Grabbed a quick lunch at Ralph’s near my office today because I had a limited time frame to work with and anything fancier would be pointless as the caviar at the local French bistro is not up to speed. Okay, I made up the whole part about caviar and the part about there being a local bistro. There is a really nice 7-11 kind of close.
Anyway, I always opt for the self-checkout option because I have a deep intrinsic belief that the sum of my higher education has, if nothing else, made me intelligent enough to ring myself out at a faster speed than a clerk who doesn’t care about my time.
Think about it? The only thing that can slow you down is not caring. It’s definitely a good scene. It’s even better when you have that random time you show up and all you are buying is a handle of Maker’s, a box of tampons and five rolls of toilet paper. Everyone looks at you like “have a good weekend, buddy” and you have to just slow roll it and give them the “oh, I will” smirk back. In reality, you know why you need to purchase the tampons which explains why you need so much whiskey. The toilet paper? I mean, we’re human. You can never have enough,
Anyway, today there is a woman having the hardest time checking out on one of these things. I am about to help her when a grocery clerk comes to her aid. The woman decides to berate the poor employee. She gets red in her chubby face and miffs “these fucking machines don’t make checking out any faster.”
Now, being a total asshole, my only reaction to this is to seamlessly apply my years of tech savvy to checking out my entire basket in the time it takes her to finish her two items. I am on a mission to make her feel stupid. About halfway through my candy purchases (I’m like the short, white Lamar Odom) the woman catches on to what I am doing. She speeds up. We finish around the same time, but in fairness to anyone who saw me, I literally looked like the guy from the Matrix who is all proud that he was not born in the Matrix and thus has no metal plugs in his head and shit. I am all over the place making it rain. We take to the parking lot and now it’s this awkward waddle race going on.
If I just decide to sprint, I will look like a jerk. I am a runner and this woman can’t work a fucking self-checkout machine. That said, we’ve entered into some primal competition that thousands of years ago would have resulted in the winner getting to mate with the other’s eldest child. In this situation, it’s really just a little suburban one-upsmanship. Really, I feel like this woman went against the spirit of self-checkout, which is to NOT get annoyed with the employees of Ralphs.
Soon, we split ways with no clear winner. I eat my lunch in the car so I can hear five minutes of sports radio regarding USC’s media day and the pointless Dodger acquisition of Scott Podsednik. I think about what just went down and feel embarrassed.
I then go share it on my blog and feel even worse. Thanks, guys.