Okay–it’s another post of random pictures that do not actually match my story. Feel free to enjoy Squish’s smile as she wakes up from her nap at her brother’s tournament and the dogs sleeping on me as though they have never seen me before that evening.
Also, the kids thought it was absolutely necessary that ZoomBoy’s pink water bath bomb be documented, although I understand it smelled a bit of strawberry and they were hoping for rose.
Also, we have a selfie, by Zoomboy, and you know, I can never resist those, though I thought I’d share.
So, there you go, weekend in pictures, I’m getting my car fixed tomorrow, huzzah!
And now for the story of why the poor stock boys at my grocery store are going to die at the zombie apocalypse.
So, on Wednesday I had some extra time between my workout and picking up the kids, and we needed milk. I went to Raley’s which is a different store than my usual Safeway, and while I was there I bought one of those really nice insulated freezer bags.
These things are big–a lovely capacity, and they’re insulated, and can do hot or cold, and they zip up and everything. Whee! I also bought a couple of their larger reusable grocery bags.
For those of you who don’t live in state, California passed a law outlawing thin plastic grocery bags for stores that serve a certain sized population–so big chain grocery stores make you re-use your bags, which is actually really good for the environment, but it takes some getting use to. I know I’ve been toting around a “bag full of bags”– or a small canvass bag full of smaller nylon bags–because I usually go to the grocery store for BIG BATCHES of food. (This, by the way, is changing–my batches are getting smaller, and it’s a harder transition than you may think. But back to zombies.)
So, today I go to Safeway and one of the big things on my list is Klondike Bars because yum and if we have A DESSERT to eat, we eat A DESSERT and not lots of shit that’s really bad for us.
So I bring my handy new large sized insulated tote, a couple of other large sized reusable grocery bags, and my bag full of nylon bags because we always need more.
Anyway– cut to me at the checkout stand, when I send all my bags down the conveyor belt and the young, very pretty, very clueless clerk starts filling my grocery bags.
He takes that nice insulated carrier, and, with Klondike bars RIGHT THERE starts filling it up with hotdogs, cheese, salad mix, apples, and generally EVERYTHING THAT DOES NOT BELONG IN AN INSULATED CARRIER ESPECIALLY WHEN IT’S FIFTY DEGREES OUTSIDE.
I watch him, thinking, “Okay, how much of a bitch am I going to be? Do I gently school him? Do I try to explain?”
Suddenly, I turn into Milton from Office Space. “Uh, refrigerated. Insulated. Freezer. Or heat. But now it’s freezer. Uh,”
So of course because they’re young and hot and I’m, you know, fucking MILTON obsessing about the red stapler, the cashier and the clerk ignore me, and then the guy bagging the groceries gets called away. He’s been looking at that special bag sort of sad now, because it’s NOT bottomless like Hermione’s purse, and he can’t fit one more BAG OF CHEESE in it, and it just sort of flops over.
Like I said. Sad.
So I go around and start taking shit out of it and packing Klondike bars and frozen broccoli and fresh meat because, you know, IT’S AN INSULATED FUCKING BAG!
“Who does that?” I mutter to myself. “It’s obviously meant to keep shit cold, who puts hot dogs and cheese in the bag meant to keep shit cold when there’s ice cream RIGHT THERE?”
Anyway, I re-stock the bag, and the guy comes up and stands uncomfortably behind me. (Think the fuckturd who will be in the White House when he was debating with the actual person who was elected–yes, that uncomfortable looming.)
“Uh, miss?” (Miss? Who is he fooling?) “Would you like me to finish up bagging your groceries?”
And I am torn between, “Go away kid, I don’t have time for your bullshit,” and, “I haven’t seen this poor pigeon here before, maybe I should give him a chance.”
“Sure,” I said brightly, and I step away from the freezer bag. There is one box of Klondike bars left, and enough room for it.
The kids puts hot dogs in there instead, then gets to the Klondike bars and stares at them as if to say, “Wait… my lizard brain is telling me something important.”
“It’s a freezer bag,” I say. “Those go in the freezer bag.”
He shoves them in the freezer bag like he’s embarrassed, and then tries to shove the hot dogs on top of them and then gets confused because he can’t zip the bag.
Now remember–I have more than one kind of bag.
After he dithers about what to do with the ONE BAG HE’S PACKED, he puts it in the cart–unzipped–and what follows is a highly awkward version of interpretive dance in which two guys–the cashier and the clerk–each pull a bag out of my bag of bags, look at it for a moment as though they’ve never seen a bag before, and debate… “Do I put one bottle of soda water in this one, and just put it on the counter like that? Do I try to stuff this bag with hot dogs AND cheese, or does the cheese stand alone? Oh, he’s got the bigger grocery bag–is that or is it not big enough for apples, cheese, and hot dogs, or should we just put the apples in that bag and call it a day?”
Both guys.
Both guys are doing this.
The line behind my register is getting longer and longer and longer.
Now, if I was just one random granola lady screwing up the system with my bag of bags and random bagosity, I would feel bad about this.
But remember– this is a STATE LAW now. Every customer these guys are going to get is going to have some bag variable that they are gong to have to tackle. They can no longer put their brains on autopilot and just shove everything into an ultra-thin non-biodegradable condom wrapper and call it a day.
Seriously, folks, when President Fuckturd gives everybody zombie virus instead of flu shots because he thinks that would be a fucking HOOT, these guys are gonna DIE.
And me?
Well, I might live a little longer. I’ve got a freezer full of broccoli and Klondike bars–my family can last for a month!
