oh! for the love of logic

Hi, I'm happy to see you!

Cuz now I can bitch about earlier, and I'm sure you all can commiserate.  And maybe I'll tell it in a way that will make you snicker.  Cuz sharing snickers, that would so rock!

Earlier, I stopped at WalMartZ to buy a few things, like soup and a can opener so I can get to the soup.  My electric can opener died last year in May's Mystery Meat Fiasco.  It was late, I was manic, and hungry, and had gotten down to the dusty can with no label tucked into the corner of my wonky cupboard.  I washed the top of the can off, noted that the expiration date was in the last century (why that would be, I'm sure I don't know, I can guess, but this entry is already going around East Bumblefuk on a tangent), and popped it under the teeth/gears of the can opener.  I pressed the lil lever on top to activate the miracle of separation of top from can and the release of pressure splatted a very strong offal gravy with chucks of brown matter onto me, the cupboards, the floor, the stove top, and the counter.  I jerked, which is what I do when viscous fluid splashes into my face (yeah, I'm that fun.), and accidentally pulled the cord from the outlet just far enough to allow the gravy to ooze down the outlet face plate and onto the live connection between the prongs and the outlet.  Fried and frizzled the can opener, rendering it inoperable, and did some damage to the outlet.  I think the mystery meat in gravy may have been dog food.

So then I had only my manual clunky can opener whose gear teeth no longer mesh, making gaining admission to any can a hit or miss adventure.  I feel like I've gone camping, with pork n beans, and have only the tent peg and hammer to get my food.  But I never remember to actually buy a can opener.  Haven't for months and months.

This evening, I picked up a few cans of soup, held them in my hands and frowned at them.  I'm pretty sure the stockboy was a tad worried when I began muttering while hefting them, trying to remember why this particular brand of soup is still in my cupboard why the others are gone.  Then I completely scared him off when I exclaimed, "AHA!" and chucked the cans into the cart, racing off to the other side of the store to get a can opener because this soup doesn't have the nifty neato pop and peel top like so many soups these days do.

After hunting and gathering a can opener, soup, tortilla chips, cheese, and nested plastic measuring cups and spoons (cuz you can never have too many nested plastic measuring cups and spoons, don't you agree?), I checked out.  Rather, I attempted to check out.  There was only one (1) register open.  Ya know the register that you must go thru if you want cigarettes and other tobacco products?  The one that is for ten items or less?  That is the only register that was open.  So you can well imagine the very long line which was sluggishly creeping ahead.

I stopped a manager whose smocked vest was wadded into a ball, tucked under his arm.  He was scurrying past, head down, refusing to make eye contact, grim lipped as tho in the front line at Normandy Beach.  When he did stop and look up at me, his face fell and a plea for pity was in his eyes.

"Excuse me,"  I said, "but is this the only line open?"  He nods miserably.  "Will another be opening sometime soon?  Cuz I know rules are rules and I have way over ten items here," I say, gesturing toward my jumbled cart, "unless you count all the cans of soup as one item."  He stares into my cart, then clears his throat, "well, uhm, we'll let you slide.  This time."  And he tries to scurry off.  "But," I say, "is this really the only line open?  For all these people?"  He eyes the meandering line that is now down past the clothing and into the grocery side.  The sweat on his brow begins to drip down his nose, dangling there off his nostril like a cliffhanging snot.  He whispers, "seven cashiers called in sick.  I have no one to work the 10 to 6 shift."  His eyes welled up and I felt downright sad for the man.

Then he sneezed his mucus germs all over me, like the llama did ("oh, that means he likes you!" the keeper exclaimed).  Splattering all over my face, like the gravy in the Mystery Meat Fiasco did.

Wal-MartZ, where every trip is an adventure.