Yesterday I had to make a quick trip to BJ’s (where they unfortunately do not deal in their namesake) for a metric assload of kitty litter and fiber. What? I like to stay regular.
Shopping was no big chore, but because I was buying four 40 pound buckets of kitty litter, I opted for the flatbed trolley as opposed to the cart. That way my measly little arms wouldn’t have to haul the buckets up and over the edge of the basket of the cart. The problem is the flatbed suddenly doesn’t steer as well with 160 pounds of shitgrit on it. But since I was shopping at dinner time the crowds were thin and I made it to the registers without much of a problem.
I checked myself out (because who has time for an inept teenager to morosely sob their way through scanning every item because they’ve suddenly realized that this is the best their lives will ever be?) and made my way to the exit.
If you’re unfamiliar with stores like BJ’s, or Costco, or Sam’s Club this next part is important, so pay attention. Yes, you, with one hand down your pants and the other hand on the keyboard who found this page by searching for “hillary clinton buttplug in ann coulter’s ass threeway mitt romney”, you need to pay attention.
At these stores they tell you, over and over again, ad nauseum, to keep your receipt out so that an employee standing at the exit can verify that the items on your receipt match the items in your cart. See, most of the stuff in the store is too big to fit in a reasonably sized bag, and the checkout lanes are enormously wide, so the best way to stop shoplifting is to post a guard at the exit. It seems to work pretty well as people file past with receipt in hand, ready to have their items checked by the employee before moving on. I was not so lucky as to be in such a situation.
Somewhere in the 20 feet between the registers and the door some ancient whore and her screaming, slackjawed brood has lost the receipt from the register. She searched every pocket over and over and over, and the line behind me grew longer and longer. It’s unprecedented to have a line as long as the one I was in, and it was only 5 deep. The line behind me, however, was becoming so long that people who were checking out were unable to move forward because the line was now blocking them. And because they were unable to move forward, other customers were unable to check out. This woman had essentially buttfucked hundreds of people because she was so cranially lodged in her own anus. Finally she found her receipt and the line started moving again, only to be stopped again just outside the exit to the store.
Apparently unfamiliar with the many similar examples in life, such as the elevator, bus, train, car, plane, bathroom, club, bar, etc., idiot after idiot piled themselves into the entrance vestibule of the store before we had a chance to exit. Apparently in such a hurry that they couldn’t wait for anyone to leave before they entered, they now had to wait for everyone to leave before they entered. But no one could leave! The dumbfucks had circled their trolleys in such an idiotic manner that they blocked every possible egress. I stood and stared, unable to move, and tongue tied by the rapidly compiling idiocy, as douchebag after douchebag further blocked the exit. It was a Mexican standoff of epic proportions, and unfortunately, I didn’t have a gun.
With visions in my head of William Tecumseh Sherman ravaging a flaming swath through the heart of the south I announced to no one in particular, “You need to back up so we can get out. THEN you can come in.” They all looked shocked at the idea that THEY could possibly be the problem. They started at one another but nobody budged. I looked around and realized that the situation inside the store had once again backed up beyond the registers, and more people were piling up outside the store.
Suddenly the entire mob behind me shouted at once in a deafening baritone, “Everybody MOVE!” I whipped around to see how the crowd could have organized itself so quickly and found myself staring at a foot-wide belt buckle that was holding up the sail-sized pants of the walking mountain behind me. I craned my neck skyward to get a better look at the giant behind me, and with twinkling brown eyes he looked down at me quickly from the troposphere before addressing the tightly packed throng of idiots, “Get out of the way!”
They stared sheepishly at each other for a moment, dumbfounded into inaction.
“NOW!”
The Blue Angles wish they could fly with such coordination and precision as those idiots blocking the exit did. Like a dam bursting, we were finally able to leave the store after a completely unnecessary 20 minute wait. I wanted to shake the gargantuan mitt of the gentleman who cleared our path, but in two quick strides he was in West Virginia, and one stride after that I couldn’t see him anymore. I wish I could take him everywhere, because every day I live in Glen Burnie my support for eugenics grows stronger.
