who do I think I am?

I’m blaming my sassy behavior last night on the whiskey I drank on Tuesday, which I blame on the bartender who wouldn’t serve me a beer but once every 90 minutes, which he blamed on a broken computer system, which I blame on Al Gore.

The scene – Me, at Ukrops, in the 15 items or less lane with 17 items.  (Sidebar – I count my items by food groups.  If I buy coffee beans, coffee cream and coffee filters, I count this as one item – coffee).  In line behind me are a father and son, whom I shall call Big Brown Star and Brown Star Jr.

The father watches me unload my food groups and nudges his son and says “Pay attention.  You’ll need to know how to belittle people if you want to grow up to be a Big Brown Star like me”.   

Big Brown Star asks the cashier if her shirt is a collectors item yet.  She stares back at him.  He asks her again.  She smiles politely but says nothing.  Now this gets Big Brown Star going.  He is not used to not getting a reaction, so he assumes the cashier must be stoopid and starts speaking louder.  IS your UKROPS shirt a COLLECTORS item yet?  Get IT?

The cashier pretends she does not understand him.  Brown Star Jr. truly does not understand, so he asks Daddy why a Ukrops shirt would be a collectors item.  Big Brown Star says “Son, Ukrops is going to be sold, and this lady probably won’t work here anymore, so I was telling her shirt is going to be worth money.  She should eBay her uniforms before the market is saturated”.

“But Daddy, what will happen to all the people who work here if Ukrops is sold?” asked Brown Star Jr.

“Well, maybe some of them will stay on, but the new owner will probably let everyone go and replace them with cheaper labor”.  He turns to the cashier, “So honey, how much are you going to sell your shirts for?  I might be interested in buying a couple if they are in good shape”.

The cashier continues to smile.  She lets him finish before telling me the price of my goods and going through the doyouwantcashbackokjustpressthisbuttononemoretimeplease routine.  I, on the other hand, suddenly outgrow my britches and decide that Big Brown Star deserves to be scolded. 

“Sir?  Are you a jackass or just an unoriginal tool?  I am sure that is not the first time she’s had to listen to someone like you today, but that’s no excuse on your part.  Do you think it’s funny to stand in front of someone and tell her she’s probably out of a job?  I certainly wasn’t entertained.  I bet she wasn’t either, but she’s so good at what she does that she’s going to be nice to you anyway”.

He sputters at me and says “I didn’t mean it that way!  I wasn’t trying to say that she’s going to be out of, er, um, I was just kidding.  Jesus Christ!”

“Why don’t you tell me where you work sir, and I’ll swing by there in the morning and fire you.  I’m actually pretty good at firing people I’ve been told.  I’ve had lots of practice.  It might not bother you the first time I fire you, but by the end of the day you’ll be pretty convinced that your boss hired me to do his dirty work.  I promise you will be completely worried by the end of the day.  What time shall we start?”

Big Brown Star stared at me completely dumbfounded.  I think it may have been the vagina-big mouth combo that blew him away.

I muttered “jackass” softly and took my receipt from the cashier.  I imagined we would have shared a fist bump if she wasn’t a total professional.

Moral of the story?  Don’t be a Brown Star.  And maybe save the whiskey drinking for the weekend.


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