Saturday, May 12, 2007

Saturday Morning Caffeine-Fueled Rant

Does everyone have these cashiers at their grocery store?

There is the overly helpful cashier. She is the older, perky bottle blonde lady who asks customers too many questions and then goes and runs around all the aisles trying to help find whatever they couldn’t find. She is a nice lady but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss me off. “I knew I would find that Hungarian Ox tail butter sauce.”

Then there is the serious Asian American lady who is so intense because it is her job to make sure that, as soon as you type in your phone number for your club card, she hits a button to wipe it out and you have to do it all over again. Sometimes, on a good day, she can make you type it in four times.

And of course there is Madam Sherlock Holmes. She is the one who is compelled to look at your items and divine out loud what it is you’re doing that night. “Oh, charcoal, tequila, chicken, avocados, tortillas, salsa, limes, chips, cilantro, ice. Having a little Mexican barbeque tonight are we?” One of these days I am going to buy rope, a hacksaw, a big knife, a burlap bag, a shovel, top soil, and a cigar and a bottle of champagne. “Oh, planning to off the wife tonight?”

And there is the busy body cashier. Ours happens to be a guy. One time I was buying Tums and a bottle of wine. He actually said; “You know if you didn’t drink the wine you probably wouldn’t need the Tums.” It took all that I had not reply; “If you had gone to college, you wouldn’t be working a dead-end job dealing with a surly public reminding you to mind your own business.”

And the just-promoted-stock boy cashier. He is a serial multiple swiper. He swipes and he swipes and he swipes and it won’t take. And because he knows not one price of anything, he then has to ask all the cashiers in a loud voice; “How much for Preparation H? No, not the ointment, the suppositories.” “They're for my wife” I inform the folks in line with a forced smile.

And there is the dumb girl/guy. They are basically the same as the A-Hole characters who smack their gum and have a Valley Girl accent on “Saturday Night Live.” As I only buy “Time” when it looks interesting, she picked up an issue and asked; “Who’s thaaaat?” “President Bush” I replied. “He looks like a rabbit.” OK, I made up the rabbit part, but she did ask who President Bush was.

And then there is the younger cousin of Sherlock Holmes Lady. She is the overly-inquisitive girl. This is a story that I’ve told many times. My wife was very pregnant and sent me out to get an electronic breast pump at Rite Aid. As it happened a lot during her pregnancy, I was tired and grumpy. With a long line in back of me, Overly-inquisitive girl picked up the Breast Pump and actually asked;

“Oh, is somebody pregnant?” And, in my grumpy state, I replied;

“No, it’s for me, I am just a really lonely guy. Toss in a “Penthouse” magazine and a six pack and let’s make it a night to remember.”

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?