What In The Fucking Fuck Is Wrong With These Fuckers?

 

In the course of life this week with Owen (11), he – over the weekend – ate all the goddamned snacks I had laid in for his coming week in school.  His PRIMARTY CAREGIVER is off to Brazil or something, which is fine with me since that means he lives with me for a week-plus, but it also means I have to prepare his lunch and get up early and pretend it’s okay that I’m up at zero dark thirty to jockey amongst the herd of Range Rovers and Porsche SUVs in order to deliver him to the plague rats at his pussy-ass middle school who will not defy Governor Wheels’ “no mask mandate” order.

Anyway, after picking him up after school, I decide I simply cannot stomach the Super Walmart crowd even though they have a better selection of stuff he wants now (celery sticks, hummus, almonds... he might be turning into a Lebanese squirrel).   Plus the traffic in and out sucks balls.  I decide the better option is Tom Thumb, which I think belongs to Safeway but someone decided it needed a really stupid name.  I should have just sucked it up and gone to fucking Walmart. 

First, we are of course masked up because we’re not mouth-breathing, ignorant fucksticks.  And yes, Texas is definitely a “COVID red” state because apparently someone told the Trumpanzees that the danger has passed.  Hint: THE DANGER HAS NOT PASSED, YOU SHITBAGS.  Sure enough, probably 8 out of 10 shoppers are unmasked.  Near the dairy items, it becomes too much for me and I resort to my usual behavior, loudly telling Owen to stay away from “the fucking plague rats and goddamned idiots.”  He no longer bothers to tell me that they can absolutely hear me, as he understands that this is the point. I need a few things, but with only 5 items in my cart, I decide to bail out before I get into an actual fistfight, which is kind of what I want. 

I’m too old for this shit.  Most are women so probably won’t fight me, but not all of them.  I am an equal opportunity insult robot.

With only the 5 items, I decide to NOT stand in line with the Typhoid Marys and opt for the self-check, which always makes me angry.  In this case, angrier.  There are four stations on a single lane, and two geniuses take the first two, blocking access to the last two.  One fat-ass parks his cart dead-center.  Note: he and his across-the-aisle fellow idiot are unmasked.  Great.  I stand away from them, slowly aiming my cart dead center.  I’m thinking about ramming it.  Owen puts his hand on my arm and I think, “Okay, better not”.  Once the dam breaks, I might never stop ramming carts.  Using my clearest and most asshole-ish voice, enunciating every syllable, I say, “IF you would move your cart JUST A LITTLE, I could actually GET BY.”  What has happened to situational awareness? I was standing there for at least 30 seconds.  I am not a small person.  How could he not know I was there?  In a tactical situation, I could have slit his throat, stolen his wallet and eaten his groceries.  In retrospect, I should have sent Owen to the car and rammed his motherfucking cart.  But Mister Goombah is sheepish, moves his cart to the side, says he didn’t see me.  ORLY?  Never would have guessed that one, fat-ass.  So I said, “Well, never would have guessed that.”

I should have rammed his cart.

The self-check register gives me trouble.  I tell Owen that we don’t really need this crap.  Let’s just go, I say, leave it all here, this is not worth it.  “Here”, he says, and gently scans the five items and puts them in little plastic bags.

On the way out of the inner doors, I apologize to Owen.  I am being an asshole, I tell him, which I assume he already knows and does not come as a surprise to him.  I assure him it has nothing to do with him, something he again already knows. 

And since we have only the 3 little bags with our 5 little items, I will push the cart back into the cart area. Only there is a cart right in the middle of the exit, blocking my way out of the store and preventing me from putting my cart where it goes.  There is a purse in it.  To the right, a woman is CONSIDERING the ice machine.  Just looking at the fucking thing.  It takes me about 2 seconds to decide on a course of action, which was this:  I pushed my cart violently into hers and said something about “not fucking caring one shit” about humanity or shopping carts and walked on.

At home, I said, “Owen, this is why we have our groceries delivered.”