And on the 7th day, there was mutiny
“Mother, is that you? Beckoning me into the light? Must... move... toward... the light!” ~ Ozzie*
Sadly, I am writing this practically from the beyond right now, due to an unfortunate incident with a mob scene at Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon.
The typical Sunday afternoon with BMW driving suburbanites, clad in Lily Pulitzer of the great north (Read:
When it’s my turn I’m positively giddy about the mushroom turnovers and the mushroom filled filo dough appetizer thingies and some vitamin water, and the prospect of being the ultimate misanthrope for seven days and an eggnog latte. I’m feeling good and great and fish out my (bright pink) wallet (which I must say, goes with my impossibly small, thereby impractical pink umbrella and my pink Franklin Covey clutch planner), and there is no card. Well there is a card, but that particular card belonged to an account which had exactly - $2.09 in it.
And here’s the part where if I could get red, I’d turn an obscene shade of fire engine red and my cheeks would become flush, because I, Heather B., did the unthinkable. I took out my motherfucking check book. I wasn’t desperate for mushroom turnovers but they had already been rung up and oh my hell, I cast down my eyes and quickly mumbled “Do you take checks?” And the cashier sighed heavily and looked back down the line and there was a woman who decided not to get a basket, therefore was holding all of her worldly organic possessions in her arms, who GLARED at me and then ROLLED HER EYES in the direction of the person standing next to her. Then at me and then the cashier because who the fuck was this chick, who already sticks out like a sore thumb in Bethesda, but then decides to relive 1996 and take out her check book and ask the date (Oh yeah, I asked the date, more like mumbled while the cashier tapped his foot).
So the woman with out the basket, which really, I don’t know why she would do such a thing, because I may not be well versed in normal 2006 etiquette, but she is not well versed in grocery shopping. Anyway, then after she rolled her eyes at me, she turned to the woman next to her with the baby. It was a nudge, which she then passed along to the man behind her. Then she got this look in her eyes. That look that Francisco Franco gave to Manuel Azaña before saying “I’m going to fuck your shit up and take over the country”. That look. Like a rabid dog. And well, everything else was just a blur because the woman without the basket, dropped her gluten free waffles on the ground and ran up behind me and choked the hell out of me for using my check book, while the woman with the baby beat me senselessly with a bag of soy chips. And judging by this bruise on my head, someone threw a jar of pumpkin butter at my head.
Anyway, now I have a headache and a strange ringing in my ears. I strongly believe that this was the sign of karma getting back at me for ridiculing Peg every time she took out (and still does take out) her check book and instead of protecting her from the mob, I also gave her the glary glare of death. Because really, people, this is why God invented plastic.
*This quote brought to you by excessive watching of Over the Hedge.