How’s it hanging, awesome readers!
Before we continue, some ground rules.
Don’t ever let me say that again. Seriously. How’s it hanging? Who talks like that?
So, at some point during the holidays I went to the grocery store because after day three of eating only leftover turkey, we were getting complaints from SOME PEOPLE. And by we I mean me. And by SOME PEOPLE I mean the young adult I live with. *cough*
Since I was only picking up a few things (that were not turkey), I decided to do the self-checkout thing. If you don’t know what that is, self-checkout is an obstacle course they’ve implemented into the grocery store experience. There’s no actual human helping you to figure out how much money you’re spending. It’s just you and a machine in a vacuum of strangers. And these machines are supposed to be fast and efficient except that they’re everything but fast and efficient. The bar codes never scan properly (three thousand and twenty-seven dollars for a can of soup? What?) and I always manage to pick up the bunch of bananas without a produce code sticker. It’s awesome.
To give you context, in my local grocery store there are two aisles of self-checkout machines and the way it works is everyone stands in a single line located between these two aisles and one-by-one, we proceed to the next available machine. The line-up is usually fairly short because most people who choose the self-checkout option have only as many items as they can carry in their arms.
So here I was standing at the beginning of the line when this lady obnoxiously walks right by me and starts using the next available machine. Although I stood there in stunned silence, I’m pretty sure she heard my unhappy thoughts because I caught her sneak a peek in my direction: Ummm … I don’t think you know how lines work, I thought. Among other things.
As you can imagine, I felt torn. Do I tell her that she had just butt in line or do I ignore the bitch? I chose to tell her, which may not seem like a big deal to you, but it is. I have a strong dislike for confrontations. I blame my Canadian status. So, I mustered up a little courage and gently told her that myself and the one … two … three … four … seven people behind me were actually waiting in line. Yes, I counted us. As team captain of our line, I wanted her to see that she had just violated the rules of line-waiting.
This is when she told me to mind my own *insert f-bomb* business.
I’ll be honest. The thought of tackling her to the ground and beating her with the package of lean ground beef I had in my hands did cross my mind. But I didn’t. Instead, I chose to turn around and shrug my shoulders as a gesture of apology to the people waiting behind me … in case you were wondering how disagreements escalate in Canada.
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