It looked like she cut two holes in a heavy Korean blanket and draped it over her shoulders. She was a white female, age 60ish, and she was mentally ill, just in front of me at my local grocery store.
In a rush, I visited my local grocery store this weekend, in order to buy pastries. Normally, I’d prefer to visit a homeless shelter instead, since my local grocery store prides itself on selling bullshit food at insulting prices. However, being that I was in a rush, I tempered my emotions and went in. Quickly, I snapped up some cannolis and a few cookies and made my way over to the “cash only” line, as it was 1/10th as long as the others. See, I was clever and with lots of cash in hand. To be honest, I had a certain swagger to my step, as I stepped on the “all cash” line, looking down at the credit card wielding asshats to the left of me.
There was one woman in front of me, who had about 20 items in her cart. To my surprise, I noticed that she put two boxes of cotex on the conveyor belt. I took a keen interest only because she looked “old as fuck” and had no business buying cotex. However, I figured she was a nice old seahag, buying it for her daughter, or some shit.
Then all of a sudden, I noticed she was very chatty with the cashier, which is an early warning sign. Typically, people who talk to strangers are fucking lunatics, so I was on-guard. Then, she started debating the validity of each and every item scanned. Okay, you probably think I am exaggerating here. Let me repeat clearly, after each item was scanned, this crazy bitch questioned the authenticity of the price. I watched on in horror, as the credit card wielding losers to the left of me exited the store with great expedience.
Then the bat-shit hit the wall and the fan.
The gentleman cashier rang up the two boxes of cotex. Immediately, she blurted out “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Right away, my eyes darted towards her direction, amazed by her language, all done in front of kids and adults alike. She continued, “those aren’t mine. Take them off. How the fuck did that woman’s (referring to the person who was in front of her prior) order get mixed up with mine?”
Clearly she was lying, since I saw her unload the cotex, with my very own eyes, albeit they were shaded by the finest LUX has to offer.
The gentleman cashier erased the two transactions and attempted to continue to do his job, ringing up her shit. However, she had other plans for him. She furthered: “you only took it off once. You need to do it again.” He insisted they were removed; but she would not stop repeating “take if off again,” as if her brain was diseased by demons.
She elevated the debate, saying “I want to speak to your manager.”
By this time, I was livid, especially since I was egregiously late for my appointment. I was on line for about 15 minutes and this lunatic was trying to get over on this poor cashier for $3.50. But I held my tongue. I make it a point to avoid making scenes in public and try to reserve my own lunacy for private art auctions and crowded subway station platforms.
The manager came over, with an intense attitude, all authoritarian and shit, and shut this bitch the fuck down. But, she was not finished, as it was time to review and study the fucking receipt.
As the gentleman cashier scanned my 10 items, I found myself rather snug, wedged between the person behind me and her (crazy blanket wearing bitch). Literally, she would not budge, no matter how uncomfortable my position appeared, for she had the all important task of finding egregious errors on her $31.00 worth of crap grocery ticket.
Then came the tipping point.
She reengaged the gentleman cashier for a little chitty-chat, asking him if he was absolutely certain that all of her items were placed in her cart. He replied, resolutely “yes M’am.” Needless to say, she was not convinced.
One thing you should know about me: I do not like people touching my things and I do not like people, as a rule of thumb. Then, suddenly, things started to appear in slow motion for me (like Matrix), as this straight jacket candidate started to rummage throughout my bags, exclaiming “I just want to be sure none of my stuff is in here.”
I thundered with a loud baritone voice “AWAY FROM MY BAGS. You will find nothing of yours here.” Quickly, I snatched about 5 bags, with one hand, and threw them into my cart, with the same sort of demented mannerism that she was parading with pride for the past 20 minutes. I thrusted those fucking cannolis into my cart as if they insulted my Mother.
I could feel her eyes laser beam the back of my head, as she loudly exclaimed “YOU’RE A FUCKING ANIMAL.”
Lost for words, the only thing that came to mind, as I turned to her was “indeud.”
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