The Agony and the Ecstasy of the Market

Many, many times I have gone to purchase merchandise from a local retailer. Eventually I find what I desire. The next step in the process is what drives me to a near murderous funk. It’s not the waiting in line for way too freaking long. It’s not all the ugly stupid people in line with me, close enough to smell their gaping cranial cavity wafting, dark, pungent odours. It’s not even the stack of those damn customer loyalty cards they require every damn time. It’s that, holy crap, so freakin' annoying cashier. You listen to me you sack of hammers. It is none of your damned business how my day is going. For the record - If I didn’t find everything I was looking for, I would have asked where it was before coming to the checkout. The only people this crap matters to are 1. Your loser supervisors who live in fear of their supervisors 2. old people whose families will no longer speak to them and are so lonely they'll talk to anyone to postpone going back to their depressing home to wait to die. Alone. These bloody cashiers should never speak unless spoken to on the threat of getting bitch slapped by myself. I am not your friend. Chances are, I don't like you. Another thing, I'm twenty-six years old and in not horrible condition. I mean, I’m no Wilt Chamberlain, but my waist is less than 60 inches and everything is still attached properly. Why in the bloody hell would you ask me if I needed help carrying my two bags of junk food to my car? What the hell's the matter with you? Bag them and step back! I just want my microwaveable bachelor chow, and I want to be on my way. Screw off. Ahhhhgggg! I'm gonna have an aneurysm. If I die in a store, I’m going try to collapse on a cashier just to traumatize the hell out of them. Uppity pricks.