This One is About A Crazy Lady

Great day! First, stayed up waaaay late last night. Past nine. Secondly, slept in past six and didn’t have to get dirty at work. Take that how you will. I work retail. Anyway, that’s three for three. I got to work ten minutes early to, once again, try to drown myself in free coffee before my shift starts. If I actually drown, I wouldn’t have to work the day after Thanksgiving. Sad part-time jobs aside, after the coffee, I spent some time in the shoe department complaining about the state of the shoe department and those responsible. By the time the caffeine kicked in, I was in the women’s department complaining about the women’s department and mainly the people who mess up the clothes in that department (that would be you, the customer. Put it back. You can do it). To winningly make the point I (and my fellow clothes re-folders) was trying to make, the world’s angriest woman came walking through the store. She wasn’t going to stop, oh no (except to pick up a shirt and throw it down on recently re-folded table). This woman was bee-lining it to the back of the store. We could tell she was angry not only by the “hunt you down and gut you like a fish” walk she was using, but by the bitch that was in her voice. First time through, it was the Hawkeyes. The whole franchise, the concept of college football, post-secondary athletics in general, really just pissed her off to no end. She lives in Iowa friggin’ City, a Big Ten college town but can’t fathom what all the fuss is about or why she is forced to see black and yellow all year long. Move to North Liberty, lady, that’s my thoughts. Anyway, bee-lining it back through our department it was the price of groceries. She’s going to Wal-Mart because paying $10 for a $12 steak is ba-lowing her mind, and she’s less than impressed (she made it very clear you have to impress her first time around, or she’ll take her very loud business elsewhere). Again, storming through the store for no reason, Ms. Stick-Wedged-Too-Far-In was complaining about her husband trying to do house work. She paid “her handyman” $1500 to do it right the first time, so he wont have to ruin anything else. I felt terrible for who must have been her daughter and mother who sulkily ran along beside her, arms crossed, head turned away, and with only one ear open to the unabridged hate-fest longer than Gone With the Wind and the Bible and the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Sunday NY Times put together. I closed the day by hanging up men’s polos who’s color names had something to do with khaki no matter what color it actually was, bringing us gems like “khaki aluminum,” “khaki pelican,” “off white,” “red denim,” and “khaki dream.” Granted off white and red denim don’t have the word “khaki” in the title, but to further my point, denim isn’t red and pelicans aren’t khaki. I came home to make my man some Hawaiian meatballs that tasted like meatloaf and watch some Tosh.O. Good day.