What Do Stupid People Think About Stupid People?
Apparently, every punk little kid in Atlanta decided to go to Staples in Midtown last Tuesday to re-stock on school supplies. For some god forsaken reason, I found myself in Midtown and needed a computer card at exactly the same time. Might as well go on in, I thought, this will only take a minute. I am stupid.
First, this is Midtown, I didnt think gay people even had kids. Well, apparently they do. Or else not everyone in Midtown is gay, Im not sure which. One thing is for sure, there were five million school kids in Staples, running down the aisles clutching packs of multicolored pens and pencils. I thought this was the 21st Century. What the hell do kids need pens and pencils for. Why isnt everyone on a computer like the rest of the civilized world.
I found what I needed, and got in line behind some old woman and her little brat. We wait for about 10 minutes for this guy to work out his tax free card situation. Apparently it was worth it to sit in a line for 15 minutes while they got the manager to phone the IRS to verify his tax exempt status to save $3.00. I value my time by my hourly rate. Lets just say it’s a tad north of $9.00 an hour. I start to get antsy.
Finally the woman, who must be 60, gets to the register with her 10 year old daughter. A woman her age having kids is sick in and of itself, but this lady is exceptionally disgusting. Her eyes don’t quite line up, she is wearing a teacher’s smock, and her daughter says to her in that “Im 10 and have only one speaking voice: LOUD, “Ewww Mom, you have a hair on your face. You have a mustache. Let me get it off, ewww.” This cheers me up because the woman must be dying of humiliation. Then she proceeds to pay with a check.
A goddamn check. Nothing pisses me off more than someone insisting on using a check, the most outdated mode of financial transaction left in the world. Its akin to clipping articles and writing a letter to your best friend instead of emailing them the website. So now I am in line for 25 minutes, still waiting while she writes the check. The clerk takes it and proceeds to waste 10 minutes figuring out how to process such an ancient relic.
About this time I notice a huge pile of crap still on the counter yet to be wrung up. I see the kid pull out a dirty crumpled twenty dollar bill. I had heard her whining about , “I want to pay for myself, I want to pay,” but I didnt really process what the fuck she was talking about. Surely she gets out in the world enough not to be overly excited about handing a cashier money.
She says, “Mom, I know this is all you gave me, but I might need a couple more dollars. It wont be much.” She must have $100 worth of pens on the counter. There is at least 10 packs of Sharpies of every color. Plus notebooks, cd cases, pencils and a bunch of other shit. This aint the goddam dollar store. What the hell is this retard thinking. The first two items scanned totaled over $20. The grand total was $70.
Who the hell taught this idiot how to count. Twenty fucking dollars my ass bitch. Get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time. Of course she has to put some of it back, while grandma writes another goddam check for $50. By this time, all the registers have cleared and I walk to another register and pay.
How hard is it to close the simple financial transaction of buying goods. You put it on the counter, swipe your card, and get the hell out. Don’t sign up for discount card AT THE REGISTER, don’t waste 15 minutes of everyone’s time to save 5%, and for goddsakes don’t write two goddam checks for one transaction. What if I had been the one pulling this crap and that woman had been behind me. I wonder if she would have thought, “you know, I totally understand why he cant tell the difference between $100 worth of goods and $20, why he still pays with checks, and why he takes 20 minutes to pay for his shitty little items.” Thats why I didnt feel bad when, as I walked by them still at the register on my way out, I said, “Be nice to your Mom, you will have a mustache too one day.”
First, this is Midtown, I didnt think gay people even had kids. Well, apparently they do. Or else not everyone in Midtown is gay, Im not sure which. One thing is for sure, there were five million school kids in Staples, running down the aisles clutching packs of multicolored pens and pencils. I thought this was the 21st Century. What the hell do kids need pens and pencils for. Why isnt everyone on a computer like the rest of the civilized world.
I found what I needed, and got in line behind some old woman and her little brat. We wait for about 10 minutes for this guy to work out his tax free card situation. Apparently it was worth it to sit in a line for 15 minutes while they got the manager to phone the IRS to verify his tax exempt status to save $3.00. I value my time by my hourly rate. Lets just say it’s a tad north of $9.00 an hour. I start to get antsy.
Finally the woman, who must be 60, gets to the register with her 10 year old daughter. A woman her age having kids is sick in and of itself, but this lady is exceptionally disgusting. Her eyes don’t quite line up, she is wearing a teacher’s smock, and her daughter says to her in that “Im 10 and have only one speaking voice: LOUD, “Ewww Mom, you have a hair on your face. You have a mustache. Let me get it off, ewww.” This cheers me up because the woman must be dying of humiliation. Then she proceeds to pay with a check.
A goddamn check. Nothing pisses me off more than someone insisting on using a check, the most outdated mode of financial transaction left in the world. Its akin to clipping articles and writing a letter to your best friend instead of emailing them the website. So now I am in line for 25 minutes, still waiting while she writes the check. The clerk takes it and proceeds to waste 10 minutes figuring out how to process such an ancient relic.
About this time I notice a huge pile of crap still on the counter yet to be wrung up. I see the kid pull out a dirty crumpled twenty dollar bill. I had heard her whining about , “I want to pay for myself, I want to pay,” but I didnt really process what the fuck she was talking about. Surely she gets out in the world enough not to be overly excited about handing a cashier money.
She says, “Mom, I know this is all you gave me, but I might need a couple more dollars. It wont be much.” She must have $100 worth of pens on the counter. There is at least 10 packs of Sharpies of every color. Plus notebooks, cd cases, pencils and a bunch of other shit. This aint the goddam dollar store. What the hell is this retard thinking. The first two items scanned totaled over $20. The grand total was $70.
Who the hell taught this idiot how to count. Twenty fucking dollars my ass bitch. Get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time. Of course she has to put some of it back, while grandma writes another goddam check for $50. By this time, all the registers have cleared and I walk to another register and pay.
How hard is it to close the simple financial transaction of buying goods. You put it on the counter, swipe your card, and get the hell out. Don’t sign up for discount card AT THE REGISTER, don’t waste 15 minutes of everyone’s time to save 5%, and for goddsakes don’t write two goddam checks for one transaction. What if I had been the one pulling this crap and that woman had been behind me. I wonder if she would have thought, “you know, I totally understand why he cant tell the difference between $100 worth of goods and $20, why he still pays with checks, and why he takes 20 minutes to pay for his shitty little items.” Thats why I didnt feel bad when, as I walked by them still at the register on my way out, I said, “Be nice to your Mom, you will have a mustache too one day.”
posted by ODB at 5:08 PM
2 Comments:
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Hardy har! I don't know what's the funniest part, but it's probably the fact that you had the chutzpah to make the moustache comment to the girl.
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