I bop down the road, windows down, music blasting, feeling pretty good...I even got a parking spot right by the door. Into the store, right to the object of my culinary desire, and off to check out. As you can imagine, the place is packed with the pasty fat bodies of people trying desperately to get out of their houses, so they can over-eat somewhere other than their living rooms for a change (yes, the park across the street from my house is packed). The lines are backed way up, and only one of the two 'express" lanes is open. Seeing it shorter than the others, I happily slide in.
It's at this moment that a dark cloud eased over my so-far shiny day. The
Now, it's been a good morning. Slept a little late, got some work done, feeling pretty good, so I figure that I can work around this and keep my composure. In my nicest Southern Gentleman way, I ask, quite politely and kindly, if she minds that I just step around her and purchase my single item while she unloads her cart. Apparently, in her creepy moon-man language, this must have translated into something insulting, because she rounds on me, angrily telling me that she was there first. I guess she didn't realize that her position ahead of me made this an obvious and redundant statement. I countered, again staying calm and polite, that I'd be out of her way before she even got the cart unloaded. She angrily tells me that i have to wait my turn.
As she goes back to the herculean task of unloading her hot dogs and chips, I do a quick count and see somewhere just over 40 items. I decide that civility has not allowed me to arrive any closer to my destination, and besides, she's shown that she is not worthy of my respect. in a loud, clear voice, I asked her if she happened to be dyslexic. She rounds on me, her expression caught between anger and confusion, asking me, ever so eloquently, "Wha?" I ask again if she's dyslexic, since the sign clearly shows the item limit to be 15, not 51.
This got a laugh form the guys in line behind me, and a stifled giggle from the cashier. While the woman goggled at me, her brain vainly attempting to take precious processing cycles away from analyzing reality TV to comprehend what had just been said to her, I stepped around her, handed my jar of salsa to the cashier, and completed my purchase. The woman huffs loudly, steps around me, and walks off, leaving her half-emptied cart in line.
As I'm pocketing my change and passing a kind word with the cashier, she comes back, a manager in tow, proclaiming loudly about bad service and rude treatment. I look up and see the manager glancing at me and the cashier before his eyes lower to her cart. He looks back at her and says, "Ma'am, you do know this is a '15 items or less' lane, don't you?" That was it for me. I laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked away.
Me and my lunch are gonna enjoy a movie. ;)