I gathered my to-do list for the day as I normally do every morning: directly after pooping but before showering. Step three on my list is "groceries." The only side notes for that item read PACKING TAPE, PAPER PLATES and CONDOMS.Hmmmm...
Clearly, this was going to be an uncomfortable stare down over the check-scanner. The local Kroger checkout people, however, are pretty professional - head and shoulders above what I could expect at the local H.E.B. in San Antonio where I grew up. Odds were good, then, that I wouldn't actually receive any comments on my list. A dreadful little weasel of a thought poked his head up over the ramparts of my brain. If this won't make them say something... what will? How far will I have to go?
Intrigued, I enlisted help from the Temple Of Suck staff. In a true testament to how little each of us has to do on a Monday afternoon, it was about 90 seconds before I had a full shopping list guaran-damn-teed to make Dayshift-Checkout-Guy unable to restrain himself.I strapped on my big-boy pants and hopped in the car. A short drive later and I nearly ran over a woman so fat her knees kept kicking her belly as she hobbled across the street on her cane. I hate grocery stores in day time.
I parked, walked in and shopped, poker face firmly planted. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get PIE nor WHISKEY & ROPE; the former because the bakery was conspiring against me and the latter because I have the misfortune to live in a semi-dry county. BEER OR WINE & ROPE just didn't have the same zing to it.
The checker was robotic, and didn't even crack a smile. "Josh", bless him, had the will of a robot. Or maybe just the poker face of a robot. Either way, I got nothing.
Today I learned two things: (1) it takes a lot more than vaguely suggestive items on a shopping cart to make the local high school kids crack and (2) for all your bondage bestiality rape needs, always go with Scotch brand Packing Tape.
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