Woodsmoke

Montana bound
2004-02-05 02:30:01 (UTC)

"Hey, it's snowing...."

I swear when some people wake up in the morning and look
outside to see a new layer of white on the groung with
more pouring down in sheets, their first thought is, "Hey,
it's snowing; let's go shopping!"

I've never understood this apparent compulsion felt by
some people. I only went out today because I had to for
work.

This is the kind of day where you stay at home in your PJs
all day, laze around the house, read a book, watch a
movie, play some video games, and basically vegetate away
a day well-spent due to lack of practical ability to do
anything better.

Not for these folks, though. They wake up, see two and a
half feet of snow on the ground, the sky would be pitch
black with clouds positively immobilized with moisture
load if it weren't for the torrent of snow pouring out of
them as large and as quickly as possible. They look out
their front windows, see the SNOWPLOWS sliding along the
street, barely able to hold their own, let alone actually
get any snow out of the way. They look for their car, but
can't find it underneath the three feet of snow it's
encased in. They go into the bathroom to take a show, but
no water comes out because the reservoirs they draw from
have frozen solid. As they get dressed to go out, they
hear the ceiling creaking overhead, fighting to maintain
it's structure under 16 tons of snow on the roof; and
looking up they can see the fractures start to spiral out
from the points where it's starting to give. They try to
go out their back door, but the handle shatters when they
touch it because it's reached absolute zero.

Despite all this, they wade their way through the snow,
creating intricate tunnel systems which would leave even
the most gifted architect in the world amazed and starry-
eyed with wonder. Pulling a few sticks of spare dynomite
from their coat pocket, they set the charges in the snow
around their car, and a winter-time Mount Vesuvius erupts
when the explosives are detonated, blanketing the rest of
the neighborhood in yet another foot of heavy, wet snow.
A few houses have their foundations knocked loose by
flying chunks of ice dislodged from the structure, and
innocent and unsuspecting pedestrians are riddled with
holes by smaller ice crystals flying through the air with
the deadly velocity of a slug fired from a military issue
50 calibre automatic.

This done, they climb into their cars and in some way
totally uknown and defiant of the laws of physics plow
half the road themselves as they slowly but inexorably
make their way to the grocery store, where poor, unwitting
and totally unwilling "courtesy clerks" (see: poorly
compensated slave) like myself await in dreaded
apprehension of their inevitable arrival.

Once they finally do make it to the store, they proceed to
take a cart around the entire building and throw all they
possibly can into it, so when they finally come through
the checkstand they have about 7 tons of groceries. My
immediate thought is "Now, taking into account the
snowdrifts roughly the size of a Boeing 747, and the
regular snowfall easily reaching head-and-shoulders over
me; how the HELL do you intend to get that outside the
store, much less to the parking lot and to your car?"

Unfortunately, I all too soon learn the answer to that
question. Damn the person who decided it would be a good
idea to have the baggers ask the customers if they would
like help to their cars.

Me: "Would you like help out with your groceries?" (with a
look of "PLEASE don't say yes!" written ALL over my face)

Geck: "Yes I would, thank you very much for asking."

At least I get a gratitude.

So it's up to me to somehow push/pull this abhorrent
mountain of groceries to their car--which is
always "conveniently" located at the far fucking end of
the parking lot. Regardless that the cart alone is bigger
than their vehicle, let alone with all the groceries, I
somehow get the groceries loaded into their mini-cooper.
I then proceed to spend the next 30 minutes goind from one
end of that parking lot to the next getting single carts
from every conceivable location in that lot. Because it's
snowing, so people don't want to go to all the bother of
taking their carts back to the returns.

AS IF I FUCKING DO?!

I finally get back inside the store, just in time to help
with another cosmic load and an order-out.

Five minutes. Is that really so much to ask? Just five
minutes alone in a locked room with a baseball bat and
each one of these mental rejects who seem to view it as
their civic duty to go shopping on a day when any sane
person would have a hard time thinking of a reason to get
out of bed. Just five minutes. I guarantee I can turn
around the public concensice concerning shopping on days
like this.

Five minutes. Just five measly minutes.


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