At 5:10pm my Microsoft Office, Oracle, other miscellaneous web-based company applications and hell...generally every program that I needed to conclude my day crashed on me. I threw my hands up in agony and disgust, grabbed my purse, locked my file cabinet, and left. Tasks unfinished.
Detoured to the grocery store on the way home. I was all smiles since the check-out lines looked pretty clear going in. That excitement proved to be premature. I gathered the 8 items I needed and headed for the lines, only to find all of them magically full.
Where in grocery shopping hell did those extra people come from? I paced for a moment, until I found the shortest route. Lucky # 7. . . Or so I thought.
Sweet little old black lady who looked not a day over 95 is in line #7. The cashier is nearly done ringing up her items. Grandma digs in her purse - preparing to pay, I assumed. Wrong again. She whips out like 500 coupons and sifts through them with maddening slowness.
Indian guy behind me utters something in his native language that I'm pretty sure translated into: Oh, HELL naw!!! and abruptly sits his hand-held basket of items on the floor, leaves the line, and exits the store.
I should have followed suit. . . but I wanted --- no needed ---- my crab spinach dip, granola bars, assortment of fruit, berry punch, etc. I'll be damned if I made this trip for nothing. So, I remain a trooper. I wait patiently...fuming inside though. Patience is not my strong suit. At least not when waiting or lines are involved.
She's still sifting through coupons and handing select ones to the cashier while I watch with great sadness as the other lanes move steadily and their numbers dwindle. 5 minutes later, she pays.
Finally!
Premature again.
She shows the cashier the receipt and asks about toilet tissue and turkeys. Neither of which are in either of the two baskets of excessive crap that she has her grandson (presumably) guarding at the edge of the lane. I want to leave the line, but my curiosity overpowered my impatience at that point. I couldn't move. I was in shock.
She tells the cashier... "Well, I want to go and pick up one of those turkeys. I want to buy one."
The cashier (a young high school aged sista) tries to maintain her composure, though she's clearly frustrated too, I can't imagine how long this elder had been checking out prior to me walking up. "Okay, I understand. I can have one of the baggers get one for you, but maam, I need to ring up the rest of these people. You'll have to get back in the line", she told her politely.
The elder snapped back, "Well hell...that's okay then. I don't really want it no how. It ain't even Thanksgiving yet..." and with that, she snatches the receipt, slings the basket around, signals to her grandson, and exits the store.
At last, it's my turn.
10 minutes later, I'm home. I turn the key to the front door, the lock clicks smoothly, and I turn the handle. Fail.
The sun took the liberty of locking the top lock - despite me telling him 1,000 times not to ever do that prior to me getting home. I bang on the door for about 5 minutes straight........ Nothing. Freaking great. He's sleep. I just know it.
He was.
I can hear Sir Fredrick barking "Wake up, fool. You better get up and let her in or she's gonna be pissed..." in chihuahua language. Smart dog. I sat on the steps and tried not to blow a gasket. Breathe in. Breathe out.
20 minutes later....
I go back to the stairs, ascend them again, bang on the front door -- as loudly as the police would, putting my knuckles into it.
This time, he opens the door. His eyes, red from deep slumber. Mine, red with fury.
I was too defeated to be angry though. I put up the groceries, took a shower, grabbed my sushi, closed my door, looked at the ceiling (symbolic of the sky), shook my head, picked up my laptop...and started typing. Otherwise, I'da killed somebody.
Friday night insanity.
Pillow scream.
- kj
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