Adventures in Phredland, 9-16-10

WARNING: If you read it, deal with it. This is unedited and I put most sailors to shame when I’m mad.

We’ve been in Austin for about a year now and I have to be honest, I have met nothing but seriously nice people with only a couple of shitwits in-between. Customer service exists and flourishes here and people are just *really* nice. Apparently, they’ve been saving up to properly welcome me because today I met every last fucktard the area has to offer.

1) So, I go to the doctor for a follow-up today and decide I need groceries as well. The appointment is fine despite everyone on 620 driving like the speed limit is 25 mph. That is, except the hillbilly in his dirty-ass, jacked up Z28 that needs a damn muffler. I’m sorry your penis is small and you feel inadequate, but wash your car. Anyway, he’s doing about 75. Of course, he’s behind me, so when a loser doesn’t use their turn signal on two cars ahead and we all put on brakes, assface fishtails violently as he slams on his to keep from hitting me. Then, whips around and cuts me off. Then whips around and cuts off the woman in front of me. I mean really Buford, where’s the fire? Just keep it up buddy and when I pass you overturned and on fire in a ditch, I’ll stop for a moment to piss in your eye socket before continuing on my merry little way.

2) After my appointment I’m off to the store. I’m putting along and a nominal pace and it’s fairly packed so there isn’t much room next to in front or behind me. We’re all like lovely little smiling grocery cattle, but smelling nicer. So, much like the jackass on the road, this kid decided to dart directly in front of my cart. I have to jerk my cart to a halt to keep from ramming him (which I should have done...with joy) and my eggs go sailing forward in my cart and end up top side down and cracked. Does the kid flinch? Of course not. Does the mother that saw everything say a word? Are you kidding? A parent, actually parenting? Who ever heard of such a thing?

3) I decide, MMMMMMM a salad would be awesome for dinner. One of those make-it-yourself-at-the-fabu-deli ones. So I load it up with sweet hot peppers and sundried tomatoes and alfalfa sprouts and Sweet Butter lettuce and spinach leaves and feta baby portabellas and....as I’m about to treat myself to croutons, this evil, damp, chubby, entitled, little brat of a child in a bathing suit charges toward me as her and her mother enter the store. The mannerless heathen proceeds to stop right in front of me where I am about to take the tongs to get my croutons and she summarily sticks her grubby little paw INTO the bowl of croutons and scoops out a handful as she stares at me. I’m like WHATWHATWHAT?! Then, the little douche waddles back to her mother while stuffing her face with the stolen food items. I look at her mother who has seen this whole thing and I say “SERIOUSLY?!” The mother simply continues on with her general douchery and ignores me. GREAT parenting, dick.

4) I’m intent on finally checking out and go to look for an empty to fairly empty line. I see one, but I also see a woman to my left in beeline mode for the same spot. Being a kind, giving person when I’m not pushed to eating someone’s face, I stopped my cart and smiled to her with a gesture letting her know I was letting her go past me to that line. She nodded curtly and zipped past. I continue on to the next line and see the one up at the front and directly adjacent to the one I gave away is at about empty like the previous. I turn my cart and head to that one. Just before I get there, the woman in the lane next door that I so graciously let have that spot whips her cart over in front of me and into the line I was headed for. REALLY?! I look back at the other line and there’s no difference. Maybe the woman in my line had one less item than the one in the other, but I mean DAMN!

5) Then of course there was the woman with the full cart at the express lane. I mentioned her ass yesterday on my status. I still hate her.

6) So, as I’m leaving, you know, through the exit door? The exit door, for exiting. You know the one, the door you leave through because it says EXIT and not ENTRANCE. That’s the one, yeah I knew you knew which one I was talking about. Well, apparently Crotchety McCocknoggin doesn’t realize that EXIT means DON’T ENTER ASS-HAT. So I’m literally turning my cart to exit and he starts in. Mexican standoff. He stops, looks at me and nods toward the deli area behind me. “I’m going there.” He says. I say “I’m using this exit.” to offer a reply that is also an informative, educational tool to better instruct him in the regard that this door is for EXITING. He stands there. I continue to stare at him, smiling with my cart full of paid for “needs to exit” groceries. He nods to the deli again “That’s where I’m headed.” Seriously? No humility? No “well *I* am the one going in the out door so maybe *I* should be the one to apologize and let the people using the proper flow of traffic to go ahead of me. THEN I can continue to be a douche bag and use the exit improperly.” Nope, not an inkling. He was entitled. So finally I turn my full cart and start heading way down to the other exit. “I’ll just take this other one so you can use this exit to enter!” Of course, he didn’t say a word and just continued in. Your parents obviously died in some freak accident when you were a baby and you were raised by a can of peas. Ass.

7) Finally, I’m leaving. Hallelujah. I’m ready to escape this Supermarket Hell and head back to a sane place. All that remains between me and salvation is a woman with a small cart in front of me. She’s moving along steadily, but we have cars to our left so we’re forced into a single file line of sorts. We cross the main drive directly in front of the store and are about to start walking down the parking aisle to head to our cars when she stops. I, of course, have to stop as well. She pulls out her bags, puts them in her left hand and pops the small cart up into a wheelie so that she can force it up onto the small grass-topped median next to the first parking space in the row. I feel the blood in my temples begin to throb. I look over and there sits a cart corral not ten feet away from us and in the direction she’s walking, but can the woman be bothered to walk it? I mean COME ON! Sure enough, she pushes it up on the grass and begins to walk to her car. I sigh and ask at speaking volume “You seriously can’t take it a few more feet to the corral? What if it rolls of and hits this car?” She turns around and looks at me with this smug expression and says “Why don’t you take it? You could use the exercise.” So here’s where it could take two paths. A) I snap and choke the bitch with the cart and then give her a curbie while foaming at the mouth or B) I keep my composure and eviscerate her verbally. Thankfully, I chose option B. In response to her statement I immediately nod in agreement and smile “I totally agree. I really could stand to shave off a few of these extra pounds. But that’s where I’m lucky,” I continue “I can actually lose this weight. You’ll always be a cunt.” I thought the whore was going to have an aneurism right there. She turned and literally stomped off to her car. I yelled to her “Have a great day!” and continued to my own vehicle.

It’s days like this that make me want to take up smoking again. Not because I want to smoke mind you, but so I have something on fire to stick in people’s eyes when they piss me off.