| This is only a re-enactment. |
...how entertaining you are!
It's been a while since I've been able to sit down with gathered thoughts to assemble anything worth reading for my fine visitors. Then I visited a Wal-Mart in Myrtle Beach yesterday afternoon after an excruciatingly long day at work. I needed to pick up some essentials: drink mixes you put in water bottles, beer, candles, a shovel, lime, some rope...ok, so only three of those are true. I'll let you figure out which ones they are. So anyway, I grab my items (assuming I didn't need a cart) and I'm fumbling them all the way up to the register when I get on the "10 Items Or Less" line. After a brief moment on that line, the cashier yells to me, "Sir, I'm CLOSED!!" Well, technically you're not...hell you're not even "open" if we're getting really technical about it. You're leaving your register momentarily and can not assist one more customer. I get it. Moving on...
For miles, I couldn't find a line that was of a reasonable wait time, so I just settled on an "Express Check-Out" (which is amazing to me that they have multiple levels of what they consider to be an express lane). As I'm standing behind the other six miscreants that decided to slither out from whatever rock or swamp log they reside under, the man in front of me turns and faces me. This is the moment my life changed forever. Allow me to describe this 'gentleman' to you:
- Mid-to-late 70s
- Already grumpy
- Southern accent (possible "good-ol'-boy)
- Didn't use a napkin on his face after his last meal...definite residue that resembled Chef Boyardee or Iodine. I'm not sure of his drug of choice, so I am only left to assume.
- Purchasing: 6-pack Pepsi, 2-pack Lever 2000 bar soap, 4-pack generic brand toilet paper, and random red polo shirt (typical shopping cart of the elderly, minus the Centrum Silver and Depends)
- Outsmarted me by having a cart...rare slip on my part...won't happen again.
I'm going to refer to the old man as Monty...simply because he looked like a Monty to me.
Monty: I always get on the wrong line...
D: I do too, believe me.
M: You don't sound like you're from around here, so you must not know this is a pretty regular thing...to be on a line this slow.
D: I'm definitely familiar with slow lines, don't worry. And I just moved here.
M: Where are you from?
D: New York.
M: So you must not know what waiting in this line is like. (<--- ????? Senility much?)
D: It's okay, I've got time.
M: Well I'm from North Carolina, moved here 35 years ago. I've only had three jobs my whole life.........(rambles on while I think of beer and dinner ideas...don't worry, you're not missing anything but his life story...just thank me now and we'll move on...).......and now I'm on this damn line.
Ok, so, this is where the conversation took a truly unexpected turn...
D: You and me both.
M: If it weren't for these Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women, it would never be like this.
In my mind, my jaw hit the floor and caused an earthquake. How I held it together, I still have no idea.
D: Really?
M: Yep. It's them Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women that are out to kill you. Are you married?
D: Nope.
M: Good...don't ever get married. They'll kill you. Once you get married, your stuff becomes theirs. Don't do it.
D: I gotcha.
About this time, he gets to the check-out counter. The cashier is a Mexican woman. That's just priceless irony right there. His face gets noticeably disgruntled. He pays in cash (of course), and proceeds to walk away. Then he turns back to me...
M: Don't ever get married...they'll kill you!
Then he walks away.
So perhaps some of you were expecting crazier than that, but I must say that was the most interesting check-out experience of my life. Well...at least South Carolina isn't without its entertainment.
D.
