Rudeness Jeopardizes Your Food

After a year of insisting Monster energy drinks will explode my heart, I drank one yesterday in desperation. I was falling asleep in front of my computer monitor at work after a restless night of hacking and wheezing. There's no turning back now; I am in the 7-11 convenience mart for another today.

I see the tops of brown-haired heads gathered in the next aisle over as I walk down mine toward the cold cases. The girls talk and I hear youthful giggles. I select just one Monster can, close the case and turn to walk down their aisle. They are Hispanic teens deciding between different flavors of sunflower seeds. One is talking about her shift in the drive-through. Not expecting much, I circle the Twinkies and Ding Dongs at the aisle's end and come back up the adjacent one. I'm confronted with toilet paper, napkins and paper towels. Taking particular interest in quilted two-ply, I kneel down and listen to the girls on the other side:

Voice 1: Man, I hate that job. It sucks!
Voice 2: Haha! 'Hi would you like to try our macho tostado today?" Haha!
Voice 1: Shut up!
Voice 3: Yeah! 'How about a combo, today?'
Voice 1: Whatever. Drive-through sucks. Damn people are rude, you know?
Voice 2: So mess their order up or something! What are they gonna do, drive back from home?
Voice 3: Yeah! What are they gonna do? Why do you take it?
Voice 1: Well you know what? Sometimes? If they're a total jackass we tear their taco shells.
Voice 3: What?
Voice 1: You know, split the shell down the middle a little bit. Then wrap it up and -
Voice 2: Oh! Ha! Then they go to eat it and crash!
Voice 3: Yeah, the whole thing falls apart! You know that's messed up, man, when you go to eat a taco and it breaks all up. People are so rude, though. They deserve it.
Voice 1, 2, 3: Hahaha!

Fried Chicken in the White House

I've come to the mall against my better judgment. I promise myself to restrict spending to my loot of holiday gift cards and enter Macy's department store, wide-eyed. I've purposely arrived in the early afternoon on a week day to avoid crowds. Stumbling into a completely empty dressing room with an armful of clothing, I'm very pleased with myself.

I choose the corner stall in the back because it's big enough for my own private fashion show; I don't much like twirling in front of the paneled community mirror. A small flat screen TV is on the wall close to the entrance. The volume is a little high and Wolf Blitzer's voice booms from the CNN channel. In between two pairs of jeans (on sale!) CNN cuts to clips of the recent heated debate between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama.

Two female voices enter the dressing room. They talk to each other as friends do. One says how happy she'll be if the jeans fit. The ladies choose stalls midway down the row. Two doors open and close. Hangers clink and conversation continues:

Friend 1: It's great shopping this way! No kids hanging off us. No crowds!

Friend 2: Yeah. Look at this! We have it all to ourselves!

(I freeze, jeans in hand)

Friend 1: We should take a day off every month for shopping.

Friend 2: Definitely. Oooooh...I love these -

(Barack quips about Bill Clinton. Hillary snaps back at Barack.)

Friend 2: Oh god. Again. If I have to hear this one more time...

Friend 1: Ugh! Can you believe him? How he picks at her? Like a little chicken.

Friend 2: Yeah. Pick, pick picaaaw! Hahaha!

Friend 1: Can you imagine him president? What are they gonna serve at White House dinners? Fried chicken? Grits?

Friend 2: Ha! Yeah! And he'll make us pay the Blacks restitution for slavery -

Friend 1: Uh, we already do that. It's called welfare.

Piercing Pain

Warning: This Post is Rated "R"

I trudge to the mall to buy a gift card for a friend's teen daughter from her favorite clothing store called "Forever 21". Funny, I still feel like I'm in my 20s (I am not), so the store's name sits right with me. Browsing the clothes, I'm struck by how incredibly small everything is; the skirts are maybe one foot long, the jeans about the width of my arm, the tops fall off hangers at the slightest nudge. Their stringy straps don't hold. It's official. I no longer dwell in the blissful decade of carefree styles and fashion magazines. I'm all grown up.

Young girls' chatter brings me back from my reverie. Two teenagers pour themselves into a selection of doll-sized furry jackets the next rack over. Black, pink, baby blue and white jackets form a tight ring and the girls try on each color. They look high school age, with bright eyes and easy smiles. They are white, one blond and one brunette. They each wear jeans. One sports a white and pink "Roxy" surf top. The other wears a red t-shirt with lips outlined in silver rhinestones. Their own lips are heavily glossed. One has glitter spray in her hair. They model their choices in front of a mirror, the puffy jackets rack separating us. I bury my nose in a rack of brightly colored ponchos, my back towards them. After a few seconds of fashion talk:

Girl 1: Oh my god! I saw Jenny's sister's nipple ring!

Girl 2: No way!

Girl 1: Serious. I totally did! She showed it to me and I'm like -

Girl 2: NO WAY! Was it gross? What did it look like?

Girl 1: It was soooo cool. So cool. It's silver with two ball thingies on the bottom.

Girl 2: Ew! I am never doing that. I mean, in your boob?

Girl 1: It's so hot! You have to be totally brave to do it. She said it hurt like FTF.

Girl 2: Like what?

Girl 1: FTF.

(silence)

Girl 1: You know, F-T-F?

Girl 2: What's that?

Girl 1: Oh my god! You don't know what FTF is? Haha! You really don't know? First time fuck! Guess I know what you are.