I have no reason to shop around. I know where everything is. I know how much it will cost to buy it. The prices of the items I buy do not have wild fluctuations. I need food for me and food for The Three. I also need dog treats because Lucas has informed me that we are out. I wasn’t going to buy more but he stands in front of the treat jar and sneezes. I taught him to sneeze for a treat and now he sneezes away like it’s hay fever season but there are no treats. I feel bad for Lucas, really, because this is his one claim to dog trick fame. So I have to buy dog food and dog treats.
If there is anything worse than Christmas when it is here it is the Ghost Of Christmas that lingers for the week after the actual holiday. People returning things they bought or were given are worse than people who buy things. I want to get into the store and I want to get back out. I don’t want to interact with anyone except the cashier and I don’t care that you were given a gift you don’t want and cannot return because you didn’t buy it at this store. Don’t yell at the cashier. She didn’t sell you that item and she can’t give any money for it. That’s the customer service, in a manner of speaking. I know the lines are long there but that isn’t my problem. Don’t break in front of ten people because you can’t locate a receipt for the gift and you aren’t sure if it was even bought in this store.
It frightens me to be inside of a retail store in December. Sooner or later, shooters are going to migrate from schools to retail stores and there are going to be more people trampled to death than shot to death. It’s coming. I only hope that it’s that week I don’t have to buy dog food.
There are two kinds of people on this earth and there doesn’t seem to be a third. Someone will ask me what kind of dog I have because anyone buying fifty pounds of kibble isn’t using it to shore up his double wide, I would hope.
Random Stranger of the First Kind: What kind of dog do you have?
Random Stranger of the First Kind: That’s cool, I got my dog from a shelter too!
And then we have..
Random Stranger of the Second Kind: What kind of dog do you have?
Random Stranger of the Second Kind: Like the kind that digs people out of snow? Wow! I knew a guy whose dog could sniff out shotgun shells if he dropped while he was huntin’.
I’m behind a guy who is just about to pop the guy who broke into the line to bitch about a refund. I am slightly excited and at the same time slightly annoyed and more than a little tense. There are ten people in line. Odds are, seven of them are packing, and at least one of them is nuts. That’s an average. This might be one of those above average days for red necks who have just about had enough of this kind of shit.
At this moment someone drops a pallet onto the concrete floor and I nearly shrieked. Holy Mother of God was that necessary? Did you have to drop that damn thing twenty feet like that? The guy on the fork life sees about a hundred pair of eyes looking at him and not a single look of gratitude is to be found. Anyone holding it in so they could use the bathroom at home might be thinking homicide at this point. Hell, it does occur to me if the wrong-return guy starts blasting away, we could throw the fifty pound bag of mutt food and fork lift guy at him.
I smile at this thought. People back away from me.
I manage to get out alive and without have a falling pallet killing me. Can you imagine it?
What happened to Mike Firesmith?
Damn, I knew it would come to that someday.
But then there’s always the parking lot where someone almost backs into someone else and horns blow, shouts are exchanged and I wonder if anyone has ever fled a shooting in a store only to get gunned down in crossfire near a handicap space? Surely, with a parking lot the size of some third world countries we can all have our own zip code out here, can’t we? I mean surely parking one car width further away isn’t going to cause you to like, you know, exercise?
The farther I get from town the more sane I feel. Traffic starts getting lighter once I get past the last subdivision. By the time I get to Hickory Head I haven’t seen another car in a few minutes and I can actually go without seeing another person for hours. The dogs see the fifty pound bag of food and rejoice. Lucas thinks the treats are something to sneeze at. This amuses me and I smile at this thought. The mutts mob me. I am home.