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27 Sep

I have a weakness for County fairs and evil fried foods that sometimes over rules my common sense.

Which is how I found myself at the supermarket early on a Saturday morning.

I have a general rule when it comes to supermarkets and its the same rule if I was in prison. I am not here to make “friends” or find out intimate details of anyone elses life.

This is how I prefer it, but life often ignores my preferences.

So does Facebook, and I can’t seem to step away from either one.

So I wanted to buy tickets for the LA County Fair because they are selling them for a slight discount at Ralph’s and I am a cheap bastard.

Enough said.

You have to go thru the check out to get them. Then there is the awkward moment of trying to get the checker to understand that I don’t have any groceries. These guys can check groceries and go on strike, outside of that, its an issue.

Tickets for the Fair, no, no groceries. I don’t want cash back. I want tickets to the Fair.

In the end, he called for the Manager. That is the default move when they are not sure what else to do.

Crap.

Its 7 am on a Saturday morning. That means that the manager is what is known as the 3rd manager. At least that is what they called them back when. (If I am wrong, please do not email me, I really do not care and I will ridicule you publicly.)

The manager shows up and she is a shining example of why I do not ask for help in supermarkets.

I was directed to another checkstand. While the third manager punched into the checkstand.

However, a loud conversation was going on between the third manager and the checker.

“Shiela, we need another checker.” He was right. Even for a Saturday morning a line of 10 people is a bit much.

“So?” This was a belligerently beautiful comment.

“Isn’t Tabitha supposed to be here by now?”

“Its Saturday morning, dog. That girl is still drunk from last night.” This was said like she was the newest non-management employee in the building. That kind of “I do not care about shit” type of attitude.

And then they both laughed.

Loudly.

My turn to laugh came next.

A large man in line piped up.

“Tabitha is my niece!”

Niece? Now THATS funny.

This has stopped the 3rd manager in her tracks. She fucked up. She ran her mouth and she is in the hole now. She can go either way. She can back down or, and I can hope, she can go further down the shit road.

The interesting thing is that she kept ringing me up. My tickets were paid for and in hand and I had no reason to hang out.

But I didn’t want to leave.

I dragged my feet the whole way out, and I was rewarded for my patience.

Just before I passed under the automatic door threshold, I heard the third manager’s voice.

Clear as a bell.

“Your niece drinks to damn much!”

“WHAT?”

I’m fairly certain that somewhere in the corporate manual that discourages management from bad mouthing employees to their relatives.

But I could be wrong.

You can’t buy moments like that.

I laughed the whole way to the fair.

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Posted by on September 27, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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