Pulling into the station

November 05, 2003

For those eighties-phobes, you might want to tune out for the next couple of sentences - I'll be dropping the R-word.

I did something totally-fer-sherrr RAD today at lunch.

(Okay, R-word done, phobes you can come

back now.)

I went to Albertsons on Lakeville and got lunch. I'm standing in the Express checkout lane - ten items or less, that's me! - and a checker comes up and goes, "You want to self-check?" I'm like, sure, what the hell? Dudes and dudettes, this just rocked my little world. Sliced bread? Oh, so way better. Anyways, it talks to you, letting you know the price of the item you just scanned and stuff. Then, just swipe your preferred customer card - *swoosh* - and pay. The machine takes cash or you can use the same ol' card swiper and ATM / Credit Card the stuff. (I ATM'ed it.) You scan it, you bag it. It's my personal wet dream.

Oh, I've never really gone into my issues with the retards that bag my groceries at the grocery store. I put my stuff on the belt in a certain way for a certain reason. I want my frozens all in one bag, the meats and cheese in another. Bag 'em the way I plop them, okay? That's the only reason I like Pac'N'Save and Foor 4 Less - you bag the stuff yourself. That and I hate how the baggers will fill the bags 1/3 of the way or give me a big ol bag for my bottle of shampoo.

I mean, really, it it too much to ask to just give me one bag when I go through with a bottle of shampoo, a box of fish sticks and a can of chili?

Well, seems that in my frozen rush this morning, I forgot to grab my bookbag. Oops. So, I have to run by the house really quick and grab it before I go to Old Navy.

Old Navy? Yes, Old Navy.

Look, some people hate Old Navy. You know what? It's idiot proof. Seriously. If you're a style-moron, such as myself, you need to get your ass to Old Navy. I mean, really, you go in, you grab your color of choice and you can find a pair of socks, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a tank top, underwear... and it all matches. It may not be Bloomies, kids, but dammit, I match.

Oh, and they have size Fat-Ass, for people like me who aren't a size 10. Thank you, Old Navy, and for that, I'll forgive you for those awful commercials with Morgan Fairchild. We'll need to talk about the new ones with Fran Drescher, though.

Two Things That Make Me Really Happy stopped here at 3:15 p.m.

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