Saturday, December 19, 2015

Merry Fucking Christmas

Well, the "Fucking" is being dramatic. As is, I suppose, the "Merry."

After work today, I stopped off at the local Dollar Store to buy some cheap wrapping paper and whatever else. When I got up to check-out with 6 items, the register clerk suddenly put the "CLOSED" sign up on her conveyor belt. I looked over at the 2nd register open: Two shoppers there, with at least 40 items in their baskets, which would take a long fucking time. I called out loudly to my clerk: "'Scuse me! If you're leaving, can you ask someone else to come up and help?"

My clerk muttered to herself, then took the "Closed" sign down. So I was still in.

When I got up to the register, the clerk rang me up. I said "Thanks" when I paid... Only, the woman just rang me up and then left my 6 items lying there! And then she walked away from the register! Now, when I was 20 -- and this did happen to me once when I was 20 -- I would not have said much. This time, though, at 50, I YELLED at the woman as she walked away: "EXCUSE ME, MA'AM! You're not REALLY going to NOT bag up my stuff, are you??"

Had this mercy-hire by Dollar Store been black, she would have, indeed, left my stuff lying there without bagging it up. In this case, though, the 60-ish white woman seemed to be rather mentally ill and indecisive: As she'd re-opened the check-out when I'd first asked, she also came back and bagged up my fucking few purchases. Wordlessly.

Was I mean for yelling? God, I felt so. However, in actuality, even if you work at the Dollar Store, you don't close up a line with only one other person standing there; and you don't NOT put your customer's purchases in a bag. Fucking ridiculous.

Karma allegedly kicked me in the ass, though, once I walked home to my apartment a few minutes later. Where I discovered that my red Christmas bow purchased from the same Dollar Store a few weeks earlier and taped to my front door had been torn down. Not just "blown off by the wind" --- Some of the strong tape and the top part of the bow were still there: Someone had ripped the thing off the door! The rest of the bow nowhere to be found.

What the fuck? And I'd come home in broad daylight. Who the hell would tear off a Christmas bow from a door on a 2nd-floor apartment during the day? Oh, other than the kids now on Christmas vacation running around... (I've never lived in a Section 8 complex before, which is exactly what this feels like, what with all the screaming kids and the black guy below me yelling at all hours. It's a fucking mess.)

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