A Sigh Mean Enough To Make the Devil Hot

I don't know about you, but I always assumed the goal of a retail establishment was to sell merchandise to their customers. Well. It looks like I have been making an A S S out of U and M E! And at my advanced age. What a shock to make this discovery. It's like last year, when I found out England is an ISLAND!

Today I made a trip to town. Not so much because I needed that 44 oz. Diet Coke and lottery tickets, but to see how high the water got last night. Uh huh. It was for scientific purposes, because I am supposed to meet my sister the ex-mayor's wife tomorrow at Mom's house to remove some more items. And I want to make sure I can make it, or let her know.

The forecast calls for 4-7 inches more rain by Friday night. That's a lot of rain, with the creeks and rivers already out of their banks. Luckily our creek goes down in several hours. So far. But with the river it runs into already out of its banks, that could change. Don't you go worrying about Val Thevictorian. Her homestead sits high and dry over several sinkholes. No water is coming in her house. But...she may be stranded for a while in her own home. Hick will be away picking up The Pony from his week at Missouri Boys State. I'm hoping he can make it there without swimming his mule team across a raging river.

So anyhoo...as long as I was in town, I stopped by for a soda at the gas station chicken store. No chicken for me today, thanks. I was planning on some super nachos when I got back home. And let me tell you, they were super, and they were nachos. Which is neither here nor there. I grabbed a 44 oz. cup from the soda fountain, because the gas station chicken store no longer allows refills. Can you believe that? They even have a snotty little sign taped on the Pepsi fountain machine that says, "No Refills. Refills Spread Germs." A likely story. And profitable for them.

You'd think a store so concerned with making a profit off the backs of caffeine-addicted clientele would be pleased to sell lottery tickets to the customers. Wouldn't you? I cashed in some previous winners, and made my selections, careful to come out almost even with the price of my soda included. I even got a handful of change back.

Here's the deal. When I was picking out my tickets, the cranky old lady clerk, who was not even at the register, but at the counter doing paperwork, let out a hateful sigh that could have singed the eyebrows off of Andy Rooney. IF he was still alive, and buying scratch-off tickets in the gas station chicken store. Well, EXCUUUUUSE ME! As that wild and crazy Steve Martin might have said. Because I did not know it was such a chore for the other clerk to take lottery tickets out from under the glass-topped counter and sell them to me.

Apparently, Cranky Old Clerk was doing inventory. On a Wednesday afternoon at 1:30, on the 17th day of June, a time one might reasonably expect customers might be present, doing what customers do, which is purchase items from the establishment. I kind of snorted and rolled my eyes for the benefit of the lady behind me buying a corn dog for her preschool son.

If I had more of a backbone, and was less addicted to caffeine and lottery tickets, I would have said, "You know what? Never mind. I don't really need these. I don't want to mess up your inventory." But they frown on that. Another sign on the Coke fountain says, "If you pull a cup, you must pay for the soda, whether you take it or not." And since I was already paying for a soda, which I assure you I WAS taking with me, then I might as well take the tickets, too. Because they also frown on tearing tickets off and people not wanting them after all. Which I assure you I have never done.

Darn that Cranky Old Clerk and her doom! Every ticket was a loser. That's 7 tickets, no winner. The odds are such that I should have had at least one winner, maybe two.

At least I know that Even Steven is now in my corner, and Cranky Old Clerk will be smited in some manner. Perhaps I was her smiter today, for a previous wrong. Who knows?