It is not my responsibility to like you, it is your responsibility to accept that I don’t.
In a previous blog I have mentioned limited edition adults. This is an elite club of individual who have an understanding of what being ‘grown’ really is. You will begin to see Adult Laws posted sporadically. These are just little tidbits that the Limited Edition Adults heed to on a day to day basis. Whether you agree or disagree please feel free to comment. These usually spark great debate.
Dignity is for you. Pride is for everyone else.
This has been a long weekend. And of all the stuff that went on the one thing that sticks out the most (btw, if you knew the catastrophes I have dealt with this weekend you would chukle at what I’m about to say) is my 6 hostile-filled trip to Wally World.
I bought a box of duraflame logs (since my frikking heat isn’t working…), a heater and a poker set for the fireplace, not to mention a few other knick-knacks. So I go thru the self checkout lane only because its the only one without 1500 people waiting and I’m ringing up my things.
Here’s the thing when you ring up the poker set it shows Fireset just like that. The nice alpha male behind me says “It rang them up right there, see.” I reply “No that was this,” pointing to the fireset.
The nice underage attendant comes over, very relevently focused on her nails, to see what the problem is. I point to the big System Error flashing like neon lights on the screen and then to the heavy box logs. “It won’t scan.”
…hits a button.
…looks at items
…enters a code
“It rang them up. There it is.” She punches in the code and walks back to the front to be united with her fingernail file.
Can anyone guess what she points to?
Go ahead, I’ll wait.
At this point, I have done my civil duty. I pay the total grab my receipt and I’m off. Of course in the Black Walmart you are carded at the door (not that WalMart has a color but regularly we tend to identify the quality of a store by the majority population that shops there and lives around it. I wish I was exagerrating but I have yet to be stopped at the Madison Walmart where the door worker is tehre to actually greet you) so I dread this stop at the door. Not because I mind paying for the logs just because I’m exhausted, frustrated and the LAST thing I want to contend with is WalMart’s customer service dept.
Nice gentlemen at the door looks at all the unbagged items in my cart(fireset, logs and the heater). Counts them AND names them aloud. I hand him my ticket. He looks at the ticket and says…
“Keep your ticket in case you have to return anything. The box too. Have a good night.” Highlights the tickets and sends me on my way.
Now I wish he had sent me to customer service.
How long will the surgery last
The scapel has no flesh left to pierce
You’ve studied every pore
every intention and cell
With nothing new to find
no resolve to change
How long can I last under the scrutiny
of your surgical eye
I’m open to listening
I’m open and vulnerable to your diagnosis
Tell me how to change
Tell me how to be
Write a book on my disease
And watch the world agree
Let the Amen corner witness
and take credit for my survival
But once your God-like ego
Has had its last orgasm
At my mortal expense
Close me up
Or leave me to heal