Is there anything worse than a queue?
Damn right there is, a queue with fuck-wits in it. Waiting, while
being the hardest part for Petty and so many mortals, is a part of
life. You wait for someone, someone else waits for you, we all have a
Merry Christmas.
But you don't make yourself difficult
and then make life difficult for someone else. Difficult people are
difficult, that is the sum of their make-up. They make things
difficult because that is their go to. Regular folks don't make life
difficult unless shit is really on the line. I suspect there is some
correlation between difficult people and confrontational people,
which is of course a blessing and a course.
An example. My uncle is a
ball-breaking, unabashed and unashamed difficult person. I have been
through the McDonald's drive-through with him three times. He is
always ordering as a . proxy as he doesn't eat it himself. Usually it
is for his grandchildren, who are understandably mental about the
salt and sugar orgy.
I digress. Each and every time he
takes the stance of Barbara Walters in an exclusive interview with
someone who just fucked up. He has the order on a handwritten list,
it should be
as simple as reciting. It isn't though.
'A
large coke mate', the well-off ocker, the Lexus driver in the stew of
the bum-fuck central coast.
'Ok,
anything else?' replies the well to do teenager who wants nothing
more than to try and get his older brother to score him a 6-pack and
a 20. It is
Friday
night.
'How
large is that, mate?'
'This
fuckin' guy' I can see the would-be drunken, pothead teenager
thinking.
'It's,
ahh, it's pretty big' crackles back the voice.
'What
like a litre?'
'Who
THE FUCK knows! Order some greasy shit and move on!' I can still see
the kid thinking.
'I
suppose about that big' his voice waivers, in it a call to his
supervisor.
'Well
is it, or isn't it, I'm paying good money here'.
He
was paying two-dollars fifty to bring his petite grandchildren a cup
of heaven bigger than themselves. This is the same guy who demanded a
refund on a brush-less car-wash in said Lexus because there were four
spots of dust remaining.
'It's
still covered with shit mate'. Apparently.
But
to my point. What happens when that
guy is
in the queue. In essence? The silent, agonising scream of a
generation.
I
am a day-to-day shopper. It is really fucked up and something I am
not at all proud of. But things DO run out and go off at different
times and I DO change my mind on meal-choice at the drop of a
god-damned hat. As a result I am exposed to queues a lot of the time
and thus, exposed to queue molesters a lot of the time. So it goes,
the life of a daily shopper is a thankless one.
Regardless,
here are my queue species:
'The
Normie'
Fucking
hates the queue as much as anyone else, but abides as a matter of
social etiquette. The Normie typically has but a few things and if he
or she has more will insist those with drastically less proceed in
their way, not because they are fundamentally decent (though this may
be, and likely is, so) but because they know the scourge of the queue
better than most. The Normie is quick on the cash or card and quick
on goods collection too. The Normie is a hero.
'The
Bush-Lawyer'
First
come, best served is the order of this day and every other day. You
have a dozen eggs and The Bush Lawyer has two trolleys. Still they
are adamant, they arrived first, it is their god given right to get
their goods first. So you have exact change, one item, your own bag?
Don't expect an invite. This ain't no sweet sixteenth. You wanted to
be served first, you should have run a little harder, PUSSY!
'The
Bean Counter'
Usually
an older person, The Bean Counter is the x-factor of simple shopping.
You deal in cards, they deal in COLD. HARD. CASH! Cash Baby! That's
where it was, that's where it's always been. And Damn! Do these
Playboys make it rain, ten cents at a time, slide that motherfucker
across the counter so they know that motherfucker counts. That is ten
more cents toward that buck-fiddy bag of potatoes. And I got coin to
spare, for soup and shit!
'The
Return-To Spender'
This
day old cat-food is no good, my cat only takes day-young cat-food.
For some reason the big thing with such people is baby formula. For
some reason that shit is always being returned. And in this ever
health-concious world it is being returned at the same counter
designated for cigarettes. Also, there is always some elaborate back
story.
Yeah
man, your kid is gonna be retarded because this bad-boy didn't have
the right level of B12. So please spend an hour explaining this to
the clerk, flaw the product you bought yesterday. And for the love of
god, don't invite me in front for a quick transaction in the interim,
your BABY is your LIFE man. As for formula, sorry you failed him
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