Whatever. I'm not getting involved.
In the supermarket, I realize that even though I didn't drink last night, I'm exhausted. That street fair sucked the life out of me. I'm cranky as it gets.
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I come to an intersection of sorts. A plump woman and I are headed for the same aisle. There is a brief standoff, until I let her turn into the aisle first.
I regret my brief chivalry as I watch her move at a snail's pace, without so much as a Thank You or a nod. "Fucking fat ass," I say to my father.
In my head, I visualize broadsiding her cart, sending her junk food and frozen pizzas flying. This makes me laugh out loud and my mood changes.
I see her in another aisle a few minutes later. She is speedwalking towards the meatcase.
"Wow, you can really move when you want to!" I say. She doesn't hear me.
It's finally time to leave. I aim the cart towards the only normal-looking cashier. A tall, thin guy with a trim haircut and a mild disposition.
My father interferes, recommending that I go to the next cashier because there is no line.
There's a reason for that.
Even though I don't defy my parents anymore, sometimes it's necessary for everyone's sake. The cashier here is the polar opposite of the first cashier. Picture the female version of Jabba the Hutt. Give her a roaring, bitchy attitude and a face to match. Remove any trace of kindness and civility (if there ever was any).
She is finishing up with her current customer, but she's bitching about some conflict with another cashier. Why she can't keep this to herself is beyond me.
"Ain't nobody gonna walk all over me," she grunts.
Well, not without mountain climbing equipment, I want to say.
Incredibly (and stupidly), her customer is egging her on, telling her not to take shit from the other cashiers. I want to slap him in the back of the head because there's no telling what kind of violent outburst this beast is capable of having.
I examine her and I'm amazed. All her clothes are skin tight, rolls of fat protruding in all directions. I can only imagine the violent struggle that takes place in her run-down
I want to call the manager over and ask how and why such a brute, wild animal is allowed to be exposed to the civilized shopping public. When I was a kid, cashiers were nice and polite. They would wink at me and make small talk with my mother. Now, the only small talk is among the cashiers, and it's usually gossip and cursing.
There aren't as many cashiers available as there normally would be, which tells me that Jabba has simply eaten them.
When it's our turn, I avoid eye contact with the beast. It forces out a semi-humanoid "hello," which tells me it's hungry and doesn't want to lose it's job because it needs to eat.
I pack the groceries quickly and bolt out of there, father in tow. Maybe I'll just set up a Fresh Direct account for them.