The Acceptance of a Good Deed Does Not Go Unpunished

Wednesday I had to dash in Save A Lot after school. I was running low on Val's Super Nacho supplies. On the list were shredded lettuce, sliced black olives, queso dip, and salsa. Along with ketchup (one of The Pony’s four main food groups) and spicy brown mustard, and a case of bottled water for school..

I found a great parking spot right next to the handicapped slot. As I entered the automatic door, headed for the cart corral, a checkout lady pushed a cart in front of me. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Yes. I was thankful that she saved me three steps. Even though she was most likely pushing it to the cart corral, and saved herself three steps. Yes. I was thankful. Until I pushed that cart three steps. Thump-a-lump-a-thump! It was one of those flat-tire carts! The kind that have part of the rubber gone from a wheel. Well. What a fine kettle of fish that was. I did not want to appear ungrateful. I thumped along past the bananas, on my way to the shredded lettuce.

AND A GRUNGY BACKWOODS-LOOKING GUY DARTED AHEAD OF ME! He stood looking at the lettuce. For five minutes. Then he grabbed a head and headed out. Back towards the front door. I’m guessing he actually went through a register from the wrong end. He did not look like the lettuce type. Perhaps he was going to use it to sight in his gun.

I picked up my shredded lettuce, and turned down the first aisle. Thump-a-lump-a-thump. A heavy sigh escaped me, just as I was passing by a cart in the middle of the aisle where a stockboy was stocking cheese.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Let me move that for you.”

“No. It’s no problem. I seem to have a flat tire, heh, heh.”

“I can go to the front and get you another cart.”

“Oh, no! You don’t have to do that! The lady up front gave me this one, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“It’s no problem. Let me go get you one.”

“No, no. That’s okay. But thank you!”

Darn. Those Save A Lot people are all about customer service.

I picked up seven cans of sliced black olives. They stack easily in my pantry. The little 2.26 oz cans. No need to take a chance on running out. Then I grabbed a bottle of ketchup, and the spicy brown mustard. On to the bottled water in a display up front. Thump-a-lump-a-thump.

Well. Apparently, a new shipment of water had come in. The plastic-wrapped cases were stacked as high as the corn in Iowa. Or at least as high as Val Thevictorian’s eye. Even though it was kind of like a rectangular pyramid, I could not drag a case out from a lower row. I’m not really good at Jenga. I’m not really good at dragging a heavy case of water encased in plastic, at eye level, across other cases of water encased in plastic, either. There’s a friction issue. I wrestled that water for as long as that lettuce-shooter pondered over his selection. Almost threw out my back. It’s a pity The Pony wasn’t with me to help.

I picked up some name brand queso, but left it on the shelf by the Save A Lot brand that I took instead. It’s the least I can do, right, with those employees being so helpful… I got the mild salsa instead of medium, which made my stomach kind of burny after Val’s Super Nachos.

On to the checkout, where the short, curly-headed, plump, not-so-old old checker who gave me the cart was stationed. I put my soon-to-be purchases on the conveyor, pointed to my case of water in the cart, and moved it around for her to put my imminent purchases in. Chubby Checker started scanning. She got to my sliced black olives.

“Oh, you must like olives.”

Seriously? Like I was going to go home and eat all seven small cans of sliced black olives as a treat? Or maybe grab that can opener that I stash under T-Hoe’s driver’s seat, (or squeeze them open like Popeye), and start eating them on the way home. As if I couldn’t just buy a large can of whole black olives if I like olives so much. I swear. Checkers these days are entirely too friendly. What’s next?

“Oh, I see you have a burning itchy rectum.” Tosses Preparation H into the cart.

“Oh, I see you crap yourself.” Tosses Depends into the cart.

“Oh, I see you have stinky armpits.” Tosses Lady Speed Stick into the cart.

"Oh. I see you are a hairy Sasquatch." Tosses Schick Women's Razor into cart.

"Oh. I see you are married to Hick." Tosses pack of hot dogs into cart. 

Mind your business, woman! We stopped being buddies when you gave me the flat-tire cart.