The worst day of work EVER. Not feeling well, some kid throws up on me ON PURPOSE because he didn’t want me to take x-rays on him, argument with the boss, and some lady picks a fight with me because apparently when I told her that her blood pressure is too high I was lying because I “must have a personal issue” with her. Anyway, the day is finally over and I’m heading for my car. Realizing that I have nothing for dinner at home I trudge into the grocery store next to my office.
I now have the biggest headache that any man, woman, or beast has ever experienced. I’m standing in the checkout line feeling irritable, aggitated, and tempted to take my own life right here in front of Aunt Jemima standing behind me (she really did look like her.) These three 18-year-olds are standing in front of me looking very “Teen Girls Squad” and basically making fun of EVERYTHING they see. First it’s the lady walking by in a sweatshirt that says “College” (you know, the classic Belushi sweatshirt from Animal House? Anyone with any knowledge of great cinema would appreciate the reference and humor of the sweatshirt.)
The girls laughed at how she’s “so trailer trash” that they doubt she ever went to college. Then it’s onto Fatty McButterpants in front of them who happens to be buying lots of fried stuff, cheese, and pastires (unfortunate) but they make sure to talk about how “this won’t be helping him out of his next heart-attack,” loudly enough that he hears them. Then they are kind enough to move on to the checkout lady. The leader of the pack (who, by the way is wearing enough gel and mousse in her hair to smother a small village) mentions in passing to ”Florence the checkout lady” how if she was her age and working in a grocery store she would kill herself. Soooo at this point, I’m pretty annoyed. It’s one thing to humiliate Fatty but quite another to insult my girl Florence (she always compliments my hair so naturally I love her).
They then move on to me. Sticky-hair-girl looks back at me, looks me up and down (hair in a mess, feeling like hell, wearing dirty scrubs) and says something under her breath that sounds an awful lot like “Nice pajamas.” Her idiot friends giggle then whisper something about “don’t say that so loud, she’ll hear you.” She then makes another equally intelligent observation to the effect of “who would ever go out looking like that?” This is the point in which I basically loose it. Without even thinking I lean forward and tap old sticky-hair on the shoulder and say “hey sweetie, the 80’s called. They want their “wet look” back” while scrunching her incredibly crunchy hair.
It is then that I realize how terribly stupid (not to mention outnumbered) I am. I think, this girl is DEFINITELY going to deck me. I start remembering back upon my high school years, wondering why I was such a wuss as to never have been in a fight. I am completely unprepared for this. Her eyes are now shooting fire because apparently nobody in Princess Sticky Head’s whole life has ever said anything to her like this. I notice my hands trying desperately to make a fist (just in case)and I realize that I am such a “fight virgin” that I don’t even know whether the thumb goes inside the other fingers or outside. I must have missed that day in delinquent P.E. I am now at battle within myself. One side wants to stand my ground and continue staring her down, pregnant pause going on for what seems like eternity. The other side (the one who would rather not get it’s butt kicked by crankycheerleader and her homies today) wanting to quickly apologize and then fall into the fetal position on the floor. I stand my ground. I notice that Florence is laughing at my joke and that makes me feel a little better. Maybe she’ll have my back. What kind of an idiot expects a 60 year old grocery store clerk to have her back? I’m in trouble. Aunt Jemima is now backing up a bit in preparation for the spectacle that is about to take place. She makes one of those “Oooohhh, girl” faces at me and I see the pity in her eyes. Here it comes. Sticky-Hair is about to make her move. I can just feel it. She reaches for her receipt out of Florence’s hand and looks back at me and says “Well that was mean and uncalled for.” And walks off. That’s it. The little weanie walks off looking as if I hurt her feelings terribly. I won. I really did. Victory was totally mine. I was so proud of myself that I actually almost high-fived Florence, then quickly realized how very old and white and uncool that would be. But I won nonetheless. So there it is folks. My moment of glory. Made the whole day seem almost worth it. I hope she cried in the car. Maybe even threw out her 34 bottles of spray-gel when she got home. God bless America.
