I stopped by Voice of the Village this evening to pick up an 80-cent 44 oz. Diet Coke refill. Okay. So my refill cup got cracked in the car the other day, and I needed a new one, and I really stopped to buy a PowerBall ticket. I think it's up to $400 million. And who goes in to buy a lottery ticket without buying a 44 oz. Diet Coke? Not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, that's for sure.
I was a bit upset when I pulled in, because the large SUV in front of me took up two parking spaces. I cry shenanigans! To make matters worse, after I drove four spaces down, and turned to look at who inflicted this insult upon me...I saw who got out of the car. A mom, two sons, and a daughter. All around 5-9 years old. Well. Not ALL. Because a mom that age would be just wrong. I told The Pony, "Look at them! I guarantee they're all going to get a soda. I am in no mood to stand and wait on them. I'm going to sit here a minute until they're done." Ha, ha. That's the universe, laughing.
When I finally slipped out T-Hoe's door that would not open to the second click, because I had to cram in beside a little mini pickup, and wormed my way past my folded-in mirror, I found that The Family had just bellied up to the soda bar. Woe was me. The last boy was filling his soda to the top, then drinking some, then filling again. There was a large pool of soda around his cup on the soda bar counter. He was NOT wiping it up with the bleach towel the staff so conveniently leaves for customers to use. His mom saw me and the three gals behind me waiting, and acted like she gave an obese rodent's behind. "Honey! Hurry up! People are waiting!" That was a signal for Honey to jam a lid on his cup, which immediately overflowed, and put his mouth to the plastic lid X and go SLUUURRRRP! Then he left. His mess. Behind.
By the time I got to the counter, there was the mom trying to corral her herd of cats. A dude stood midway between registers. I do not cotton to this technique. Not fair. In a convenience store, you need to pick a line and stick with it. No waiting in no-man's-land and jumping at the next available clerk. It's not the bank lobby, you know. Or the casino, with cloth ropes. Yet when The Family finally made an exit, and the clerk yelled, "Next!" I let Dude go. Even though it wasn't fair, because he had been all leaning toward the guy buying a four-pack of beer at the other register, until some mishap befell that transaction, what with a clerk asking everybody today's date.
When I finally got my turn, I set my 44 oz. Diet Coke on the counter, and said, "It's a new cup." And that beef-jerky-skinned clerk punched it in and said, "It's 80 cents, hon. It's always 80 cents to me." Wasn't that sweet of her?
I've half a mind to go back and tip her half a mil when I win the PowerBall tonight.