Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Big Bird Blows

I hate grocery shopping. I'd rather insert bamboo skewers through my orbits.

One in particular--I'll call it Big Bird, and those in my area know which one I'm talking about--sucks beyond belief. The lines are hideously long. The cashiers are a combo of clueless and rude. The baggers can't pack for shit: detergent in with the grapes, bread under the tuna cans, etc. When I ask them to put my milk in a bag, they roll their eyes, then wait till I'm not looking and throw it naked into the cart. They stock the shelves in the middle of the day--constantly!--forcing me to leave my cart at one end of the aisle so I can climb over boxes to grab what I need. What, they can't do this on night shift?

Recently a bagger sniped at me because I placed a big container of cat litter on the conveyor belt. She informed me to leave it in the cart in future because it's "too heavy" for her to lift. Oh, and my 24-pack of Pepsi, too. Attention please! Do NOT place these items on the conveyor belt, ever again! Snipe, snipe.

It wasn't "what" she said. It was her s-n-a-r-k-y tone. Hello? I've been buying groceries on a weekly basis for, mmm...thirty years? I've never been told not to place anything heavy on the conveyor belt. And not only did the baggerwitch say this, the constiptated cashier repeated it in case I didn't hear it the first time. Which I did, but chose not to respond.

Then I got a load of the bagger--80 FRICKING YEARS OLD and roughly 65 pounds. So my thought was: If you can't DO the damn job, what are you doing here, lady? Seriously. Why would Big Bird hire an 80 yr. old twig to bag groceries? This is fast, physical work.

Oh, right: the "no age discrimination" laws.

I respect the woman for holding down a job at that age...even though she, um, can't really "do" it. Plus I realize there's a very good chance that when I'm 65, or 70 (I pray it's not 80) I'll still be doing my job. Obviously not by choice.

Can you see me trying to get away with this?

"Sorry, ma'am, you'll have to get your own big fat legs back into bed. They're toooo heavy-y-y!"

"Sorry. I don't lift bedpans over twenty pounds. Empty it yourself. Oops, careful now."

"Yes, sir, I realize you're lying there on the floor in a pool of blood. But hey, I'm eighty years old. I am NOT picking you up."

Yeah. That'd fly.

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