Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Confession Stand

From: nospamum@radix.net (MegaLiz)

Date: Tue, 02 Jun 1998 02:07:25 GMT

 

I did a thing, and I was happy but ashamed and then I thought I'd been

retributed, but I wasn't. So now I only feel dumb again. Typical.

 

Do you ever have a minor FREE STUFF streak? I'm having one of those,

or I was. The biggest acquisition so far--if you don't count the

FUCKING MACY'S GIFT CERTIFICATE that is pissing me off by luring me

out of state--the cherry on the top of my streak is my new sunglasses.

 

 

I NEEDED them, since Spunky had decided that my ancient pair deserved

the sort of torturous alignment that means that they will never again

stay on my head if I look anywhere other than UP or straight ahead. I

don't do THAT most of the time, so I picked out the UGLIEST glasses

that Seven Eleven proudly displayed and was willing to pay the sum of

$7.99 plus tax.

 

At the register, I watched the bovine exchange market with the kind of

disconnected horror that is likely to cause me a donut serving

flashback. I remember serving people like this who would belly up and

expect Service and Satisfaction with a piece of my SOUL on the side.

 

At the climax of their checkout experience, one customer announced

that she wanted a BIG SPICY and her pal wanted a BIG MILD MEATY. The

cashier, with a perhaps sensuous and surly deliberate delicacy made

two very slow trips to the Meat Conveyor To Nowhere and back again.

She AXED if they wanted anything else, and both of the customers

thought it over as if she was waving an unclaimed Seven Eleven

treasure. ANYTHING else? Oh. Wow. Lemme think...

 

When my turn finally came I was thoroughly hypnotized by this clerk.

People were piling up and line-locked teenagers were beginning to

juggle twinkies. This inspired a few glares from the busy, coffee

thirsty repairmen, but our girl did not flinch an inch. Eventually,

she charged me 99 cents for my sunglasses. I paid and whisked myself

out of the confusion hurriedly, before she might be struck by Simple

Math Insight. I should never have feared or hurried. She will almost

certainly never learn to add: that's what the MACHINE is for.

 

As soon as I stopped feeling so pleased with my stupidity-fueled good

fortune, I began to experience shame. Okay, so I'm a BIG BABY about

minor theft, particularly theft that is so passive. I would have

corrected her if the kids had been with me, and somehow that just made

me feel worse, but not worse enough to go back in, stand in line

risking twinkie stains to EXPLAIN it to the counter creature.

 

So I was sort of expecting it when the next counter event took place.

 

I made my pilgrimage to the Retard Resale, and found some second-hand

things. I carefully added up my haul: the things were between $1 and

$2.50 and it came out to TEN BUCKS. Twenty bucks would have been

perfectly fair, since most of the things were in really good

condition.

 

Ordinarily, there is a cheerful mouth breather at the register, but

that day the Saddest Retard Boy Ever was manning the stool. All

friendly comments were met with a forlorn humming noise from somewhere

deep in his chest. I stopped trying to get a chuckle out of him as I

became mildly alarmed at the idea of what his chuckle would SOUND

like.

 

He asked for $18.50. I hesitated. Now, ordinarily I wouldn't hesitate

to correct him, but I had a couple of things to consider. I wasn't

anxious to give away $8.50 for NO REASON, but I wouldn't have minded

paying that much for my minor treasures in the first place. Hmmm. I

also felt that my seven Seven Eleven dollars couldn't find a better

home, since I like to boost the working retards when I can. Hmmm. Then

there was the suicidal mood that this young man was wafting at me.

Hmmm.

 

The thing that FINISHED my little debate was much more basic: if I

asked him to re-check and he was right, I would never get over it.

I'VE ACED THE CALCULUS AND ANALYSIS! I'VE BOOKKEPT WITHOUT ERROR FOR

YEARS AT A TIME! Now it's official, I've also been out-mathed by a

depressed resale retard.

 

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