushed anyone down a flight of stairs at Target is that there is no flight of stairs at Target." Actually, all public places in mall-like areas equally give me a case of the screaming meemies. Knowing this, I try to go during off-peak hours. If a store is open 24 hours, I'll gladly go at 4am to avoid as much cognitive dissonance as possible. Target opens at 8am, but if you think that getting there at 8:01 on a Tuesday morning will save you from insanity, you're dead wrong. I hate when couples are cruel to each other for no reason. By the time I'd collected my four or five Target treasures and started heading for the checkout, I'd overheard two pointless arguments, one of which involved a husband repeating his wife's words in a whiny, mocking voice. I took my place at the one open checkout behind a couple in their 50s. The woman watched every move the cashier made, angrily micromanaging the bagging portion of her job. "I want these frozen foods kept separate from the non-frozen foods!" she instructed. "They have to be separate, do you understand?" The cashier said that she did understand. She checked out a stack of pot pies as the woman watched. When she got to the end of the stack, the woman shrieked, "WAIT! That last one was a different price! Why was it a different price?" The cashier held it up and told her that it was a different size from the rest of them. It was a little bigger. "Well. I guess we know how THAT happened," the woman said. "SOMEBODY picked these out ALL BY HIMSELF." The husband giggled nervously and said that he tends to just buy the flavors that he wants to eat. The wife then sighed, flabbergasted, and said to the cashier, "THAT CANOLA OIL GOES IN A BAG BY ITSELF!" She indicated a gallon jug of peanut oil. I smirked, imagining the woman frying her eggs in it and subsequently gagging. She'd hate it, and be stuck with a whole gallon of it. Hopefully, she's allergic. Of course, the husband would be blamed, but I didn't feel bad for him either. This is what he deserves for not manning up and flushing that marriage down the shitter back in the 80s.
[filepath: /journal]
©2011 All rights reserved