I Hate Me, Part 107,263
It was a shit day off, I had just gotten into a beef with my next door neighbor (aka: the trash burner). When that kind of stuff happens, I replay it constantly in my head and it hamstrings my day. I had to go to Foodtown, I knew the potential for annoyance* was high, but I wanted to get out of the house. I wanted to make a surgical strike, I needed salad from the salad bar, some apples, yogurt, laundry detergent, and paper towels. I didn’t need a cart or a basket, in my head I figured out my store route; salad,apples,detergent,towels,yogurt, check-out. I had a giant cup of coffee before I left and I felt bulletproof. I got in and everything went to plan, I started celebrating (well, maybe not celebrating but it was the kind of day where any victory was good) and then I hit the check-out (cue the brake squealing, record scratching sound). The shortest line was the express line but in front of me was an old guy in a motorized assist cart and a guy who comes into my store who’s referred to as “The Kasabian guy”. A nice enough guy who seems a bit medicated and always asked about upcoming releases for this english band called Kasabian, sometimes he’d come in a couple of times a week and check. I hadn’t seen him in a while and I really didn’t want to get into a conversation much less a conversation about Kasabian. The guy in the motorized cart was going as fast as a guy in a motorized cart can go and the Kasabian guy had his stuff all spread out on the conveyer belt and was standing in such a way that I couldn’t put anything down without risking a conversation. It was about this time that my pyramid of groceries started to shift (remember I didn’t want to be slowed down by a cart or basket). It was a good stack, in my left hand a flat container of salad with carton of individual yogurts on top and a bag of apples resting on top of everything. In my right hand, a roll of paper towels under my arm and the jug of detergent in my hand. The apples started rolling around in their bag, threatening to spill out, I tried to steady it and ended up dropping everything onto the conveyer belt, knocking over most of the Kasabian guy’s stuff. I apologized to him and he had no idea who I was. In my flustered-ness I blurted out, “Still listening to Kasabian?”, he made a weird lemon face and said no.
*A side note to the word “annoy”. My wife says I never met a pun I didn’t like and I know that puns are the lowest rung of humor but… A long time ago my friend Dave and I did a couple of songs on a four-track under the name Annoy-Bauten ( a pun on german band Einsturzende Neubauten), we did a couple of Sabbath songs (I forget which) and impersonated William Shatner singing them. Not as good as it sounds.