May 17, 2007

As we all know, my trips to the grocery store are usually filled with freaks, more freaks and now mighty fucking annoying clumsy people.

As I’m putting my groceries on the conveyer belt thingy, there’s a man behind me, holding a few things. He starts pushing my stuff further up the counter, which, listen buddy, you can wait the 30 seconds it takes for my crap to be rung through. So he continues to push my groceries and as I turn back to the cashier to roll my eyes, we hear a huge crash. The moron pushed my glass jar of barbeque sauce off onto the floor. Of course the sauce doesn’t just fall in a plop on the floor, it splatters like some kind of yucky crime scene and I now have bright red barbeque sauce splashed on my pants. My nice capris actually. My nice white capris.

I look back at Mr Pushalot and he’s smiling like an idiot and literally saying, “he he he”. He what? He gonna get his ass kicked by white capried lady with red sauce sloshed on her pantlegs, that’s what. I give him my best death glare, which I’m told is about as scary as Bambi giving a dirty look but still, I’m giving it my best effort. The cashier apologizes, which was sweet, but it’s not your fault honey, it’s the dumbass behind me. I’m thinking, he’s going to say he’s sorry at least. Nope. Instead, he again starts pushing my groceries and then my son’s butterscotch pudding cups fall onto the floor, and you guessed it, into the big blob of sauce. I give yet another death stare and the guy is still smiling like he’s won a prize. I gotta prize for you buddy, bend over and let’s see just how far my pretty high heels can fit up your butt. Wait. I like my nice shoes, so forget that. Let’s see how far the cashiers fist can go up your butt. Wait. That’s not fair to her. She was lovely and friendly, and why should she be grossed out? Let’s get the janitor and his mop and we’ll see how far that mop handle goes up shall we?

I’m looking at this guy and he’s still not said he’s sorry. I turn to the cashier and roll my eyes again. Then I see his wife coming over (or maybe she’s his nurse from the PYSCHO ward) and she’s pointing to the mess and he starts giggling again (weird) and then they both run away. Ummm, they’re in their 50′s and acting like they’re 10. Or 2. Whatever.

That was my fun evening. How was yours? Did you get splattered with barbeque sauce? No? Well no need to brag. Gah.

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3 Responses to “You knocked my sauce over.”

1. May 18th, 2007 at 6:46 am, Ozy Says:

   Exactly what store do you shop? I want to know so I’ll naver make the mistake of going there. Is there like a mental health ward across the street or something?

2. May 18th, 2007 at 2:29 pm, TARA Says:

   Wow what kind of a 50 year old nut does such a thing?? Sassy ever consider ordering your groceries?? Have a great day hun!

3. May 20th, 2007 at 9:05 pm, Mel Says:

   bambi.. lol

   That’s why I’m lovin’ me some pregnancy hormones right now!
   I normally have a good death stare.. I mean, people apologize, move fearfully out of my way and fulfill my demands when I’m forced to use the evil eyes but now with a bun in the oven it’s like bonus points to the idiot for pissing off the pregnant chika!
   … uhh, not that I’m recommending you get pregnant again or anything.
   Hey, I just realized when this one’s born I’m going to have more kids then you.
   .. IN yo face!