On Target (part 1)
Cashiering would seem to be the province of the swift, friendly, and accurate.
Yet today, I was checked out at my town's new Super Target by a mostly silent older woman, name of Nadine, who likely lived a previous life as a good and moral sloth, and thus earned reincarnation into a higher, yet not any speedier, form.
I felt like my blood itself might have turned to vinegar between the time that she asked me for my ID because I had dared to purchase a bottleful of Yellowtail Shiraz (pedestrian, I know, but it has a nice bite and does the trick besides of fuzzing and furring the sharp edges of consciousness) and the time when she finally, with a lethargic stuffing of bananas into concentric-circle-dotted plastic, completed my purchase.
As she sloooooooooooooooooooowly scanned and dragged my merchandise across a filthy rectangle of glass, I had time to rate and rank every male person within a 50 yard radius according to level of attractiveness to my peculiar likings. I also had time to admire one guy's yellow Heavy Metal Karaoke shirt, as well as consider and choose a song, "Still Lovin' You" by the Scorpions, that I would perform should I ever get the chance to enter such an event. I might well take the $150 prize, I mused.
It probably didn't help that my g-damn underwear was too loose and was falling off my ass, held on only by the gentle caress of my thighs in twain. Apparently, the constraints of money and time allowed me to lose a pound or two, but not to purchase correctly-fitting underwear.
I did not foresee that a simple trip to Syooper Tarzhay for olives, wine, and mushroom "purse" appetizers would be such an opportunity to deal with repressed anger. Though I wanted to shout out, "STEP OUT FROM BEHIND THERE, SLOVENLY SLATTERN, AND LET ME PLY MY HANDS TO THE TASK!" a few dozen times, I did not, even once, utter it.
{Here at Overthunk we only blog about the issues within a hair's breadth of your blood-filled heart, so this shall be the first in a Targeted series. And yes, the Yellowtail Shiraz is quite nice, thank you.}
------------
Done, done, and I'm onto the next one.
-- D. Grohl
Comments
I hate slow checkout people almost worse than Hitler. Almost.
And, I need to see if this "Heavy Metal Karaoke" exists in New England, otherwise I may just have to content myself with the release of "Rock Band" for the Xbox 360 in the coming weeks.
Azathoth100@aol.com
Love
Azathoth
Camplin: If you worked there a year, you are but a whelp, my friend. More details on that to come.
Aza: Roger that.
Target is just as bad as Walmart these days. If its not the elderly sloths, its the ill-tempered teens who can't get through your transaction in 15 minutes or less because they have to chat with their neighbor cashier about their boy problems.
Bitter much? I am.
Breaking me Down... D. Grohl
I always opt instead for Electric Reindeer White.
Aza: Hard to believe, but my working class work ethics kicked in even as a teen -- I tried to get people out of there quickly.
Violet: I guess I figure the motivation to go faster should be accepting a paycheck and giving a shit about doing a good job. My standards are often too high though.
Camplin: Retail is to grad school as crushed carmine beetles were to Cleopatra's lipstick -- a horrific, yet necessary part of the process.
LBB: Try Yellowtail I say! Try a nice glass of their merlot with a side of donuts....