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So tonight, against my better judgment, I went to the local Maul Mart.
I don't know why I bother with that place. Really I don't. It's a dirty, dingy garage sale under fluorescent lights staffed by barely-conscious, drooling, possibly substance-addled, toothless, pants-sagging-revealing-underthings, unintelligible employees wearing name tags identifying themselves only as "Death Penis."
Actually, I'm totally exaggerating there. Some of them don't even wear underwear.
Anyhow, I had picked out my stuff and was waiting for one of the self-checkouts to open. When it did I stepped toward it--only to be beaten to it by one of their freakazoid employees who looks like somebody tried to put out a forest fire with a potato peeler. In his hand was a bag of cheese curds (...and the stereotype jamboree rolls into town).
It quickly became apparent this guy was one of those who didn't know how to use a self-checkout but insisted on using one anyway. The cheese curds didn't scan the first time, so it prompted him to take them out of the bag and scan them again. Then after he scanned and bagged them he waited a good minute before figuring out what button on the screen to touch next.
Then he couldn't figure out how to swipe his card in the reader.
And I'm standing there silently fuming, ready to rip this guy's spine out his ass and beat him to death with it, but I don't want to touch him. Finally a different self checkout opens up and I head there, scan my three items, bag them, and pay using my debit card while he's still trying to complete payment. Oy.
Then I went to the in-store Subway to buy lunch for tomorrow. My sub is all made and I'm waiting to pay at the register. In tromps a large-ish guy, out of breath, 24-packs of beer and Mountain Dew under his arms (Gee, I can't figure out why you're out of breath, can you?) In his coat pocket is a Subway sports bottle which he is evidently going to have refilled. He assumes a position next to the register, completely oblivious to the line forming the other way.
Finally it's my turn at the register. Large-ish guy waddles for the register, only to have me sidestep him and spread my feet to widen my stance.
DEFEATED. He gives me a cat-butt face and shuffles to the end of the line.
And then on my way home I nearly get broadsided by some shitwit in a truck who, like everybody else in this town except me, doesn't understand that when you're making a left turn at a traffic light and don't have a green arrow, you wait for oncoming traffic going straight.
This town desperately needs a Target. I'd be so done with Maul Mart then.
I don't know why I bother with that place. Really I don't. It's a dirty, dingy garage sale under fluorescent lights staffed by barely-conscious, drooling, possibly substance-addled, toothless, pants-sagging-revealing-underthings, unintelligible employees wearing name tags identifying themselves only as "Death Penis."
Actually, I'm totally exaggerating there. Some of them don't even wear underwear.
Anyhow, I had picked out my stuff and was waiting for one of the self-checkouts to open. When it did I stepped toward it--only to be beaten to it by one of their freakazoid employees who looks like somebody tried to put out a forest fire with a potato peeler. In his hand was a bag of cheese curds (...and the stereotype jamboree rolls into town).
It quickly became apparent this guy was one of those who didn't know how to use a self-checkout but insisted on using one anyway. The cheese curds didn't scan the first time, so it prompted him to take them out of the bag and scan them again. Then after he scanned and bagged them he waited a good minute before figuring out what button on the screen to touch next.
Then he couldn't figure out how to swipe his card in the reader.
And I'm standing there silently fuming, ready to rip this guy's spine out his ass and beat him to death with it, but I don't want to touch him. Finally a different self checkout opens up and I head there, scan my three items, bag them, and pay using my debit card while he's still trying to complete payment. Oy.Then I went to the in-store Subway to buy lunch for tomorrow. My sub is all made and I'm waiting to pay at the register. In tromps a large-ish guy, out of breath, 24-packs of beer and Mountain Dew under his arms (Gee, I can't figure out why you're out of breath, can you?) In his coat pocket is a Subway sports bottle which he is evidently going to have refilled. He assumes a position next to the register, completely oblivious to the line forming the other way.
Finally it's my turn at the register. Large-ish guy waddles for the register, only to have me sidestep him and spread my feet to widen my stance.
DEFEATED. He gives me a cat-butt face and shuffles to the end of the line.And then on my way home I nearly get broadsided by some shitwit in a truck who, like everybody else in this town except me, doesn't understand that when you're making a left turn at a traffic light and don't have a green arrow, you wait for oncoming traffic going straight.
This town desperately needs a Target. I'd be so done with Maul Mart then.
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