Jerk Encounter at Wegmans

I went to New York this last Saturday to tend to some business. Since my son’s birthday is on the 18th, I planned on putting together a box of “stuff” for him. “Stuff” included an array of things that a 22 year old man would appreciate, sans condoms. He can spend his own money on condoms of he wants to go to hell, I'm not going to grease the spokes for him...so to speak.


Anway, Saturday morning, my daughter and I got up early so I could go to Wegmans and buy additional stuff. She and I had great fun picking stuff out and being silly. One of the more expensive items was a bottle of port to go with the cigars that were procured from a generous benefactor. One of the reasons I love Virginia – you can buy alcohol in a grocery store at 7:30 am.

We made a stop at the bulk section, picked up some gummi bears, pistachios et al. I didn't realize that there were tags to put on the bags to make it easier to run stuff through the register.

My Bad. My Very Bad apparently.

In line. Young Mr. Checkout Man WhoSeemedToHaveSocialization Issues was struggling to find the items in his magic book of codes. Man behind me says, "You know, they have tags that you can just place on the bags so you can swipe them through more easily," I thought he was being informational and I appreciated this until he continued, "It makes it go a lot faster for you AND THE PERSON BEHIND YOU TO GET THROUGH THE LINE MORE QUICKLY." His tanned leathery face got particularly ugly as he towered over me in his attempt to express his displeasure at being held up. At 8:30 am. On a Saturday.

@sshole. I gave him an "Are you kidding me” face and said, "Sorry." in my youareaf*cktard voice and turned away. Eight years ago, his attempt at intimidation would have withered me. This day, I was smooth as glass.

After I had paid and was waiting for my tape to print, Butthole pushed his cart up almost touching me. Interpreting the language of @sshole, (having raised two teenage boys, I am fluent), he was clearly alerting me to the fact that it was time for me to move on. I am little if not passive aggressive, so I stayed where I was until I had taken the register tape, carefully put my card back in my wallet and slowly thanked Mr. Checkout, telling him sweetly to have a good day.
My daughter wanted to die. Methods of snappier retorts occurred to me much later, which I still hope to eventually employ. Like, “Pick another lane you f*cking retard.” Sadly, I'm just not quick enough.

Later on in the day, I found myself irritated with a woman at the gas pumps. I suck as a human being.