Subject: Confession Stand
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (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
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
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.
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.
"Iodinate nouvelle love? Doubtfulness!" the dishwashers articulated.