It Better Be Worth It!
So I had the magnificent brainstorm this a.m. to get to the grocery store early to stock up for the week, plus buy a birthday cake for Nate and a chicken to roast tonight.
Those of you who read this blog regularly may have picked up on the fact that I:
A. hate grocery shopping
B. hate the store (known as "Big Bird" to protect the guilty party)
C. hate the people who work there
D. hate even driving past it
Well, at 0830 there were already 1,000 people there. Oh, and guess what? TWO CASHIERS! Big surprise, not.
Generally I only use the self-serve checkouts when I'm only buying a few things. Today I had a cart-load. No way was I gonna stand in a line behind 10 other people with ice cream in my cart. So I decided to check my groceries out myself.
The easiest way to do this is to unload and swipe a few things, bag them, put them in a cart, unload a few more, etc. Of course I only had one cart because Big Bird doesn't think it's necessary to put extra carts at the self-serve register. Then again, Big Bird doesn't think it's necessary to put toilet paper in their johns.
My LEAST favorite bagger, who is about 80 years old (no exaggeration) and weighs 90 pounds and bitches whenever she has to lift anything heavier than a Ragu jar, was bagging in the next lane. Way over by the cigarettes (not even near her) was a single cart with one red basket in it. I started to pull it toward my lane, but Old Bag(ger) cried out, "Oh, no! That's for my BASKETS!" Um, she was at a full service check-out counter where nobody--trust me--had any baskets.
So, with my most glorious Dirty Look, I heaved a huuuuge sigh, left my cart, and tromped across the store to the exit to get a second cart. Tromped back. Parked cart at end of counter. Started unloading. Nice customer service. Never mind what I spend there every month.
Another employer--we call her The Kapo; she was Beth's supervisor when Beth was a bagger and treated Beth like crap--moseyed on over. For whatever reason she beamed at me, pointed at my second cart, and said brightly, "Oh, here is an extra cart for your groceries!" Smile, smile. Like she had a hand in that.
Me: "Yes, I know. Because *I* had to go get it."
One of the items I bought was a 7.5 lb labled "Fresh Chicken!" The bird felt deceptively pliable when I tossed it into my cart on top of my eggs and Coco Krispies (but not on top of Nate's cake). However, later, when I went to throw it in the oven, I discovered the inside cavity was frozen and the wings were glued to its side.
I ask you: Why does it say FRESH CHICKEN when it's obviously a FROZEN CHICKEN? Big Bird strikes again.
So, with the water running, I spent 10 minutes with my hand up its icy butt, trying to wrench loose the neck and gizzards. I finally got it out (save for a wee bit of paper, yum) but not before I lost my grip on that sucker and it landed in the dish water.
Luckily my family doesn't read this blog.
Now my favorite hoody is soaked with dish water and chicken juice. Uh, yes--I'm still wearing it.
Guess what I'm asking Santa for this year?
Those of you who read this blog regularly may have picked up on the fact that I:
A. hate grocery shopping
B. hate the store (known as "Big Bird" to protect the guilty party)
C. hate the people who work there
D. hate even driving past it
Well, at 0830 there were already 1,000 people there. Oh, and guess what? TWO CASHIERS! Big surprise, not.
Generally I only use the self-serve checkouts when I'm only buying a few things. Today I had a cart-load. No way was I gonna stand in a line behind 10 other people with ice cream in my cart. So I decided to check my groceries out myself.
The easiest way to do this is to unload and swipe a few things, bag them, put them in a cart, unload a few more, etc. Of course I only had one cart because Big Bird doesn't think it's necessary to put extra carts at the self-serve register. Then again, Big Bird doesn't think it's necessary to put toilet paper in their johns.
My LEAST favorite bagger, who is about 80 years old (no exaggeration) and weighs 90 pounds and bitches whenever she has to lift anything heavier than a Ragu jar, was bagging in the next lane. Way over by the cigarettes (not even near her) was a single cart with one red basket in it. I started to pull it toward my lane, but Old Bag(ger) cried out, "Oh, no! That's for my BASKETS!" Um, she was at a full service check-out counter where nobody--trust me--had any baskets.
So, with my most glorious Dirty Look, I heaved a huuuuge sigh, left my cart, and tromped across the store to the exit to get a second cart. Tromped back. Parked cart at end of counter. Started unloading. Nice customer service. Never mind what I spend there every month.
Another employer--we call her The Kapo; she was Beth's supervisor when Beth was a bagger and treated Beth like crap--moseyed on over. For whatever reason she beamed at me, pointed at my second cart, and said brightly, "Oh, here is an extra cart for your groceries!" Smile, smile. Like she had a hand in that.
Me: "Yes, I know. Because *I* had to go get it."
One of the items I bought was a 7.5 lb labled "Fresh Chicken!" The bird felt deceptively pliable when I tossed it into my cart on top of my eggs and Coco Krispies (but not on top of Nate's cake). However, later, when I went to throw it in the oven, I discovered the inside cavity was frozen and the wings were glued to its side.
I ask you: Why does it say FRESH CHICKEN when it's obviously a FROZEN CHICKEN? Big Bird strikes again.
So, with the water running, I spent 10 minutes with my hand up its icy butt, trying to wrench loose the neck and gizzards. I finally got it out (save for a wee bit of paper, yum) but not before I lost my grip on that sucker and it landed in the dish water.
Luckily my family doesn't read this blog.
Now my favorite hoody is soaked with dish water and chicken juice. Uh, yes--I'm still wearing it.
Guess what I'm asking Santa for this year?
