A tiny rant

I like to think of myself as a reasonable person, most times, however, Meme up at the ungodly hour of seven a.m. without the coffee and having to visit the Hellmouth is just too much!

I would like to share my experience. Firstly, I went for the aforementioned coffee, so you know I was already in a bad mood. I shuffle into the Walmart, stagger to the coffee isle (which also contains the pickles for some reason I never can figure out), grab my super-duper-economy can of Folgers, and shuffle toward the checkout. As I have only the one thing I opted for the “Express” isle.

Apparently without my caffeine fix I do move at the speed of a snail as my Pooh claims, and I can only blame my lack of swiftness for the twit that decided to cut in front of me just as I get there. I blink a couple of times before I notice that this fat-bottomed woman, squeezed into a pair of spandex shorts several sizes too small, thus giving her a spectacular Dunlap, has absconded with my place in line.

Ok, I take full responsibility for that. .

Of course the state of her clothing should have given me a clue to the amount of brains she had rattling in her brittle-fried-within-an-inch-of-its-life-bleach-blonde-head. For, as I stand in the ten items or less line, this woman proceeds to unpack an entire cart full of crap onto the tiny counter. I look around noticing that there is only one other lane open and that line seems to stretch into infinity. Fabulous.

The checker and I share a weary look, both of us knowing where this is heading. “Ma’am” she says. “This is the ten items or less lane.”

Lard butt looks up at the sign, hoists the straps of her tank top (no bra of course, ew) and says. “It is? Well, I have a couple more things than ten.”

No crap.

“Surely you don’t mind just this once.”

The checker just barely restrains rolling of the eyeballs and sighs mournfully. “No ma’am it is fine, just this once.”

Gah!!! Of course she minds you witless cow! I MIND!!! I have not had my coffee damnit and I want it NOW! I scream silently in my head as I peruse the tabloid rack in an effort to distract myself. Unfortunately, the many covers with Jessica and Carmen and the rest of vacuous Hollywood did not help my frame of mind.

Things are going along, and the Walmart bags are piling up on the floor when we hit a snag.

*Blip*

“Wait, those are supposed to be two for five dollars.”

“Ok”

Blip, blip

“It’s coming up 3.99.”

“Try it one more time”

Blip

“Well the sign said two for five.”

“Do you want me to do a price check?”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Yeah.”

The checker scoots out from behind the register and heads toward the nearest phone with the world weary air of a DMV worker on Friday afternoon. I seethe silently.

Lard butt turns to me and says. “It said two for five.”

“I’m sure it did.” I say politely.

“I hate price checks.”

Then why did you ask for one you heifer? “Oh, me too.”

Lard butt looks at my lone coffee can. “Is that all you have?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

And we wait. Damnit. I, having perfected the art of waiting, stand quietly and flip through the tabloid. Lard butt, apparently having convinced herself she is the most important person on the planet huffs and puffs and complains loudly and bitterly so that all may hear how unfair her life is because she has to wait for a price check on a box of friggin donuts she, with her ginormous ass, really does not need in the first place.

She turns to me again. “What is taking so long?”

I shrug “It’s a price check, they always take a while, that’s why I never get them.”

“Look at how it‘s holding up the line. Well, they need to do something about that. ”

Of course ‘they’ do

About this time I crack. “Listen,” I say in a sweet ,mild tone. “If you had just gone into the other lane, instead of clogging the express lane with a cart full of stuff, I and the others like me who have just a couple of things would be out of here already.”

Lard butt gives me the ‘well-I-never!’ look and says hotly. “I didn’t know it was express.”

“Clearly, however the sign just above your head is quite easy to read. Perhaps in the future it would behoove you to get your head out of your ass and look up once in a while.”

With that I sweep from the line and head for the nearest CSM (aka Collation of Satan’s Mistresses) and explain the situation. I ended up getting a swift checkout at the customer service desk, much to my amazement. And as I sashay my pert little butt out of the store I wave merrily to lard butt, who had apparently decided to give up on the donuts after all.