Last Sunday when I went grocery shopping, I got so pissed at my cashier, a 20 something punk of a kid, because the entire time he scanned my groceries he talked to the bagger, another 20 something punk, about some other girl who worked there’s “boobs.” And it wasn’t so much that these punks were talking about some chick’s “boobs” but the fact that not once did they acknowledge my existence. Even when he had finished scanning, he just turned completely to the bagger and continued his conversation, without even announcing the total. Normally I can overlook this kind of rudeness from service people because, I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but rudeness is generally the rule not the exception here. I have been going to that grocery store for years, and it’s kind of more expensive and out of my way but I went there mainly because they always gave top of the line service.
Anyway, I ran my debit card through the machine, pushed all the correct buttons and waited for my register receipt. Dude ripped it out of his register and handed it to me without even turning around, like he was dismissing me. I took it from him and said “Thanks for the fantastic service, you were both great!” all passive-aggressive like, and they both looked at me with vacant punk-ass stares as I smiled at them all bitchy-like.
Well, I wasn’t about to let this go as I thought about it going home, so like a crazy loon with nothing better to do, I shot an email off to their headquarters, giving them both the cashier and the bagger’s name.
Oh. My. God. So far they have written me five times promising to “rectify the situation” that the manager of that store and the assistant were notified and will act on it and report back to them, and the cashier and bagperson will be spoken to, blah blah, blah.
So now I need to find another grocery store. I’m pretty sure Nate and Steve will have a pretty good idea who ratted them out, and they will want me dead. The worst part? That is the only store in Columbia that carries the brand of Circus Peanuts I like.
Sometimes I really am my own worst enemy.57 Comments
Tuesday night I was bored and I started playing with my iPhone. Did you know I have an iPhone? An iPhone 5? With 64GB? Well I do, and I started playing the game Contre Jour, which if you’ve never played this awesome game, you need to start and you really need to play it with the sound on too. Anyway, I then went into the iTune Store app and was looking around at their ringtones and purchased about 4 or 5, maybe 10, I don’t know because I’m an impulse buyer with selective amnesia. Then I got sleepy and went to bed because shopping is exhausting.
Wednesday I went into work and there was an email about an important meeting with some highfalutin’ people and I had to be in there in about 15 minutes. I grabbed whatever papers I needed and went in. About 20 minutes into the meeting I received a call on my cell phone. Not only had I forgotten to mute my phone before going in, but I had forgotten that I had placed a newly purchased ringtone on my phone. To attempt to convey to y’all of what an awful faux pas I made, I texted J and asked him to call me so I could film my phone:
ANNNND I couldn’t get it out of my pocket before it all played! I fumbled like an idiot for what seemed like an eternity and then just stared straight ahead all mortified and said “Ooops, sorry.” You could have heard a pin drop in the room. THEN one of the highfalutin’ guys I was there to meet said “You sure you don’t need to take that call? It could be motherfucking important.” And everyone laughed and laughed.
P.S. J just called because he saw my video and was all “I can’t believe you use a picture of Hitler on your phone when I call!” and I was all “Duh. I always have.” and he was all “You need to stop with the Nazi crap.” and I said “NEIN! This isn’t 1942 Germany, you can’t tell me what to do!” Then he hung up on me. Motherfucking freedom hater.63 Comments
Dreams are total bullshit and no one really wants to listen to someone’s bullshit dreams so with that being said, here’s my bullshit dream:
Sunday night I dreamt I was walking down a narrow, country dirt road and it was getting dark and I started thinking “Shit, I better get home soon.” I knew home was too far to get to before dark and I mentally debated about running but decided against it because the road was rough and I didn’t want to twist an ankle. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a car approaching from behind me and I turned and saw an old rusted-out orange Camaro with a black racing stripe on the hood coming towards me. I debated about hitchhiking but thought “Nah” so I got way over on the side of the road so it could pass without hitting me. I was on the passenger side when the car stopped beside me and I heard a male voice say ”Need a ride?” I couldn’t see the rider so I just said “No thanks.” and kept on walking. The car started moving beside me and I heard that same male voice say “Get the fuck in the car, Laura, I’m not even kidding.” I stopped and thought “Who the hell is this? They must know me.” I bent down and looked in and sitting in the driver seat was a giant spider with two legs on the steering wheel and one leg holding a gun on me. He repeated “Get in.” Well, I knew I didn’t want to get in a car with a giant spider, particularly an armed giant spider, so it took me less than a split second to decide to start running.
I started running through a field, all zigzaggy, thinking I’d make a harder target and figuring I could find some cover somewhere. Bullets where flying all around me and I thought “Shit, that’s more than one gun!” Then I realized that the spider had more than one gun and since he had eight legs he was probably firing a gun from each leg. I started zigzagging more, and more bullets were flying and there were still no trees to hide behind and I thought “FUCK, there really should be gun control for spiders!” Then a bullet tore through my left ear and I woke up to find Thelma laying next to my head on that side purring all loud and shit, so I scooted her off of the bed, rolled over, and went back to sleep.42 Comments
So last week my fibromyalgia, or polio, or body rabies, whatever I had, was making me feel like shit so like I always do in time of great physical pain, I searched my medicine cabinets and the bottom of my purses for some old expired meds I could take because going to the doctor is for pussies. I found something that I thought then was pain medication, but now that I think about it some more, could have been a fiber pill. I took it and lay on the couch with a gin and tonic I made in a Big Gulp mug I picked up at a gas station a few years back because nothing kicks up the effect of expired medication like gin. This is Expired Medication Science, otherwise known as Pill Roulette.
Anyway, I was lying on the couch, sipping my gin and tonic through one of those huge accordion like straws that’s attached to the massive plastic mug, feeling all sorry for myself because I was probably dying from some godawful disease AND NO ONE CARED. I started flipping through the 400 plus channels I have and every program sucked so I just left it on an old movie station. A few minutes later the movie “Beaches” started and I thought “Wow, I haven’t seen this in years” so I got as comfortable as I could for a victim of fibromyalgia/polio/rabies and sipped my gin and tonic.
Before you knew it Hillary and CC were at the beach and Hillary was all weak and pale and dying and I was all “OH MY GOD THAT’S ME, MINUS THE BEST FRIEND!” and just then my phone rang. I picked it up just as I started to cry and J was all “What’s wrong Laura?” and I blubbered “Beaches. Dying. I don’t have any friends here. They’re all gone. You live hours away.” He tried to comfort me best he could, but then I think the fiber pill kicked in and I had to go to the bathroom so I told him I’d call him later. Then I made a grilled cheese sandwich and watched some reruns of The Big Bang Theory, forgetting all about calling him back.
The next day there was a knock on my door. I peeked out the blinds and saw a FedEx truck. “Wee! A package!” I thought. I ran and opened the door, signed a receipt, and grabbed my package. I placed it on the table, and ripped it open and saw a folded piece of paper. I opened the paper and it said “Here’s a friend for you. Love, J.” Beneath the note was this:
The new wind beneath my wings.57 Comments