Old People

There has to be an explanation for the events of March 10, 2009. A likely scenario: A bus of senior citizens, all chosen for cranky demeanor and utter uselessness to society, are on their way from Louisville to the capital building in Frankfort to be euthanized in front of an angry mob of drunken hillbillies better known as the Kentucky legislature. The bus overturns on Interstate 64; some perish, but the survivors escape the flaming wreckage and descend upon our liquor store like shuffling, complaining, mothball-reeking zombies.

Seriously, there were a lot of old people at work today, enough to make me wonder if I was working at a bingo parlor; and all of them were surly and/or borderline senile. The blame for the overwhelming number of senior citizens lies with our Double Discount Tuesday promotion. An old person would crawl over his many dead friends and relatives to save a fucking penny. But the way they bitched and moaned? The way they annoyed? The way they smelled more like death than usual? Had to be the bus wreck. That's the only explanation.

Early in the morning, our automatic entrance door got stuck. It happens. The world is an imperfect place. We usually motion the customer to come in through the exit door and all is well! Well, this particular old bastard WANTED ANSWERS! Why didn't things go perfectly for him as he made his quest for cheap swill liquor in large quantities?

Old fuck: "Are you closed? Are you closed? Why is the door locked?"

Cashier: "It just jams sometimes, sir."

Old fuck: "The door is locked. I couldn't get in that way. (Addresses me) You need to fix that door."

I walk out the exit door, through the vestibule, and the entrance door opens, no problem.

Old fuck: "What did you do? What did you do to get that door to open?"

You know, by then I had had just about enough of this fucking asshole. "WHAT DID I DO TO THE DOOR? I WALKED TOWARD IT."

Old fuck: "Well, it didn't work for me. I thought you were closed for a minute."

Me: "I wish we were closed." Yeah, that wasn't the right thing to say, but his deaf ass didn't hear it, and it made me feel a lot better.

I walk away from the man, who quickly goes about buying the typical senior citizen purchase: Cheap, barely drinkable wine in either a box or a moonshinesque jug; half-gallon plastic bottles of the lowest end vodka and/or bourbon on Earth; and a horrible luncheon meat from our food department, preferably something with pig face in it.

His gravely voice is still ringing in my ears when I see a morbidly obese old woman (I'm merely obese, so the morbidly obese are my social punching bags) repeatedly slamming her shopping cart into another shopping cart filled with discounted wines.

Huge old lady: "This cart is in my way."

Walk around it, you insipid bitch. Drag your Jabba the Hut's grandma ass around the cart. Jesus, are you an infant?

She'll have nightmares about the look I give her, but I move the cart out of her way before she has a heart attack and forces us to fill out a lot of paperwork.

A few minutes later, one of our cashiers walks up to me and says "We have a request that we offer a bench for our customers."

I look over and the aforementioned whale is leaning against a counter waiting for her unfortunate husband. She's panting and sweating like...I don't know...like a fat woman who had just pushed a shopping cart for five whole minutes!

I say to the cashier, "Unfortunately, the people who built the pyramids are long dead, so I don't think we'll ever have anything to accommodate her."

Cashier: "Uh, I'll tell her we'll pass her request on to the corporate office."

They kept coming, the whole morning and afternoon. I'm hoping the authorities round them up soon.

Note: I'll be in Vegass for the next week. Pray for my soul.